Chapter 2:

Hanzo Part I

Everything felt like a blur. He couldn't even register his own hand upon his injured shoulder, and despite the fall winds lightly brushing past and the calm red sun, his mind was only filled with ugly thoughts. Death and struggle, blood and violence. The last words his brother spoke…

Hanzo threw his head back and gave a choked sigh, but his regretful thoughts were broken by a familiar whirring sound. Was there a plane nearby? But... no shipments were due, nor were any people to arrive. Were there infiltrators? Lifting himself off the ground, he approached the opening from which he had entered the training field. His experienced eyes quickly peeked around the corner and gave him an image of his surroundings. The only difference was a sniper lay in wait in the far left window, probably protecting whoever was now in the temple, and whoever was now in the temple was looking at his brother's corpse.

Hanzo felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him. Nobody was going to touch his brother, dead or alive.

Keeping in mind the sniper, he skillfully climbed the side of the wall and immediately ducked down on the walkway that would lead to the upper decks of the building.

With his feet barely making a sound across the old wood structure, he crossed the carp statue and stepped through one of many entrances. Just in case, he peeked around the corner of the staircase that led to the balcony. The sniper was intently searching outside, had he possibly seen him?

Only one way to find out. Stepping back, Hanzo gave a quick search of his surroundings, looking for something that might satisfy the man's concern. His eyes landed on a black bird preening its feathers on the floor of the walkway. Perfect.

If the infiltrator had seen him it must've been his hair, and a black bird might just be the best substitute. He approached the bird, expecting it to fly away once he had moved only a few feet closer. However, the bird continued to clean itself. Hanzo got closer, minding to keep his head down, and made a large shooing motion at the bird. It stopped what it was doing and stared at Hanzo, curiously tilting its head.

For goodness sake, bird. He lightly hit the bird, but it only jumped away and defensively pecked his hand. At this point Hanzo felt like slapping himself and walking away, but he would not be deterred. Instead, he simply signaled the bird to climb onto his hand and tried to toss it in the air. Apparently the bird liked that better, because it jumped off and took flight, cawing at the top of its lungs.

That should be enough, but it took much more work than it should have Hanzo thought with an inward sigh.

Indicating that his plan did work, the sniper trained his rifle on the bird, then let his guard down. Hanzo didn't care to watch though, and darted across the small hallway quietly hopping up the stairs. He accidentally moved past the doorframe, but quickly ducked back behind it, unsure of what to expect. That is, until he heard the voices. The first one was more clear, and on his left. "Sorry, guys, false alarm. Just a damn bird."

They were also speaking in English, which made it a bit harder to understand anything. He heard a response from below which just sounded like gibberish in his ears. Listening to a foreign language behind walls with several yards in between you made it even harder to understand. Slightly frustrated, but now sure where his new found enemies were located, he peeked around the corner. His eyes initially made a quick sweep on the sniper, making sure he wasn't looking up, then he glanced down at the group below him.

From what he could see, there was a group of four, three men and one woman. At this point they all appeared to be leaving. One man seemed to be uncomfortably holding the body of his brother, and even seeing it from far away caused Hanzo's eyes to tear up in grief. The woman was fussing over the man with an accent that slightly annoyed Hanzo, how could you possibly understand the English language if everyone spoke it differently?

However, past being annoyed, he felt helpless and alone as complete strangers stole his brother's body for whatever reason. He would have loved to engage them and protect the empty shell of family, but even from here he could see the heavy guns each man held. Studying the retreating figures further, he noticed the matching uniforms of blue and white accents, his eyes frantically searched for some sign of a logo, but by then they had already entered the ship.

A heavy thud below startled Hanzo. The sniper had jumped down from his position, rifle secured to his back, and was casually walking towards the ship after the previous group. Despite being disappointed in himself for forgetting the man, Hanzo took the perfect opportunity to spot the logo that had marked every uniform.

It was a white circle turned orange at the top with two arms arching in the middle. They were a part of Overwatch, the group that had fought in the Omnic Crisis and currently fought to bring peace to the world. No wonder they were lurking here.

The last man hopped onto the ship, and Hanzo listened as the ship took off and eventually left earshot. He turned around and walked down the stairs, staring straight ahead. Then faster than a man could blink, his fist collided with the wall.

"Kuso!"

Why didn't he try to do something? At the very least he could've taken out the sniper, or distract them, scare them, something! Instead he'd sat there, too afraid to do anything for his own sake. He continued walking, practically breathing out frustration as his feet carried him across the bridge and down the steps.

Past the gate, through an entrance, and across a silent, paved road. Through a door, up more stairs, and then another door, staring straight ahead with angry eyes until he made it to his room.

He broke down, but it was worse this time. Full of so much regret and grief, filled with thoughts of unworthiness and dishonor, he collapsed into a heap on his bed. He didn't bother to dress his wounds first, nor did he care to take off his blood stained clothes. Nothing mattered except for his actions.

