Sombra raises her eyebrows and a hand to her mouth at the same time, spreading her fingers across her lips to keep her laughter locked in. Is he serious? He even sounds like an old Hollywood actor. She could almost admire the effort he puts into maintaining a persona, just as she does—if it isn't so lame. Why trap yourself in the past when you could move past it? Or overwrite it with something better? Maybe the frayed serape and worn boots serve to make McCree's enemies underestimate him, but Sombra already knows how to handle anything he can throw ( or shoot ) at her. After all, someone wandering the world in a guise of a cowboy is easy to find info on. A shadow? Just a little bit harder.

Tilting her head, she pretends to look him over again. “No offense, but I think you're a little on the old side for raves around here,” she says. “And they're usually invite-only.”

A thought occurs to her then. Los Muertos has been stockpiling weapons lately, something the Deadlock gang used to traffic in. Is a coincidence that a former member of that group shows up in Dorado at this time of the year, when so many packages and parcels are crisscrossing the border?

Picking up her drink, she takes a gulp before tilting the rim towards McCree like a microphone. “Do you have one?”