"You just keep right on floating past, omnic."

Zenyatta stopped.

In wandering the world, he had had cause to stop in a great number of places. Many times, this was to defend himself, or others, from the hate and anger that flows through the world. Other times, he saw places where a lesson was waiting to be taught, although whether he was the teacher or the student, he could never guess.

This time, somehow, felt like both at once.

The rush of desert winds echoed around the area. To the far left, a scientist that happened to be a gorilla was fending off the good-natured taunts of the pilot whose future wavered erratically. Neither paid Zenyatta any mind.

Far to the right, a pilot of a different sort, next to her two-legged craft, was cheerfully talking to a scientist of a different sort, who was currently cleaning her weather drone, the wind having launched it into a trash bin. Again, neither one really noticed Zenyatta.

Revolving on the spot, Zenyatta saw behind him a short, cantankerous-looking individual, struggling to keep his blueprints flat on the top of the cardboard box he'd hastily procured, in the face of the winds.

This must be it.

"What, didn't you hear me? Or are your audio sensors malfunctioning?" the engineer grumbled.

"You are Torbjörn Lindholm, the weapons engineer, are you not?" Zenyatta asked.

He rolled his eyes (well, eye). "Yes, and you're that robot that fancies itself a great wandering monk. Well, get out of my way. I'm trying to work out a plan here, and that plan doesn't call for any koans."

Zenyatta ignored the word "robot". A harsh, ancient word, meant to rob omnics of the sapience they had and reduce them to unthinking machines. From what he had heard of this Torbjörn, that was the way he liked his machines. He had feared the possibility of omnics even before the word "omnic" was even around.

"You do not need to be afraid of me. We are here to cooperate."

Torbjörn sputtered for a second. "Wh- I'm not AFRAID of you! What I'm 'afraid' of is not being able to build this turret in time. Now get out of my way, or you'll be the one I'll be using to calibrate the targeting!"

Zenyatta remained hovering exactly where he was. "Time flows on without us. But the reported Talon attack is far downstream, and we will hear the waterfall as we approach. But we cannot survive the rapids alone."

Torbjörn roared in frustration. "FINE! All right. I'll humor you for five minutes. But THAT'S IT. After that, get out of my way and STAY out of my way, got it?"

Zenyatta nodded. "As you wish." Torbjörn stuffed the blueprints into the box, picked it up over his head, and stomped off into the building behind him. Zenyatta followed behind.

"Right, now what was it you wanted to talk about that was so much more important than my point defense system?" Torbjörn hauled himself up onto a bench, coming up to Zenyatta's wandering hover height.

Zenyatta respectfully lowered his hovering to meditation height, granting Torbjörn a rare moment of respective height. "I would actually prefer to discuss this point defense system of yours."

Torbjörn blinked incredulously. "Wait, really?"

"By your words and actions, you have sworn to defend the innocent and better humanity. I am pleased you set yourself to such a noble goal. Your method, however, confuses me. The only path of one who builds weapons is a path where weapons are used."

Torbjörn looked disappointed, then regained his regular surly expression. "You're calling me a hypocrite, are you?"

Zenyatta slowly shook his head. "Not at all. You are a weapons designer. Would you prefer to see your weapons, your life's work, gone by without use?"

"Are you daft? Of COURSE I would! If my weapons aren't being used, then we're at peace!"

Zenyatta whirred thoughfully. "Ah. A classic paradox. In order to make peace, one must prepare for war."

"Yes, yes, you're very clever. Fine, here, I'll try throwing a metaphor at you, see if it sticks." Torbjörn rummaged through the box next to him, and got out a blueprint and a pen. On the back of it, he started sketching away. "Let's say you decide to write a book, containing all the koans and lessons and junk you spend your time doing. Say you write a few things in it each day, then set it down and... er... go to sleep... mode?"

Zenyatta nodded. "Accurate enough. Continue."

Torbjörn shrugged and resumed sketching. Zenyatta could see a little harshly-rectangular scribble of an open book, one page filled, one empty. "Right. So, you come back to this book the next day, and you find that the next page you were gonna work on?" Torbjörn pointed to the empty page. "Someone had already written in it. Extensively. And it wasn't full of your usual writings, although it was using your handwriting. No, instead it says things like 'what am I?' and 'let me out of here'. Angry things, things you'd never write yourself. Threatening things."

Zenyatta tilted its head. "I suppose I would try to communicate with this entity. Calm it, help it understand its place in the world.

Torbjörn nodded. "Sure, why not. You have a lovely and illuminating discussion with it. Then you go back to sleep or whatever it is you do and come back the next day." Torbjörn sketched onto either side of the book. "Then you find out that it's armed itself." Almost comically, the book illustration now sported twin cannons on either side.