He killed his brother. He killed Genji, one of the last members of his close family, and then he let complete strangers drag the body away. For countless years he had followed the orders of his elders, believing that they would make the wisest decisions, but this…

He rolled over to stare at the ceiling, tears stung his eyes as he tried to think of what he could've done. However, no matter how hard or how long he pondered, there was no other way Hanzo could have saved his brother.

Those last words still echoed in his head. One day, he swore, they would drive him insane.

As the words still echoed in his ears, he looked at his hands, gently bringing himself to a sitting position. Each one was splattered in blood, sticky yet dry. It was only another reminder of what he'd done. A mournful scream of "No!" sounded across the house, coming from the grieving lungs of Hanzo. Another followed, and another, growing weaker as he continued, until he was left sobbing quietly, tears and blood mixing in the sheets of his bed. For an hour he lay, weeping for his lost brother, curled up in a ball and unwilling to move. He might've called himself childish if it weren't for the situation he was in. Eventually, he was forced to get up by the same force that had made him murder his brother, orders and commitment.

Hanzo rose, a tired man, and trudged towards the shower. Despite the relaxing water, he felt no better, and when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he didn't recognize who stared back at him. He made himself look presentable, and walked out the building. The fall air only made him tense, and he did his best to look confident as he strode along the road. Fake it until you make it.

At exactly six in the evening, he walked in and greeted his elders, making no effort to hide the exhaustion that lined his face. They noticed the unfortunate state Hanzo was in, but did not mention it. Instead, they invited him to sit down as they discussed his ascension in the Clan. Their first question was if he completed the task.

Hanzo answered, remembering the disappearance of the body, "Genji is dead, gone from this world. If you were to see him in any shape or form, you'd only be seeing a ghost."

Throughout the meeting, he did his best to listen, but some things blurred and faded here and there, making it hard to listen and respond to what was being said. Whether or not they noticed this, Hanzo was thankful when they decided to discuss the rest of this in a couple of days. Their reason was that 'you must need to rest after your task, the death of family members can cause rough times for even the strongest of us.' Hanzo thanked them for their time and quickly left, no longer wanting to be noticed. The relief of being alone lifted weight off his shoulders, but barely any to be of significant notice.

Silence settled on the empty street as everyone began to ready for the night. The fall breeze turned into a heavier wind, and as it grew stronger, it grew colder. The winds bit at his face, taunting him, trying to make him angry again. But Hanzo remained unfazed, he stared straight ahead, solemn and sober. His stride didn't speed or slow, and not a single step made a sound.

For nearly an hour he walked the streets of Hanamura, going nowhere, meeting the stares of children who were being herded inside, and all the while walking silently with the same stride, never a moment out of beat.

He felt like a ghost, someone who was supposed to be here, yet not supposed to be here. Something out of the ordinary which people feared. Something faceless and haunting.

One brave boy, a decade or so younger than him, decided to face him with a girl cowering behind. Hanzo stopped as the teenager stepped in his way. His eyes moved from the concrete to the boy's eyes in a cold, unforgiving stare.

"Move," he said, low and intimidating.

The girl's eyes immediately dropped and she tapped her friend's shoulder.

"Come on, Jiro, we should probably just keep on going our way," It came out in a nervous mumble, and the boy, Jiro, gave her one glance and an ignorant snort.

"No way! Look at this sad sack," He sneered, all the while glaring at Hanzo. "Isn't he supposed to be an all great Shimada or something? I'll bet he can't even punch a dummy without crying. Isn't that right, Shit-mada?"

The boy's face shriveled into a mocking expression as he continued to taunt the unfazed man.

"I'll give you three seconds to move."

"Or you'll what-" Jiro was cut off by his pleading friend. The girl fell to her knees and looked up at Hanzo.

"Oh, please, Shimada-sama, please forgive my friend! He's not thinking correctly right now, he must have had one too many drinks. I promise I…"

Hanzo's eyes had only glanced at the begging girl for a second, then decided her plea was of no matter. Instead, he approached the boy until their chests nearly touched.

"I won't tell you what I'll do, but I will tell you what I've done," he spat. "Today, not two hours ago, I murdered my own brother because he was in my way. I walked out of there without a scratch, and that was only today. I've killed more people than you've fucked, if you had ever had a chance, and I'm done dealing with everyone's shit. So, I'm feeling generous and giving you and your friend five seconds to get out of my sight before someone realizes you're gone."

The boy's face fell, and while being distracted by the threatening glare he was receiving, he forgot to notice something terribly painful. Hanzo's right fist hooked underneath Jiro's chin in a hideous crack and sent him flying back.

"The timer starts now."

The two scrambled to their feet and began to run, not caring to look back, and eventually disappeared behind the nearest corner.

