The explosion had killed them both.
Hanzo had been left alone with the payload, much to his displeasure, and McCree had come to move the car so that the archer could take the high ground and provide cover from above instead. Before he could begin to scale the wall the bomb had gone off (where the thing had come from in the first place was a mystery) and had fatally wounded the two warriors.
Before being slammed painfully against the wall and blacking out Hanzo recalled the gunslinger’s eyes on him, wide and worried. That look on the usually easy going cowboy’s face had made something in Hanzo’s gut feel as if it was twisting unpleasantly, and then said guts had been splattered all over the pavement, a messy detail of Hanzo's untimely demise. It was a horrible, painful way to go, but at least it had been mercifully quick.
The respawn technology didn't leave them dead for long though. Hanzo didn't know the science behind it or how it worked, not many did, it was one of Dr Angela Ziegler’s most closely guarded secrets. He owed his life to the technology many times over, it kept him in the fight and that's all he needed to know about the mysterious, powerful science.
Or so he had thought.
-
The feeling of suddenly existing out of nowhere was almost painful, and he never got used to the sensation no matter how many times he was revived that way. There was something off, something not quite right this time he realised. Hanzo took a deep breath, anticipating pain, only to grimace in confusion when no pain came.
There was still a feeling of discomfort though, of something not being as it should. He couldn't quite identify what it was, and that bothered him. Hanzo was an expert assassin, he had spent years honing his skills, training his senses, and yet something was very, very wrong and he couldn't decide what it was.
He took a step forward, surveying the room he had spawned in. Everything looked right except… not quite. It was almost as if the angle he viewed the world from had shifted, and above him the wide brim of what had to be a hat was cutting into his line of sight. He reached up tentatively to try and identify the foreign object only to freeze, his entire body going rigid.
He had reached up to grab the hat but it was not his arm that he saw, though the sight wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Fear spiked in his gut as he assessed the prosthetic limb, the cool, silver metal entirely unlike the warm flesh of his own inked skin. The arm was not his and the dragons were no longer with him, in their stead was a tacky skull that had been painted onto the plate of his forearm. The sight of the skull gave him pause.
A wide brimmed hat and a gaudy prosthetic left hand were both staple features of Jesse McCree's questionable aesthetic.
Before he could inspect himself further he heard an alarmingly familiar voice cursing quietly to his right, followed by a sharp gasp.
He turned to see himself, his own dark eyes wide as he held his tattooed arm closer to his face for inspection. His head was turned awkwardly, his tongue bobbing out slightly as he gawked at his own arm. The pose was childish and embarrassing and completely beneath him. The only thing odder than this strange, out of body experience was seeing himself acting like this, acting like…
The explosion had killed them both.Hanzo had been left alone with the payload, much to his displeasure, and McCree had come to move the car so that the archer could take the high ground and provide cover from above instead. Before he could begin to scale the wall the bomb had gone off (where the thing had come from in the first place was a mystery) and had fatally wounded the two warriors.Before being slammed painfully against the wall and blacking out Hanzo recalled the gunslinger’s eyes on him, wide and worried. That look on the usually easy going cowboy’s face had made something in Hanzo’s gut feel as if it was twisting unpleasantly, and then said guts had been splattered all over the pavement, a messy detail of Hanzo's untimely demise. It was a horrible, painful way to go, but at least it had been mercifully quick.The respawn technology didn't leave them dead for long though. Hanzo didn't know the science behind it or how it worked, not many did, it was one of Dr Angela Ziegler’s most closely guarded secrets. He owed his life to the technology many times over, it kept him in the fight and that's all he needed to know about the mysterious, powerful science.Or so he had thought.-The feeling of suddenly existing out of nowhere was almost painful, and he never got used to the sensation no matter how many times he was revived that way. There was something off, something not quite right this time he realised. Hanzo took a deep breath, anticipating pain, only to grimace in confusion when no pain came.There was still a feeling of discomfort though, of something not being as it should. He couldn't quite identify what it was, and that bothered him. Hanzo was an expert assassin, he had spent years honing his skills, training his senses, and yet something was very, very wrong and he couldn't decide what it was.He took a step forward, surveying the room he had spawned in. Everything looked right except… not quite. It was almost as if the angle he viewed the world from had shifted, and above him the wide brim of what had to be a hat was cutting into his line of sight. He reached up tentatively to try and identify the foreign object only to freeze, his entire body going rigid.He had reached up to grab the hat but it was not his arm that he saw, though the sight wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Fear spiked in his gut as he assessed the prosthetic limb, the cool, silver metal entirely unlike the warm flesh of his own inked skin. The arm was not his and the dragons were no longer with him, in their stead was a tacky skull that had been painted onto the plate of his forearm. The sight of the skull gave him pause.A wide brimmed hat and a gaudy prosthetic left hand were both staple features of Jesse McCree's questionable aesthetic.Before he could inspect himself further he heard an alarmingly familiar voice cursing quietly to his right, followed by a sharp gasp.He turned to see himself, his own dark eyes wide as he held his tattooed arm closer to his face for inspection. His head was turned awkwardly, his tongue bobbing out slightly as he gawked at his own arm. The pose was childish and embarrassing and completely beneath him. The only thing odder than this strange, out of body experience was seeing himself acting like this, acting like…
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