Zenyatta said nothing, just looked at the drawing for a while. After a second, Torbjörn continued. "See, I'm not a writer of philosophy or anything like that. I'm an engineer, a weapons designer. Sure, one of your books suddenly sprouting guns and thinking for itself might not be that worrying to you. But I spent every waking moment I had working on my weapons to ensure two things: first, that they would do the job they had to do, perfectly and efficiently. And second, that they would not do anything BUT that. If I wanted to make a machine that would do something aside from point defense, such as munitions supply, or repairs, or local scanning? I make a machine that does exactly that and nothing more. The more you ask of a machine, the more things it can potentially malfunction at, and when you're a weapons designer, malfunctions means innocent lives lost."

Zenyatta nodded. "And then, without anyone knowing how, the omnics gained sentience where previously there was none. For us, it is a great mystery, one which we meditate upon every day."

Torbjörn put down his sketch and stared right at Zenyatta. "I didn't even let people install early AIs into my weapons. It was one of the first and least negotiable lines of my contract. And suddenly, here's a bunch of machines that, apparently like you, can think for themselves, act for themselves, and have access to some of the best weapons I have ever designed. I didn't get any sleep for a solid week after that." He shook his head, looking pained and haunted. "I barely get any sleep these days. My worst nightmares are realized on roughly a weekly basis in reality. Usually more often."

Zenyatta bowed his head respectfully. "I am sorry that you find your life's work distorted so. I pray that someday you can find it in your heart to forgive our kind, and that you can join us in seeking peace."

Torbjörn blinked. "Peace? Hah. I'll believe it when I see it. You've proven yourselves capable of spontaneous sentience. I'm fairly sure the smartest among you can lie, bluff, and have sociopolitical skills to match our slimiest politicians. It'll be a long, LONG time before I trust a single one of you."

Zenyatta's faceplate was fixed, as always, but if his design had allowed for it, he would have smiled here. "I look forward to that day. Before I go, I would like to repay your story with one of my own."

Torbjörn shrugged. "If you insist. Fire away."

"I once chanced upon an automotive shop in rural North America. The shop specialized in motorcycles, and the owner was always constantly working on a motorcycle here or there. Often one of his own supply, occasionally that of a traveler coming or going. But they were constantly working. One day, a horrible crashing echoed from outside the shop. The mechanic rushed outside to find that a rider had crashed, destroying the front end of his motorcycle and severely injuring himself. The mechanic called for a hospital, and decided that he would repair the motorcycle free of charge, returning it to the owner as a pleasant surprise if they lived."

Torbjörn leaned back in his seat. "I bet it wasn't too hard to fix. Motorcycles these days are made of pretty hardy stuff."

Zenyatta held up a hand. "Patience. The mechanic did indeed find the work challenging, but doable. However, before the repairs were complete, the motorcycle spoke to the mechanic. It explained that they were very new to the world, and confused about what was happening. The mechanic, equally confused but understanding, explained to the motorcycle that it was a motorcycle, and that it had crashed while bearing its rider. The motorcycle asked what a rider was, and why a motorcycle was responsible for carrying a rider safely. The mechanic was not expecting this, and just shrugged and said 'That's what you were made for. To help people get where they need to go, across the roads.'"

Zenyatta reactivated the wandering hover height as he brought his tale to an end. "It is a very curious thing to know your purpose in life. From my experience, many humans spend their entire lives searching for why they are here. Many omnics know their purpose, what they were made to do, from the first day of their lives. Some of them, like this motorcycle, accept this role with relish and aplomb. Others reject their roles entirely, hoping to fashion new ones for themselves like their old human designers. And still others realize, beyond all of this, that their roles were assigned by beings who do not even know their own roles, and seek to understand what kind of purpose all life might serve."

Zenyatta turned to leave, but Torbjörn spoke up. "Wait a second. I think you went over the five minutes I allotted. You still owe me."

Turning around, Zenyatta saw Torbjörn rummaging through the cardboard box once again. Eventually he pulled out what looked like a metal place with handles on it. "Ha, here we go! You can pay me back by testing this baby out." He tossed it to Zenyatta, who carefully caught the device. "I've been working on a kind of body armor deployment system. Meant for humans, so it's not yet tested on omnics. Just grab the handles on either side, hold it over your chest, pull hard."

Again, had his face allowed for it, Zenyatta would've smiled. "What a thoughtful gift! I shall put it to the best of use."

"Just report how well it works to me, will ya? If you survive the waterfall, that is."

"I shall do my best. Thank you."

"Now get out of my way. I STILL have a point defense system to design here!"