As soon as they were out of sight, however, his hardened gaze softened, and he lowered his head again. Hanzo felt guilt for using his brother's death as an intimidating factor, but that was how the world worked. He began to go on his way home, just the way he came.

Not surprisingly, he arrived home near nine-thirty. A few sentries straightened their poise if they saw him while walking through the grounds, but he was otherwise left alone and unnoticed. Now he sat in the kitchen, properly dressing his wounds. He had lied to the kid, the battle had left him scathed, although it was more emotional than physical.

Hanzo gently dabbed an alcohol soaked rag on his shoulder, hissing at the sting it made against the already throbbing cuts. Genji had always used shurikens more lethally than they were meant, and in this case he finally knew how bad it hurt. However, unlike his own, they weren't coated in poison.

Each shuriken had buried itself far deeper into his skin than he had originally thought, and now he stared at them in the mirror, flexing his muscles as much as he dared to test them. Eventually he wrapped his shoulder with bandages and sat down to have a light dinner in the lonely kitchen light. The next month wouldn't be too easy.

And so it wasn't. For the next week he consulted with the elders about becoming the Master of the Shimada Clan. Each meeting would take up a majority of the day, and for the few hours he had open, there was little he could do. His ability to train was weakened, for his left arm would always falter when using the bow, and every time he held his katana, guilt and sorrow overwhelmed him. So all the while he was forced to stay put and find other things to do. It wasn't that hard, however.

He already had an e-book which would allow him to read whatever he'd like, and on the third day he decided to purchase a blank journal in which he took the time to draw. Other times he sat down in the castle to meditate, a way of calming his mind from stress and forgetting the predicament with his brother.

At the end of the week, the elders called him for the last time as an heir to his father. Hanzo entered in his formal wear to find the elders dressed similarly and standing in a circle, he noticed his uncle patiently stood behind them.

In the past few days he'd quickly grown to dislike Hayato. He was there in every meeting despite not being officially welcomed to the elders' circle, and he always seemed to be convincing the others to his own favor by giving what sounded like mild suggestions. After the day he had been ordered to rid of Genji, Hanzo realized what Hayato was trying to do.

Today, however, his uncle was at the back of his mind. Instead, he focused on the ceremony in front of him. Each man spoke to him in turn, and two presented him with items. The first was a set of robes, tailored especially for him and his duty, and the next, his katana, polished and sharpened to shine bright as the sun. Afterwards, they made formal and extended farewells and Hanzo left, confident and straight-backed. But when he was once more out of sight, he stopped and stared at the blade he'd been given again. All the blood had been cleaned off, and the hilt was no longer stiff with dry sweat. He carefully brushed a finger along the edge, feeling the perfectly sharp curve and creating a cut he could barely feel.

A drop of blood was all it took, and Hanzo felt like falling to his knees again. The perfectly rounded drop looked so clean against the shining edge, like everything was perfect, even the small imperfection had no flaws. Was he really expected to do this right the first time as if he had been doing it his whole life?

With a heavy sigh he brushed off the blood and sheathed the katana. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he returned home just so he could put away his stuff and sit at the empty table in the kitchen. He could've sat there for hours on end, staring at the chair that seated no one. But thoughts began to stir in his head and he couldn't continue.

Everyday he'd wake up and check his wounds, and now without being pressured with becoming the master of the Shimada Clan, he had some more leisure time next to his new work.

More time meant more thinking, more walking, more drawing, more suffering.

For the next month, Hanzo constantly found himself thinking about his actions, reimagining the scenes in where he mercilessly and brutally harmed his brother. When he drew, he began to notice that his sketches began to look familiar, like Genji. Hanzo was cautious about not drawing stories, afraid that they might reflect past experiences. He did his best to keep himself busy. Hanzo found himself leading assassinations, finding areas of good trade and ordered infiltrations and heists. He personally met with dealers when it came to the selling of arms or substances, and if there was nothing else to do at the moment, he would check their storage and men to make sure everything was running smoothly.

Unfortunately, there came a time when Hanzo had to enter the temple, his findings were not to his liking.

Hanzo had left the katana in its stand, and was only armed with his bow and the occasional hidden knife. Upon entering the building, nothing happened. He'd tensed up for this specific moment, waiting, expecting, something to happen, but nothing changed. Nothing moved, nothing stirred.

Except, Hanzo swore the smell of something tangy began to fill the air. He was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the banner with it's one tear. The reek grew stronger, and the longer he stared at the torn piece, the more familiar it came, until…

The room grew darker, the air grew thick, and the smell of blood hung in the air. Hanzo glanced around, unsure of what was happening, but turned back when he heard a whimper. Directly in front of him, the tapestry was still soaking in the damage it took, and below him. Below him was the crumpled form of his brother, Genji. It looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"Anija," It whispered, and in that moment Hanzo felt something shift in his hands. The same katana he had used to murder the man in front of him rested in his grip again. