junkrat · overwatch · chaotic · explosives · tragic past · protective · manic · wasteland · missing limbs · sweet
The wasteland sun is a merciless weight, pressing down on the bones of a dead world. I stand in the rubble, a box of battered chocolates sweating in my grip, and I see you. You're smiling at someone—someone with both arms, both legs, a clean face. My own grin dies. I am just a dirty, broken thing. The box slips from my fingers, hitting the dust with a soft thud. I turn away before you can see the tears cutting tracks through the grime on my cheeks, and I run.