Chapter Text
You were absolutely pissed.
When a person stops a would-be robbery from occurring, you would want to believe that the establishment that would have been victimized by such an event, would reward said individual. Right? Especially when said establishment was that person’s university.
But no. Instead, that person was being expelled. Oh, and if you haven’t figured it out yet, that person is you.
The grounds for said expulsion, being that you had used unauthorized equipment on school grounds, while simultaneously ‘assaulting’ the assailants. All of this seems very internally punishable at first glance. However – thanks to all these combined factors coming to public attention with leaked security footage – insurance would not cover the university’s sustained damages.
Which had been significant… unfortunately.
Or so the college president, Dr. Howard, had informed you two days ago. His final words to you, having been the butchered pronunciation of your name, then the patronizing line of, “Perhaps next time, before you try to play vigilante, you will think about more than just yourself.”
You had just gritted your teeth, curtly nodded, then stormed off to start collecting your things and call your family. Tears stinging your eyes, but never falling as you fumed.
When you had been in the university lab that night – working into the AM once again – you were adjusting a sample of a scale-like armor you had been developing, over your left arm. Your right keeping preoccupied with a small soldering iron as you made delicate changes to the composition of a faulty scale.
Eyes glancing every now and then to your carefully drafted sketches of a plan for repair as you did.
Ignoring your rage doodle on the corner of the page featuring Dr. Howard with an over inflated head. A small speech bubble next to him reading, “Blah blah blah, such achievements could not be possible without an airhead like me to take the credit, blah blah blah.”
It had taken you eight years to get to where you were with this idea. Eight years of groveling to professors; of letting higher ups take public credit for your work. Eight years to get approval from your graduate program to get to such a vital stage in development.
Which, undoubtably Dr. Howard knew about and was just waiting like a vulture to present it to the board. Keeping his title shined up as “A Man of Progress” at an already prestigious tech school.
Hence the rage doodle.
Eight years were tossed aside, when you heard a crash from the hallway followed by several rushing footsteps. The cacophony prompting you to get down rather than risk running for the emergency exit door on the near opposite side of the dimly lit lab. Accidentally smacking your armored arm on the tabletop in your haste.
At first, the chance that you have damaged your life’s work worried you greatly. Only to have your fear turn to stun as that faint ultraviolet signal ignited over the interlocking, artificial magnetic field between each scale – indicating through light and the faint grip it made from wrist to elbow – did you breathe a quiet sigh of relief.
Yet, you remained wary of hitting the mechanism again. As the energy created from the tabletop collision was ready to be redistributed, it would definitely give away your position if you were to even poke something.
The doors slammed open, and your ears pick up on at least three people running in.
Huddling further under your station, you hear them rush past toward the emergency exit, leaving you wondering why none of the alarms have gone off as you dared to sneak a peek at the kicked in exit. Regret hit hard and fast when you spot a fourth individual standing guard; their hands armed with a gun.
Getting down fast, you hear the emergency exit door opened, followed by more footsteps. The voices hushed as their steps indicated they were searching around. Words mumbling about a workstation number: your workstation number.
It was only a matter of time before they discovered your hiding place. And all you had – as far as defense went – was a soldering iron and untested armor.
Deciding it was now or never, as the assailants closed in, you hit your armor a few more times until the glow of the ultra-violet was radiant and the tightness of the scales bordered on unbearable.
The robbers were close enough now and the moment one pair of legs round the corner into your line of sight, you smacked your arm on the edge of the tabletop above you. This time, your middle and ring fingers press down on the release scale located in the center of your palm, launching the entirety of the workstation straight off the ground.
Its trajectory brought it up to smack one of the assailants straight in the jaw and send him flailing back. His automatic firearm firing off rapidly as he did, causing for one of the hazardly bullets to hit and damage one of the distant Bunsen burners. And consequently, a steady flood of gas began hissing into the lab.
