Solo

Abracadabra! [Theater-Based Slice of Life]

Did someone say online research into how stage production works? I know I added the last bit, but something something implied

I'm on board for it!

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

I've just always heard of bipolar describing dual-personalitied people.

@Sorrelmyst

Like all mental illnesses, bipolar disorder differs from person to person. It's not having dual personalities, it's shifting between depressive episodes and manic episodes. The person doesn't change personalities between these shifts; bipolar disorder I, II, and cyclothymia are more like different types of roller-coasters. And each roller-coaster is tailored to the individual who's afflicted with the mental illness.

Manic episodes are times where the individual has too much energy to expend. Their outlook on life is different. They're prone to spending too much money, doing too many things, putting too much on their plate. They want to do anything and everything. I've read insomnia is often a symptom of a manic episode. Bipolar II, individuals experience hypomania which is a less acute form of mania. Depending, these episodes can last for a week. I'll stress, these manic episodes aren't just hyperactivity. It's euphoric, like being on a high and I honestly think it makes the drop from it all the more devastating.

Depressive episodes act as the name implies. They lack energy, sometimes they eat too much or they don't eat at all. Can feel hopeless and empty. It's what you think when you think of depression, essentially. They usually last longer than manic episodes.

It's not so much hot and cold, as it is, up and down, up and down, and a continuous cycle of this. Some individuals experience small ups and extreme downs. It's why it's also called manic-depressive disorder.

I'm not shooting you down, or anything. I just thought it might be wise to throw some knowledge out there. I see bipolar disorder/manic-depressive disorder misrepresented a lot as "This person's angry one second and super sad the next and the super angry, etc., etc.," and that's not really how it works. That's actually a lot more harmful than you'd think when considering people's perception of an individual who's bipolar, as well as individuals misdiagnosing themselves.

Also, Schizophrenia is something that's still so unknown to the medical world that I would definitely not attempt to portray it unless you yourself have it.

But, uh, don't take this as me being angry or anything else I think it might be a bit rude to yell at someone for this, or maybe I'm just way too polite for my own good. I simply saw an opportunity to spread some knowledge! I think being informed is a powerful tool, especially in writing. :) And it's definitely not my excuse to delve into research for longer than I should, heh. It's both an extreme enjoyment and something I need to do to quell my anxiety.

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

Ello all

@Ajax Amari

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

@tanderbolt

I'm working on Symmetra, who's a part of the Vishkar corporation. I'll be the only individual who's in the faction, lol, so *shrug* up to you, though.

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

@Lmpkio@Jacobite

"I'm the guy who goes full homo. You must be the other guy."

Jack rn. Gotta get my "The Depahted" reference in there somewhere. Matt Damon you hunk.

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

@Vicier @Caits

I made some edits to Jack that coincide with the new Reaper sheet! _{since he's the most important character to jack - being a foil and lover and all}

Jack Morrison

— ⦁ ● ⦁ —

_{"Only the dead have seen the end of war."}

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Nᴀᴍᴇ
Johnathon "Jack" Morrison

Gᴇɴᴅᴇʀ
Male

Aɢᴇ
48

Dᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ Bɪʀᴛʜ
July 4th, 1969

Pʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴏғ Oʀɪɢɪɴ
Bloomington, Indiana, United States

Sᴄᴇɴᴛ
Smells heavily of coffee and gunpowder, with the vague smell of mint that stings the nose.

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Rᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ Sᴛᴀᴛᴜs
Single

Sᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ
Homosexual

Fᴀᴍɪʟʏ
Ex-Paramour/Lover - Gabriel Reyes
Friend/Begrudged Mother Figure - Ana Amari
Best-Friend - Reinhardt Wilhelm
Dog/Platonic-Life-Partner - Lucky
Estranged Daughter - Juliette Morrison
Estranged Son - Lucas Morrison
Estranged Daughter - Hana Morrison-Song

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^{▴ Cynical ▴ ▾ Stoic ▾ ▴ Solemn ▴ ▾ Aloof ▾}

Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ

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.

