Overwatch CFNM: McCree Brandishes His Revolver

McCree was snoring and dreaming of chasing cattle back on the megafarm in Bellerae, Texas when he was rudely awakened by shouting. He groggily opened his eyes to see three Dorado police officers pointing pulse pistols at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled, eyes darkening.

“Sir, we just received a cyber tip that someone matching your description might be carrying some sort of explosive device on their person. Please stand up from your chair, slowly, with your hands on your head!” one of the uniformed officers shouted at him.

The gunslinger’s eyes darted to his disguised revolver and briefly considered blowing the officers away before Winston’s voice suddenly crackled over his earpiece.

“Don’t even think about it!” the hyper-intelligent, genetically-altered gorilla barked into his ear. “You’re a member of Overwatch again! When you’re on mission, you represent us to the broader world! You can’t just shoot your way out of every problem!”

McCree strongly disagreed with that last statement, but he didn’t want to be responsible for tanking Overwatch’s reputation again, so he rolled his eyes and raised his hands.

The cops descended on McCree, slapping a pair of nano-restraints on his wrists and kicking his chair over. He wasn’t exactly making it easy for them and the commotion caught the attention of the crowd. Soon an audience had formed around the scuffle, including the members of Overwatch who had been secretly dispersed throughout the crowd.

Tracer suddenly blinked to the front of the crowd wearing a boyish pair of swim shorts, a midriff-baring scuba shirt, a swim cap fitted snugly over her recognizable hair, and a life-preserver to conceal her chronal accelerator. Torbjorn had modified her pulse pistols to look like water guns, so she could carry them without being questioned. “I was just talking to him! How did this happen?” she gasped exasperatedly.

"Back down Oxton, they are the law here! We aren't criminals!" Fareeha Amari barked in her ear. Both she and Winston were back at HQ in Gibraltar, watching the events through a camera feed embedded streaming from Tracer's discreet disguise. 

Tracer couldn't help but think that with Hanzo, McCree, and the new girl Kiriko; Overwatched actually seemed to employ quite a few criminals. However, she knew it would be pointless to argue with Fareeha about it.

McCree might have pointed out the contradiction to her himself if his eyes weren't suddenly focused on the female officer pulling a latex glove onto her wrist.

“Now hold up there ma’am,” McCree said as the officer began snapping on a second glove, “I ain’t too sure what you’re fixin’ to do with them things, but I’m sure it ain’t fit for public consumption.” 

The officer looked at him and then at the crowd of on-lookers apologetically, but then answered with determination, “We have reason to suspect you may have an explosive device hidden somewhere on your person. We cannot move you to another location until we are sure that you do not. You are quite suspicious.”

“Suspicious? Me?” McCree flashed his roguish smile, hoping to charm the young officer. 

“Yes, you.” She answered bluntly, seemingly unimpressed. “For one thing; you’re dressed like a lifeguard, but it’s written in English. And this is, of course, Mexico.”

McCree looked down at the "LlFEGUARD" emblazoned on his board shorts in a big, English script. “Damn it Torb!”