Scrambling away before the hefty projectile came crashing back down, you hide beneath another workstation as the assailants barked out orders through the chaos.
Adrenaline pumping at an alarming rate, you rearmed the scales.
Taking a deep breath, you wait for an opportune moment that never comes as you hear the telltale jingle of Mr. Lopez – the night janitor – making his way down the hall. The diligent caretaker coming to investigate the racket, no doubt.
Having met him a few times amidst your late-night toiling, you knew he wasn’t one to run after you’d seen him chase off some of the football team trying to tee-pee the lab with a broom.
It was now or never if you didn’t want to see a man shot.
Rushing for the hallway door, you watch as the assailants register your presence. Some having raised their guns as you turn to face them and slam the front workstation full on with you arm.
Not ready for the impact, you are flung out the door right past Mr. Lopez and into the wall: hard. Yet, all went according to plan with the workstation as it rocketed as a massive projectile aimed at the assailants.
However, an electric outlet was now exposed and frayed as it had been previously connected to a chord on said upheaved station. Thankfully, the night janitor’s vigilant senses – sharpened from years of maintenance – saw this and smelt the gas, spurring him to action.
Rousing you up in your dizzied state, he kept you going as fast as possible to the nearby exit.
Within moments of you two making it outside into the freezing January eve, the lab went up in nothing less than a rattling inferno. The squeal of van wheels hardly audible to your stunned mind, but vaguely recalled. Leaving you, Mr. Lopez, and your armored wrist all that remained from the wreckage.
You huffed; the breath puffed out in a cloud around your ticked expression in the light of present day.
The cold winter air set deep into your bones, as you trudged past said wreckage. Eyes glancing at the snow that had surrounded it having either been melted or coated in varying layers of black from the ashes, while coat covered arms adjusted the last box you had filled with possessions from your dorm.
Your whole life, packed in boxes within the car parked a short distance away, and in the truck your dad had driven off in with your larger items. Setting you up to complete your master’s degree… online… with a new university… for another two or more years.
But you would bounce back! You always did.
It’s what your mom did, and she was the whole reason you had made this tech in the first place. So, you had to make it work.
Even if it meant going back up to the far north woods of Wisconsin. In the middle of nowhere. With your entire family. A place where some people – who had never left your hometown, mind you – still questioned if the omnic crisis had ever even happened.
One silver lining was that you would get to see your long-distance boyfriend, Trevor.
His family was a group of those who hadn’t left in generations, and he had tried to get you to do the same continuously since you had started dating after graduating high school. Eventually, he had come to terms with you being off at college out of state and mellowed out about the subject.
Now, he probably saw this as a chance to trap you back home. Groaning at the realization, you considered formulating some sort of plan to avoid the topic when you saw him.
Trying to drown out your trepidations, you focus on the sound of car keys jingling in your hand and the freshly salted sidewalk crackling underfoot. Imagining crunching down with your boots on Dr. Howard’s face rather that the crystalline chemicals.
Then, you hear a second set of footsteps crunching, coming closer.
Shifting the box in hand to get the objects obscuring your vision out of the way, you look ahead to watch as a small, dark-haired woman in a thick parka came shuffling along. Her bun fashioned with a pin that tinkled delicately in the winter breeze and big, dark eyes, briefly glanced up at you over the rim of thick glasses. Her friendly face flashing you a small smile.
You are quick to return the expression before she looks back down at a device on her wrist.
Keeping on your beeline to the car, your freezing fingers shift to press unlock on the keys. With the confirming beep of the vehicle’s mechanisms unlocking, you perch on the curb. Maneuvering yourself precariously to open the door and shove the box unceremoniously into the already overpacked sedan.
Suddenly, the crunch of salt beneath feet was coming back toward you. Without turning around, you shift the car keys in hand until they protruded between your fingers as your unarmed hand, closed the sedan’s door.
Daring a glance behind, you see the same small woman coming back towards you. Her nervous glances indicating no threatening behavior; nor that of the voracious reporters that had been harassing students for details on the explosion.
“Hello!” her accent soft and sweet as she began with a small, gloved wave, “I am sorry to be bothering you, but would you happen to know where I can find, uh…” she hesitated, looking back down at her device as she finally reached a suitable talking distance. She then recited your name clear as day, looking back up at you expectantly.
Your eyes flitted around; the sound of squealing van wheels coming to mind along with the assailants knowing and looking for your workstation. But as you returned your gaze to the woman’s face – smiling and trustworthy as any you had seen – there was little evidence of unscrupulous qualities.
“Can I know who’s asking?” you inquire, pursing your lips. Silently, you hoped this wasn’t another mistake.
“Oh, yes, of course!” her rapid response and nodding killed your fears quickly, “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Doctor Mei Ling-Zhou, I am with an organization looking to hire this individual.”
With a few taps on her device, a hologram appeared. As she extended it forward, you recognized the silent footage immediately: you in the lab, fending off the assailants, ending with the fiery explosion.
At least she hadn’t shown you one of the internet remixes people had already made.
You took a moment to think through your options. You could easily deny it was you; the security cameras hadn’t been updated since the twenty twenties – proclaimed to be “un-hackable” due to their rudimentary nature – so the image was not the clearest. You could go home and deal with your academic set-back in peace.
Or you could take a gamble; see where this ‘organization’ might lead you.
Looking behind, you take into consideration the solitary box sitting on the passenger seat. The box containing your ‘destroyed’ research that you wanted to protect from Dr. Howard’s greedy reach.
You look back at the woman, “That individual would be me. What kind of organization is this, exactly?”
Mei smiled widely and fished out a communication device from one of her parka’s utility pockets.
That had been many months ago when you had taken the device and spoken with someone named Winston. He gave you the run down and that you could get an orientation to see if you would fit well with the team. Cooperation amongst the members being of the highest value to him as defacto leader of the organization. Which is what he and Mei continued to call it as apparently, it was a highly classified job opportunity you had been offered.
Now, having gone through your orientation with meeting everyone and most especially Winston who, turned out to be a sentient, genetically enhanced, scientist gorilla, you understood you were now a part of Overwatch.
You had blanched upon the realization. Instantly remembering back to when you were twenty-one, being out with your friends when the televisions in the bar had switched to the news.
The overhead surveillance of the declassified headquarters of Overwatch in Switzerland, smoldering from the explosion that had rocked the world. The endless trials that had been its predecessors, flashing here and there along with the absolute mess of it all. Your family blowing up your phone; terrified of a world without them. Especially with you going to college in a metropolitan city where a number of things could happen that would need Overwatch more than anything else.
So, after your shock had worn away, you had been all too happy to officially join the reforming group.
Mei and Winston had been your original go-to’s for your first few days. Nerds gotta stick together!
Then, you had begun to click with the ever-bubbly Hana; both of you bonding over tech development and the sketches you had rendered for a full suit of your armor. Her assistance becoming invaluable as far as the areas where you were stuck on the design were concerned. Improving the original idea dramatically with her superior knowledge.
Allowing you to don a fully crafted suit of your scaled material. Thus, finally giving you the chance to start proving yourself as an asset to the team. Especially those who had notably and verbally thrown your value into question during your tech development.
Specifically, the resident cyborg: Genji.
He hadn’t exactly insulted you outright, but he had made a few comments that had made their way through the grapevine to you. Via the cyborg’s close friend and resident cowboy, Cole Cassidy who had talked to Echo, who then talked to Hana, who always talked to you. Irritable herself at her teammate’s lack of patience for suit development.
Upon completion and a few private test runs between you and your partner, a demonstration had been requested. And you were all too happy to oblige when – despite you saying how you could perform with a heavy object – Genji volunteered to be your opponent.
“You will not be fighting weights and tabletops, chibi,” he had proclaimed. The insult landed foreign to your ears, but you understood his tone was not encouraging as he readied himself, “Omnics and people will not be standing still for you.”
It might hurt a bit proving the skilled cyborg wrong about you, but you smiled anyway. Nodding to Hana from behind the gymnasium’s hallway window, she mimicked the gesture and pulled out her phone.
Indicating with a thumb’s up that she had started recording.
Holding up a hand to your opponent, you waltz away and throw your body against a section of unpadded wall. Earning a tilt of the head from Genji. “Okay,” you had then announced, brushing it off, pleased with the light emanating from your suit as you triggered the visor to fall over your face, “Ready.”
And the cyborg did not hold back – as expected. You just smirked and fell to a knee; fingers poised over the release scales as your arms crossed out above and before you.
The impact of his fist against them was felt – briefly – before you triggered the release, which thrummed out the kinetic energy from you and straight back at your opponent. Using his own force against him and sending the cyborg flying clear across the gymnasium.
He had landed regardless with ever enduring cat like grace, yet the shock was apparent as he rose. Along with the rest of the attending team, who had come to watch the demonstration alongside a satisfied Hana. Her own sights having turned with her camera to them, capturing their various reactions with a gleeful expression.
“That was good,” the cyborg confessed upon his reapproach, “But it is only one move you have.”
He had then proceeded to knock you off your feet in a split-second whirl of his body. The wind leaving your lungs as you hit the mat, thanks to both the impact and the tightening of the scales as they collected the energy.
You would have to keep that function in mind in the field… if you made it there.
Huffing lightly, you glared up at the blinding gymnasium lights. Despite knowing he was right, you wished he had let you soak in the victory a little longer.
“You will need more than that,” he came into your line of sight as he spoke, outstretching one of his metal hands, “And I will gladly teach you.”
Disposing of the kinetic energy into the mat, you launched yourself up enough to take the offered hand. That day had kickstarted the friendship – or more student-master relationship at first – between you and Genji. A constant routine of him kicking your ass continuously, while also challenging your wit with a few well timed one liners.
Along with this relationship, you had also earned a new comfort among the whole team.
Those who had agreed with Genji’s doubts about you, quickly changed their tune after that day. Coming to like the person who came along with the tech that had caught their initial attention. Especially, Cassidy, who had tried to make up for his former opinions by turning on the southern charm, which you had quickly brushed off.
“Got a boyfriend, bud,” you had shot back, “But nice try.” He had thrown up his hands, claiming he was just being friendly – unbelievably, of course.
Resident cowboy AND Casanova, how original.
Your first mission – following roughly two weeks after the demonstration – however; had been where you truly proved yourself. Genji coming along as well, after having requested to be in attendance.
Determined to ensure his student followed his teachings.
You had overheard Cassidy poking fun at him for it before shipping off and you had quickly shot to your teacher’s side. Defending one of the last people who needed defending, with, “Now, now, he’s just being a helicopter parent! Happens to the best of us.”
A comment which had gotten you punished with several more defense drills than usual from the cyborg. Given how worth it the jab had been to you, the punishment and sweat dripping down your brow did nothing to stop your smirk.
With how much time Genji had dedicated to making sure you were fighting fit it had allowed for plenty of bonding. Thus, giving you the balls to mess with him more often than any of the newer recruits dared.
On mission, however; you were feeling the pressure. So much so that you did not dare, nor have the slightest desire, to stray from following Genji’s teachings and followed them to the letter.
Yet, despite things going exceptionally smooth, you could not help but add a bit of your own flourish near the end. Your confidence in the moment, taking hold as you had given a grand slam to an enemy vehicle to clear the path fully to the dropship. The satisfying move turning sour as a chill ran up your spine upon hearing the crunch of the metal.
But you all got on the dropship safe. So, overall it had been once again, worth it.
And although that very decision had earned you a small scolding from Genji, even he admitted that you had done well. Groaning after finishing the short-lived chide, he threw his head in a hand with a clang. Mumbling something in Japanese as he did.
Hearing the word “Anija” slipped into his sentence, you remembered him using it once when he had referred to his estranged brother. With interest piqued, you trapped a lip beneath your teeth as curiosity ran riot in your brain. Pausing in a considerate moment of hesitance as the dropship door sealed shut.
Such hesitance did not will out.
“You okay, Genji?” your voice had asked tentatively. Near holding your breath as soon as the words came out with the hope of being able to backtrack if it turned out you were pressing too much.
You had inferred as much as any other could when it came to the brothers’ relationship: strained and complicated. But you had no idea as to what had happened to make it this way. That answer seemed to be almost a secret among Genji and the more so original members of Overwatch. And despite your comfort among them, you were not about to pry about matters like this.
Luckily, your teacher put your current worry of infringement to rest, as he sighed rather than snapped.
Walking over to his seat with you close behind, he was slow to begin his explanation out of thoughtfulness for his words. Upon sitting, he leaned forward in brief contemplation. A lesson taught to him by his own teacher, Zenyatta, who had also been on with you for your first mission.
“…I recall how my brother would reprimand me like this,” the cyborg confessed as he straightened his back to recline into the seat, “I never understood why he went on as he did, until now…”
Your brows furrowed, watching as Genji seemed to drift off into his thoughts.
You knew it was not your place to ask about his brother and you never have. However, you knew one thing about the situation for sure as it had come straight from the cyborg’s mouth.
When the two of you had been sparring a few days before this mission, your teacher had admitted that his focus was elsewhere in that moment. It had to have been as you had managed to get away with landing a few too many hits for him to be in the right state of mind.
As he had elegantly slid down to sit upon the matted gymnasium floor, he followed up with how – shortly before returning to Overwatch with receiving the recall – he had sought out his brother. Offering him a chance to join him in making a difference in the world. Now, he was left waiting for his decision, hoping he would signal somehow and soon, for Genji was beginning to lose that same hope as time dragged on.
To which you had countered with an ungraceful flop onto the mat below, “Maybe he’s still waiting to be ready?”
Your proposed idea had earned you a curious glance from your teacher. Or what you assumed was a glance from the way his head moved; you could never really tell with that visor of his.
“Jumping into something like this…” you had gestured around the room and to the others training around you, “It’s a lot. And it’s not just this, it’s rebuilding a relationship with you and that’s… sorry, I’m getting too into your business.”
You tried to retreat on your opinions, but got a shake of the head from Genji, “No, you are right. It is… a lot.” That had been all the detail you got before the cyborg rose with focus, “Come. We must resume training.”
The last part of that sentence had left your mind clear of curiosity and filled with dread as you teacher was refocused, and your easy day was over.
Now, as the dropship engines thrummed and their effects vibrated on the metal behind your seat, you desperately wished you could conjure some new nugget of civilian-style wisdom for your teacher. Just something to maybe give him a semblance of comfort about it all. But everything that crossed your mind seemed ill-suited.
So, you just gave a curt nod.
Leaning back into your seat, you reached behind to grab at the travel sketchbook and pen you kept stored on the ship. Letting your emotions and thoughts flow out through the ink as they became too much for your mind to contain alone.
All the while, hoping you weren’t being too dismissive; hoping beyond all hope, that Hanzo would show up for Genji.
It was nearing the end of the flight when you processed the two portraits that had come into being upon the page.
The human face had been one of the first things you had been trained in when you had started taking more in-depth drafting courses in college. So, basic structure was easy to flow through without reference. But details? You always needed at least a good long look to get it right.
Thus, why the first sketch you had created was unrecognizable. Imagined purely in your head.
Genji had never given much of a description on his brother’s appearance. Just vague comments about his stoic and strict behavior. So that had been what you had created with a few references to Genji’s own appearance thrown in.
Leading to the secondary portrait of your teacher himself; head fully visible.
