McHanzo-Power Of Dragons

Power of Dragons

The narrow alleyway felt cramped and cold to the figures running down it. Both were breathing heavily and only lightly wounded, but still feeling weaker than ever. As fast as they were on their feet, fear and weariness only seemed to slow them down as they sprinted for cover.

One was behind the other, turning his hand every so often to fire his gun aimlessly at their pursuers. There were just too many of them, and it seemed like neither could do anything.

The two were Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada, two members of the Overwatch corporation. On a mission they quickly found themselves outnumbered and separated from the rest of their forces. This was made even worse with the fact that Hanzo had no more arrows, leaving his bow useless to him, and McCree was quickly running out of ammo. They were outmatched and nearly defenseless, leaving their outcome of survival slim to none.

McCree panted heavily as he fired two more rounds, both missing any target. The footsteps of the horde after them were ominously close, so he begged his legs to move faster as he fumbled for more ammunition. "Hanzo, we need to pick up th' pace a bit! They're just about right on our tails."

The archer snarled. "Shut up, cowboy! I need to think!" He hissed, not taking his eyes off of the alleyway shrouded in darkness.

McCree stared at him, concern billowing on his face. He had cared about the Shimada man for some time now, and though he had never told the man, he was unclear about whether the archer returned his feelings. The cowboy knew this was not the time to be thinking about him, but he couldn't seem to get the handsome man off his mind.

Hanzo seemed to speed up, leaving McCree to sprint after him. The cowboy took a look at the archer's state-his face was screwed up in concentration with a cut above his eye slowly dripping blood that pooled on the angry scowl above his brows. His yukata was somewhat disheveled but remained unscathed, and his bow was slung over his empty quiver. McCree cursed mentally. Even when they were attempting to outrun their deaths, the archer still looked as handsome as ever.

The cowboy was pulled out of his trance when Hanzo snapped something at him. "You're the one with the communicator, signal for help!"

McCree hurriedly lifted his free hand to his ear. "Right. Gotcha. On it." He pressed the communicator and began speaking to his team. "We need some help over here! We're in the alleys somewhere, no clue 'bout-"

Hanzo grabbed him by the arm and pulled the cowboy around a corner so forcefully he yelped quickly in pain.

The archer jumped a stack of boxes, leaving McCree to follow. When he did, the archer gripped his shoulders and pulled him down to the floor, keeping his as close to the ground as possible to mimic his own movements. Hanzo lifted a finger to his lips for a split second before throwing his head down.

McCree swallowed nervously and followed Hanzo's lead as the footsteps of the horde behind them grew louder and shook the ground like thunder. The sound assaulted his ears as they sped by, a seemingly endless crowd all out for blood. McCree was powerless, and could do nothing but keep his mouth shut and pray for some sort of end.

Finally, the footsteps retreated into mere echoes down the alley. As soon as the coast was clear, Hanzo picked his head up and patted McCree's back as to tell him to do the same. The cowboy sat up and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thought we were goners there, partner." He lifted a hand back up to his ear. "Hello? Is anyone-"

Hanzo held up a palm forcefully, making McCree lock his lips in fear. "We still need to be quiet, cowboy. They might return." He whispered softly.

The brunette nodded feverently. "Mhm. Yup. Whatever you say." His voice grew soft, trying to conceal their position as he scanned the area.