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“Now… How much did we agree to? Wot was it…” Junkrat, a spindly and twitchy young man, ponders out loud as he and his newly hired bodyguard leisurely wander side by side farther from the smoking underground bar. Junkrat outstretches his mechanical arm and splays his prosthetic hand, palm up, and begins to count on his orange spray painted metal digits, mumbling numbers as he did so. “Ten? Fifteen percent?”

Junkrat waits for some sort of response from his newly appointed bodyguard as he quizzically glares at his own prosthetic hand noticing both small and new details that hadn’t been there the day prior. The paint on his palm and around the finger joints beginning to chip away revealing the rusting metal underneath, a few of his knuckle screws coming loose, and his pinky finger being slow to respond. He softly scoffs at the sight, starting to pick at the edges and watching as the brightly colored flakes of paint flutter to his feet and disappears into the sand. Guess that’s what he got for getting far too excited, doing such a shoddy paint job, and not properly sealing it. Oh well, just meant more time improving the darn limb.

A harsh, disagreeing grunt pulls Junkrat out of his staring contest with his own metal appendage. His bright, nearly glowing orange eyes glance up and to the side to lock eyes with the expressionless mask of his newest employee, the one man apocalypse himself, Roadhog. Roadhog was massive in both height and girth; it’s probably what had Junkrat desperately reaching out for him. All that power packed in one mighty human… or it could’ve been the knife being held at his throat that made him plead and bargain for any aid he could get. Which was it? Junkrat wasn’t too sure, but what he did know for sure was this was the first time in years he had to crane his neck to look up at someone, and boy did he look.

Junkrat flashes Roadhog his cheesy trademark face-splitting grin, waiting. No answer came however, but even though the thick dark lenses Junkrat could practically feel the hard squint of hidden eyes glowering down at him.

“NO! NO NOO, WAIT! Tha' can't be roite, ahah...” Junkrat says, quickly backpedaling his previous offer. “Was it twenty percent?”

“...” An eerie silence follows his question. The only sign Roadhog was even paying attention was the slight head tilt and drawn out raspy breathing from the damned filters of the pig-shaped mask. What was up with the thing anyway?

Junkrat gulps down the knot forming in his throat and forces himself to smile even wider. He scratches the side of his nose, not once breaking eye contact with Roadhog’s tinted lenses that he called ‘ eyes ’ as they made a right down the street. From behind them a chorus of distant enraged wailing cries could be heard. Sounded like the blokes in the bar finally woke up.

Junkrat looks off to the side when Roadhog made no sign of answering his questions, even though he could make a pretty good guess on what the big brute’s answers would be. As they walk in mutual silence, a difficult thing for Junkrat, the scrawny man catches a famously familiar pointy face on a poster pasted haphazardly and without a care on a passing rusting metal building. Junkrat reaches out and snags his face off the wall. He scoffs at the inaccurate, crude drawing of his own face and measly few thousand some bounty scribbled below. They made his nose too big and bloody forgot his adorable freckle on the right side of his nose, the nerve .

Junkrat crumbles the paper into a ball in his good fist, muttering blighting curses to the Queen and whoever made the damned poster. Without so much as a warning, flames burst out of thin air and engulf Junkrat’s tight, shaking fist. Junkrat giggles in pure delight at the sight of the flickering and warm orange flames at his fingertips.

His delight doesn’t last long, because a surprisingly fast and large hand grabs Junkrat by his good forearm. The burning flames instantly die as Junkrat is jerked upwards in one fluid motion, he stares in gobsmacked horror in those same emotionless dark lenses. Roadhog gives Junkrat’s forearm a not so gentle squeeze.

“You. Know. The. Rules .” Roadhog growls out lowly, punctuating each of his words nice and slow, making sure each word had haunting power behind it. Junkrat squirms in Roadhog’s grasp, using his mechanical hand to make a sad attempt to pry himself out of Roadhog’s hold and kicking his foot freely in the air.

Now dangling a foot or so off the ground, he winces and nervously titters. Of all things he expected Roadhog to sound like, he was not expecting that deep and luscious voice when he had scolded him. Junkrat smiles, albeit a bit wobbly and crooked, but he manages to pull off his smug cat-like grin. “AH! HA! I DO! I dooo! Jus’, ya kno’ , gotta get ridda evidence mate! Can’t go ‘round with me strikin’ handsome mug on every alley wall!”

Junkrat proves his point by opening his fist and letting the flaky, black, papery ash slip through his long, thin fingers. Roadhog turns his head slightly to watch before turning to focus his blank glassy gaze back to the twitchy idiot being held up by his own hand. He gives Junkrat a quick shake causing the remaining ash to flutter to the sand at their feet.

“Everyone knows who your arse is already.” Roadhog points out flatly as he kicks at the sand, managing to bury the ash out of sight beneath it.

“Oh yeh? Like who?” Junkrat asks, glaring up at him like a child caught sticking their hand in the cookie jar.

“Queen. Junkertown. Me .”

“Ah, tru’. Kinda hard not’a be kno’n when ya arse finds somethin’ like the omnium's treasur- Wait, WAIT A’TICK! YA KNEW WHO ME ARSE WAS?!”