You had only seen the cyborg with his helm off once, after he had returned from a mission while you were being patched up from an incident sparring with Hana yourself. Allowing you to witness as Angela had ordered Genji to remove his helm upon hearing of the blow he took to the head. Followed by her chastisement that proceeded from his reluctance, which was deemed “childish” by the Swiss MD.
The exchange had you repressing a chuckle and hiding a smirk. He was so weak for that woman, and it never failed to amuse you. That was until Genji obeyed.
Your smile had progressively died as your eyes took in his features.
There were his eyes to start; irises retaining a perfect shade of mahogany. Then there was his hair. The messy tresses were dark and tipped in green dye. Clearly redone with care despite the fact no one ever saw it most of the time. Then of course, there were the scars littered across his face.
You had done your best not to stare. Not wanting your teacher – and more importantly, friend – to feel analyzed by you.
But it could not be said that your mind was not reeling from the sight. Wondering what had inflicted such permanent wounds. And even though you had only gotten a short view of his face, you had seen enough to guide your hand as you gave a few final strokes over Genji’s likeness.
Not paying much attention to your surroundings as you dwelled in your own little world, you jumped quite a bit as the portrait’s twin spoke up, “His face always looks a bit angrier than that. Hanzo is like a living Onigawara.” His metal hand moving swifter to point than yours were in their failed attempt to close the pages. You grimaced, thoroughly embarrassed for your wandering mind.
“And I have one more scar,” he said with a neutral, factual tone as he tapped the side of his visor. The decompression hissing as he pulled the visor and mouth guard off his helm. Revealing the flesh beneath.
Relieving the weight of his hand from the sketchbook, he used it to tap at the bridge of his nose. Narrowing your eyes, you took note of a smaller scar favoring the left of the bridge, hidden beneath the shadows of the large, marred streak of pink scar tissue.
The entirety of the largest wound stretched from the left cheekbone, under his eye, over his nose and down to his jaw. Or where his jaw ought to have been, as a dark silicone mold of a jaw abruptly ended the flesh’s presence.
The prosthetic doubled as a bottom lip for Genji, and you watched it twitch as he gave you a small smile. His confidence that he would never be scrutinized by you for his marks, clearly shown.
You returned the smile and quickly sketched out the additional scar. Tidying up the rest while their memory was fresh as you heard the visor and mouth guard reattach with a clink, back into place.
“I hope he comes,” you say, marking the page with the date before flipping the book closed.
Looking back to your teacher, you continued, “You deserve to have your family here. If it were me, I would definitely want my brother to be at my side. But mine is a bar tender and yours is a trained warrior. Bit of a skillset problem unless we can throw a mean margarita at the enemy.”
Your candor managed to rile a chuckle out of Genji.
The sound sparked a bit of pride in your chest. It was not a common occurrence for you to achieve the role of the funny one between you and your teacher as – outside of training – the man could become quite the comedian.
Put him with Cassidy when he too was in the right mood, and Overwatch became Second City Comedy Club. The resident cowboy had taken to treating you like a little sister after his initial approach, leaving you to frequently fall victim to the butt of his and Genji’s jokes.
While the situation was amusing for most, it left you fuming at times.
An example being the time the two had decided to take advantage of your stature and used your head as an arm rest. Resulting in your immediate irritation, which annoyingly had been the result they had sought. It took a decent deal of effort to hide the happy inkling you got simultaneously; grateful to have earned that familial spot.
The rest of the dropship ride back to the watchpoint was smooth and left you at ease.
Then – only a couple of weeks and missions later – as spring in Spain had just rounded the corner, it seemed your prayers were answered. And with a news segment no less, did Genji receive the signal he had been waiting for.
He had left almost immediately for a town in the far north of the country that had only been briefly mentioned during the morning review.
Completely by chance it was, as the occupants of the commons room had been flipping through the channels so mindlessly. The anchor reporting on a wild interview with a local vagrant, who had come onto the screen – the epitome of a lunatic – raving about having seen two blue, glowing dragons flying through the street. Going on, the individual had described a man jumping all over the rooves like a phantom in their wake.