Lɪᴋᴇs
Acoustic Guitar, Autumn, and Dogs

Dɪsʟɪᴋᴇs
Alcohol, Smoking, and Hooligans

Hᴏʙʙɪᴇs
Vagrancy, Vigilantism, Stamp Collecting _{("Ask me about them, I dare you.")}

Sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜs
» Leadership/Tactics; If there's anything Jack's good at, it's leading. Commander wasn't just a title, and Jack made sure people understood that. His tactics are shrewd, efficient, and effective - he takes to strategy like a surgeon, and has been known to slice through opposition just as easily.

» Survival; Owing to the Super Soldier Program that he went through at a young age, it takes quite a bit to knock Jack down, much less stop him from getting back up. He's strong and durable, more so than most individuals.

» Experience; Having years and years of experience allows Jack to read situations a lot easier than most people, and adapt to those situations just as quickly.

Wᴇᴀᴋɴᴇssᴇs
« Stubborn; Jack's hardheadedness seeps into everything he does. To an onlooker, Jack may just seem more determined than the usual person, but to people who know him, Jack's simply stubborn. Bullheaded. As well as a jackass.

« Solo; Despite his most important strength, Jack doesn't play as well with people as he used to. There's too many variables to worry about when there's more than just him during a mission, so he prefers to take things on his own, with little to no help.

« Distrusting; Too many times has Jack laid down everything for a person only to have it used against him. Therefore, he's much, much less trusting than he was during his halcyon days. It's much harder to impress him, much less gain his trust.

Bʀɪᴇғ Bɪᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ

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.

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Oʀɢᴀɴɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Aʟɪᴀs
Soldier: 76

Oʀɢᴀɴɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Aғғɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Ex-Overwatch Commando; Currently just Himself

Bᴀsᴇ ᴏғ Oᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs
Vagrant - Somewhere in the Americas

Fᴏʀᴍᴇʀ Bᴀsᴇ ᴏғ Oᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs
Overwatch HQ, Switzerland

Bᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ Tʏᴘᴇ / Rᴏʟᴇ
Offensive

Cᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ Oᴄᴄᴜᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Vigilante

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Aʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇs
𝟟𝟞 Helix Rockets

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.

𝟟𝟞 Biotic Field

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.

Wᴇᴀᴘᴏɴs
𝟟𝟞 Pulse Rifle

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?

Uʟᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ Aʙɪʟɪᴛʏ
𝟟𝟞 Tactical Visor

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.

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Oᴛʜᴇʀ
He's currently under the alias of Soldier: 76 and working closely with Shrike, a hooded man working as a bounty hunter around the world.

Tʜᴇᴍᴇ Sᴏɴɢ
Gloomy Sunday - Billie Holiday

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Who knows what's goin' on in OW.

@Ajax Amari

Just noticed your post! If you need any help on the mentions thing, it's brackets [] around the @Name stuff!

Like so: @Solo (that didn't work and I hate myself, but on a different note, using the [code] tags make the @mentions look smaller and cuter)

Perhaps if I tried: [ @ Solo ] yep that works Just remove the spaces and it'll notify the person you mentioned!

For future reference whenever you want someone in particular to notice your post! :D

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

Damn.

@Lmpkio Take your pick.

Cause that looks like a nasty burn.

_{I'm so sorry}

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

<Snipped quote by Jacobite>

Well I can view their translations in Raw mode, but this is literally the first time Ive come across abbr codes on the entire guild (literally). It's ok though, I'll figure it out... I guess :P

*flops on the ground like a desperate fish on the high ground*

@Lmpkio

If you put your mouse over the dialogue and don't move it, even an inch it should give you a drop down. Like put your mouse over the green text and just don't touch the mouse.



You should have something like this pop up. The screenshot erases my pointer, but you get the gist of what should happen.

