That also gets a dismal shake from Hog's head. His fault, though. He'd been sloppy, asking questions in no particular order, and the tightness of his grip had made it harder to understand what was being said. Most of his current understanding had to be gleaned after the fact, as in the end he'd had to cut his bed rest quite short when he was spotted with his hand wrapped around that nurse's head, squeezing it a shocking shade of purple.

"Got what answers I could, took back what I could, and got out," Roadhog elaborates, planting a palm against Junkrat's camper as he reaches it. It's there to support him, given that he slowly capsizes the moment Rat disembarks, as though it's something he's been holding back for a long, long while.

"No ammo, no hogdrogen. Scrap gun's gone."

Turning so it's his back and not his stomach that's lightly squealing against the metal siding, Roadhog goes down like a glob of butter sliding down the side of a pan, going and going until he's hands flat and ass flat in the dirt, croaking out a sigh. Then, several seconds later he glances to his left and snorts, for the first time noticing the lawn chairs not but two feet from his resting place. Bit late, now.