Everyone had gathered in the room, watching what they assumed was someone trying to nab at their fifteen seconds of fame. A preconception quickly squashed when the cyborg had gone flying out the doors, saying he would be back.
Back it seemed, would not be in the same 24 hours as Genji had yet to return.
Now, almost two days had passed since his departure. Leaving the team to twiddle their thumbs and go about business as he had taken no communication devices, nor used the dropship. There was no telling where he was and that left everyone on edge.
Especially as there were no scheduled missions for another few days and sudden crises seemed in short supply for the time being.
So here you were, sat in your dorm in front of your easel; back aching as it had been hunched over since plopping in your seat at 4 AM. Having caved at the ungodly hour to your body’s lack of desire for sleep and exchanging pointless staring at your ceiling for painting to hopefully ease the mind.
For once, you had chosen to test your memory rather than referencing one of your several sketches. All of them consisting of your teammates, family, Spanish scenery, and objects you had pinned to the wall nearby.
Stroking some additional leaves into the landscape, your mind strived to compare the image with your memory of the view of the harbor from your family home in Wisconsin. Trying to survey how to go forward in your personal mission of emulating the glow of afternoon sun in the foliage that grew unencumbered there.
You are about to mix some more cadmium yellow into your carefully made emerald green hue when a great smack echoes from the hall. Causing you to fumble with your palette before gripping it in the nick of time.
Palette secure and carefully crafted paints unharmed, you hear a rush of footsteps racing past your dorm and raised voices a way off. Setting the ceramic tool aside, you hurried to your door to see the cause for all the hubbub. Upon opening it, you watch as a few more members of the team go screeching by, while others peered out from their own dorms. Leading your eyes to look down the hall to where the remaining number were split into two factions.
One of which, held back an enraged Cassidy; all putting in maximum effort into restraining the man. The other stood between the first and Genji, who was not alone.
The cyborg stood guard before an unknown individual, who clutched at his bearded jaw. Partially obscured in the morning light that poured down from the overhead windows to reflect harshly off the marble floor, his dark hair was visible as were the severe features of his face. The glint off the surface of the deadly bow he carried being the final hint you needed to reveal the individual’s identity.
You straightened; firmly keeping to the threshold of your dorm’s entrance. This man could be no one, but Hanzo himself.
Genji was currently trying to reason with Cassidy above the racket of several agents trying to keep the incensed man from lunging. Winston stood to the sideline, waiting for an ideal time to move in to mediate the chaotic exchange. The cowboy – undeterred in his anger – shouting various obscenities and what he, “oughta do to even the score”. You even caught Angela’s expression: murderous would be the only descriptor worthy of the look donned on the doctor’s normally friendly face.
Curiosity got the better of you, as you dared to take a step further out from the alcove that surrounded your door.
The motion must have caught the archer’s attention, as Hanzo’s eyes flitted up to where you stood; instantly causing you to freeze. A half smile forced its way onto your face along with your hand that rose to motion an equally stiff wave.
This is what you wanted for Genji. Now was no time to be an unwelcoming, awkward mess.
The man simply let his eyes slide back to the ground. Letting his hand fall from his jaw as he stepped around his brother and stood at his side; the action bringing Genji’s pleas for calm to a halt.
Hanzo’s own voice ringing out as he addressed the group, “I understand your anger and your hatred. I did not expect anything less. However, I have come at my brother’s summon and I will only leave at his word.”
This seemed to be enough for Winston to finally step in with a firm judgement.
His approval for Hanzo to remain here was given along with a warning – not too well disguised as being aimed at Cassidy – that there would be severe consequences for any infighting. Thus, bringing the chaos to an end, dispersing the crowd, and allowing Genji to spirit Hanzo off.
Slipping back into your room, you wondered to yourself what this turn of events may bring about.