Up to this point, flashes of city blocks and wooded acres and sighing coastlines have all failed to stymie Roadhog's march, but as the unfamiliar bleeds away to reveal the undeniable his heavy footfalls roll to a hesitant stop.
Home sweet home, says Rat.
"No, it isn't," Hog says back, tiredly, without biting down on Rat's cheer quite as hard as he could, or as hard as he might want to. This shit's all too confusing to speak of fondly. Though, after the initial shock subsides; after disputing whether he should feel relieved just because of a bunch of red dirt; and after realizing he can't deny that he is: "But it's close."
Although he'd been apathetic when passing through the other habitats, Roadhog kicks the dirt experimentally, taking out a swathe with the steel tusk of his boot. Red mist roils out of the wound in the ground, real enough that it stayed clinging to his camo, while his heel rocks back and forth inside the hole, digging it deeper.
"Don't get it, though..." It's home, but who bothers to recreate Australia hundreds of years after it stopped mattering to anyone? "—How. Why's this here? How're we seein' this?" He had a feeling it had everything to do with Junkrat and the reason he was dressed so differently.
Sooner rather than later, Roadhog stops fussing about uselessly—stops hunting for seams and starts looking out for the little glowing indicators that'd mark any den of Rat's as his. The insane grin of Junkrat's mayhem tag said it all, seemingly growing wider as he set off for the branded vehicle.
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Home sweet home, says Rat.
"No, it isn't," Hog says back, tiredly, without biting down on Rat's cheer quite as hard as he could, or as hard as he might want to. This shit's all too confusing to speak of fondly. Though, after the initial shock subsides; after disputing whether he should feel relieved just because of a bunch of red dirt; and after realizing he can't deny that he is: "But it's close."
Although he'd been apathetic when passing through the other habitats, Roadhog kicks the dirt experimentally, taking out a swathe with the steel tusk of his boot. Red mist roils out of the wound in the ground, real enough that it stayed clinging to his camo, while his heel rocks back and forth inside the hole, digging it deeper.
"Don't get it, though..." It's home, but who bothers to recreate Australia hundreds of years after it stopped mattering to anyone? "—How. Why's this here? How're we seein' this?" He had a feeling it had everything to do with Junkrat and the reason he was dressed so differently.
Sooner rather than later, Roadhog stops fussing about uselessly—stops hunting for seams and starts looking out for the little glowing indicators that'd mark any den of Rat's as his. The insane grin of Junkrat's mayhem tag said it all, seemingly growing wider as he set off for the branded vehicle.