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

͏͏— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
͏͏— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙲𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝙽𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚍𝚊
𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷: 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚢 𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚌 [𝚂𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚔𝚎 + 𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗] [@Jacobite]
͏͏— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
͏͏— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Everyone had connections these days, aside from Jesse McCree. The cowboy fancied himself a drifter these past few years, even Ana's teachings couldn't break through his own mentality. Friends dropped like flies or turned against him. The sooner he dropped them, the less likely they'd find a way to drop him - permanently. People outside of his personal bubble, however, liked to take more risks than he did. At least, the trusted a lot easier and it seemed to pay off for them in some form or fashion.

Three mercenaries jumped him on his switch from Phoenix to Carson City. Jesse immediately regretted not simply taking that all the way to Los Angeles. Both bullets ended up in Seattle. Dumb. Now he sat in one of the empty storage compartments, his pants hiked up to the knee to allow his hands to roam his calf freely. A fresh wound, a deep slash from a knife that caught him on his jump from cart to cart.

"Shoulda seen the other guy," he muttered to himself, hissing at the sting of alcohol lathering his leg. If it were for anything else, Jesse'd have qualms with wasting a good bottle of Jack Daniels. He hiked his leg up to get a better glimpse at the wound, snatching the needle and thread he'd picked from two different suitcases. With how he looked these days, no one really bothered to actually pay him any attention. Funny how people were quick to ignore anything that shattered their perfect lives.

"N'ah," Jesse grunted, pausing to take a few gulps of air. His eyes shot up, staring at the stark white of the fluorescent lighting above him. Biting down on his lower lip, Jesse turned back to the wound, taking care to suture it with a slow and steady hand. The thread was stronger than he'd expected, but it was still flimsier and would likely tear later that night. It'd work as something temporary, just to stop the bleeding. Just to stop the bleeding.

Just to stop the bleeding.

Agony blazed through him, though Jesse tore through it to finish the job. He tied the thread off before his fingers could start shaking, slamming his mechanical hand into the side of the small compartment. "Goddammit," he bit off the curse, letting his head rest against the cool metal, sweat damped and pale. One more hour.

"Count with me, Jesse: one, two, three," her voice soothed his burning ears, a hand running through the sweat that matted his hair - he barely felt anything, much less the numbness in his left arm. "I've got you," her accent was heavy, but he understood every single word that left her mouth, "You're safe now, حبيبتي"

͏͏ - - -

They're waiting for him. A number of men scattered across the loading dock; Jesse'd spotted them while hopping from cart door to cart door. The stitching held, but it wouldn't for much longer and with his visible limp, he wouldn't get two paces before they gunned him down. Jesse gritted his teeth, staring at the train monitor try to discern whether he wanted to confront Jesse or not. The man thought better, turning a blind eye while the cowboy took his limped strides down the walkway.

How many times had he found himself stuck in this situation? What'd Gabe tell him to do? Jesse growled, frustration seeping into the crease between his brows. Don't be stupid, dumbass. Don't be stupid, dumbass. Don't be stupid, dumbass.

Jesse snatched the nearest suitcase, running through junction between carts. The contents fell between the tracks as he jumped, and he took that moment to slide his hat and serape in. He threw on the jacket that at his feet, a flat cap with it. For a few moments, Jesse contemplated whether or not to dump his gun and belt in too. Biting off a curse, he threw them inside the suitcase, closed it, and moved into the next train compartment. Walking idly, he undid his chaps and tossed them onto an empty seat before bending low to snatch a few misplaced shoes - he could find another pair of boots in Seattle. Plenty of hipster shops selling antiques.

The shade hid the number of bruises on his face, and the crowd hid the blood that caked his trousers. With everything set into place, Jesse looked like another meandering business man down on his luck. Or a commuter. Either way, he blended in, slipped right passed the crows eyes and the snake in the grass. Jesse held off a chuckle for the moment he rounded the corner, the noon sun already beating down on him.