Roadhog seems to wince as Junkrat’s scratchy voice advanced to an ear-ringing screech and holds Junkrat further away from him. He gives Junkrat another small shake. “Shut up. You make so damn much noise.”

Junkrat stills at the gentle shake, then laughs as he swings to and fro. “Too roite!” Junkrat cheerfully chirps, “Bigger the noise the betta, as I say!”

“Uh huh…”

“Soooo… Uhm, can ya lemme down now?”

Roadhog sighs and finally relents by loosening his tight grasp, allowing Junkrat’s skinny arm to slip out of those thick meaty fingers and land back on his two feet, well foot . The remaining foot he hadn't managed to blow off quite yet. “Don’t do it again,” Roadhog grumbles as a warning.

Junkrat hisses through his teeth as he cradles his forearm to his chest, massaging the angry red marks starting to form on his spot and grease covered skin with his stiff metallic fingers. That will definitely be bruising nice and pretty tomorrow, ouch. “Swears it on me remainin’ limbs, mate! Well, ‘long as we in these here walls, I swears it.” Junkrat says, motioning to the distant front gates.


“Ya arse got one hella’ve a grip mate, don't cha?” Roadhog grunts in agreement or… what Junkrat took as agreement once he’s back and walking along Roadhog’s side. It was quite hard to tell what the big fuck was grunting about, but he’s sure he’ll pick up their meanings in no time!

“So… gettin’ back on track. Uhh, how’s twenty-five sound mate?”

Roadhog growls again with irritation clear in his muffled voice, “Fifty.”

Junkrat stops walking and stares at Roadhog’s exposed back as he continued to trudge forward, “Wot?”

“Fifty percent.”

“WOAH! WOAH, WOAH, WOAH, WOT!? NO! NO FUCKIN’ WAY!!” Junkrat nearly screams as he takes off past Roadhog and stopping the giant dead in his tracks by stand in front of him with both his arms out. “GIMME ONE,” Junkrat holds up and presses two fingers in Roadhog’s leathered pig snout, but quickly realizes his mistake and puts one down. “ONE FUKIN’ GOOD REASON WHY YA ARSE DESERVES FIFTY FUKIN PERCENT!”

“…” Roadhog snorts bemusedly and jabs a fat thumb behind him. Junkrat backs his hand out of Roadhog’s face and leans off to the side to stare into the general direction Roadhog had pointed to. The first thing he sees is a thin stream of smoke a couple of blocks away coming from some place deeper in the town. Where they had come from, The Trashed Racoon bar. Junkrat whistles before bursting into a fit of bubbly giggles and scratches at the back of his sunbaked neck.

“… Oh roiiite, ya arse did jus’ gone an’ saved me back there, huh?” Junkrat mumbles to himself. He watches the smoke trail waver and sway before refocusing back on Roadhog who had been apparently been watching him in return.


“Fuck… HMM, Wot ‘bout forty?” Junkrat offers as he lowers his hand completely and takes a step back, offering a meek hopeful smile.

Roadhog leans forward, closing the gap Junkrat had made and simply loomed over Junkrat, not uttering a single response.

Silence has always been Junkrat’s greatest enemy and weakness, so he easily breaks it and throws up his hands in defeat. “FOINE! Ya arse drives a fuckin’ hard bargain mate. How’s this! Ya protect me arse from those cunts tha’ are after me arse an’ me… I mean our, our treasure. Than ya fat arse gets half. Sound good?”

“Fifty percent of all spoils and the treasure,” Roadhog grunts. He leans back, shoves Junkrat to the side, and resumes trudging forward as if the conversion was done there.

“SURE! Sure, Woteva! It’s a deal then! Let’s shake on it mate!”

It’s Roadhog’s turn to stop dead in his tracks.

“Awwe!! Cooome ooon, mate! Even steven! Fifty-fifty! Gotta seal a deal with a good ol’ handshake, mate! Make it all official an’ wot not. Tha’s how this shite works, roite?”

Roadhog heaves a ragged sigh and turns around to face his new employer. His head tilts down to stare at Junkrat’s fleshy hand held out to him. Roadhog doesn’t move to take the offered hand.

Junkrat’s smile wavers, “...Don’t tell me ya arse is a bloody germaphobe or some shite. Come on mate, give it shake.”

Roadhog makes a strange sound, it’s airy and kind of wheezy, but before Junkrat had time to process Roadhog could’ve been laughing the big brute reached out and engulfs Junkrat’s entire hand in his own and gives it a single firm shake. “Al’ight. Fifty-fifty.”

“EYY! Tha’s the spirit ya big lug! Knew me arse could count on ya porky arse! Now! Let’s get outta here before those bleedin’ drongos catch up with us, ‘ey?”

“Wha’ever you say, Boss.”

“Tha’s wot I like to hear! An’ Boss , ‘ey? HEH, sure do like the sound of tha’! Say it again!”

“Don’t push it.”

“HA, roite roite. AH HA! ONWARD WE GOES THEN!”