Slowly, Roadhog replaces his hand, this time curling it around a bony knee instead of a hip, then glances up at Junkrat now towering above his head, merely watching his expression as he gives his analysis.

"Mm..."

So far, it was sounding like this bright future where no piggy had to worry about being made into bacon might also come with one small caveat.

"You'll fix it if I don't."

Was that a request, a jest, or a threat?

There's a certain cadence to his voice, the very slight suggestion of a smirk that might help narrow it down. Makin' decent vegan ice cream on a space station can't be that much harder than cooking up C4 out in the wastes, right?