After a few blocks had passed, Jesse slid into an empty alleyway to discard the stolen goods and redress with what he'd kept. He frowned at the black soot of the shoes that replaced his boots. He looked odd, but he supposed that wasn't an issue. He looked odd everyday. Washington was just around the corner now. And with it, access to Overwatch supplies and even more ridiculous cowboy wear to flood his closet. Maybe. Jesse scrunched his nose at the thought of permanence.

Sadly, that thought couldn't have spared another moment. A bullet whizzed past his head, knicking his ear before lodging itself into the brick behind him. "Ah, shit," Jesse growled, diving back into the alleyway and behind cover. He hissed, clenching his leg. The stitches wouldn't hold with how much he'd been moving; in fact, he could feel the thread come apart with each flex of his leg. Another hiss broke from Jesse's lips as he peered from his hiding spot.

"You know," a booming voice snatched Jesse's attention and he peered closer at the shadow nearing, "Sixty mill is quite a nice reward for a deadbeat, wannabe cowboy. Come on, Eastwood, you really think I'm gonna pass that up?"

"Dunno who the hell you are, but I assure you, no crackpot shot like you's gonna collect my bounty," Jesse spat.

The man only cackled before piling his entire clip into the side of the dumpster. "You're absolutely right, McCree, I'm not collecting that bounty. Nah, I just want see you riddled with my bullets," he ended his words with the click of another magazine in place. Jesse flinched, shoving himself into the corner as bullet after bullet shredded through the pavement and the metal of his lone hiding spot.

"Come on, babe, you don't remember me?" he growled, slamming the butt of his rifle into the opposite end of the dumpster. He punctuated every word with a slam, "You don't. Remember. The man. You half. Blinded. You fucking. Prick." The second the last slam rang out, Jesse dove from his corner with a flash bang tossed overhead. It detonated with an ear piercing ring and Jesse took that chance to jump out of his roll. He hissed at the pain jolting up from his calf, but his hands barely shook as they slammed the hammer down on his pistol.

No sound echoed beyond the first shot, aside from the bullet pinging against the wall and the swish of wind against his ears. The rifle the man had been holding found its target against the side of Jesse's face, smacking him into the pavement. He grunted, losing grip of Peacekeeper as he hit the dirt. A sharp, curt laugh echoed above him; he just wanted to smother his face against the pavement. Jesse didn't get the chance. The merc slammed his foot against Jesse's shin, grounding his cut wound into the pavement below. Jesse howled, curling into himself only to find his breath knocked out as that same foot collided with his chest.

Everything in his body screamed and hissed at him, at every subtle movement he made. The man above him noticed, saw the shaking in his Jesse's limbs and the paleness that struck his features. He bent low, grabbing Jesse by his scruff and lifting him. A hand clamped around his throat, quick and like a vice as it shoved him into the wall. "Look at me," the man gritted, spitting his words into Jesse's face, "I want you to recognize me."

"Sorry," Jesse huffed, "pardner. You ain't got the best luck with a face like that."

The man slugged him, grinning at the sudden red blooming against Jesse's cheek. "Smart mouth."

"Pretty too," Jesse spat, lobbing blood onto the man's cheeks, "how's it feel to look like all the chums that frequent the shittiest dive bars in Mexico?"

That ignited something, and the man tossed him by the neck into the deserted sidewalk. He loomed over Jesse, imposing as he huffed deep breath after deep breath. Good, he wouldn't take his time finishing him off. Jesse propped himself on his elbows, stretching a bloody smile. "You wanted a fight, darlin', well I'm your goddamn huckleberry."

The man roared in indignation, rearing up for a straight dive on top of Jesse. He didn't get far before that roar turned into a muddled cry of confusion. Jesse blinked, the man lumbering for a moment as he wobbled on his feet. He looked almost out of it for a moment, his hands grabbing and tossing something at his neck before turning his rage back onto Jesse. The only thing he heard thereafter was the sound of steady pulse firing that lit up the dark alley behind them.

God, his day just got better in the worst damn way.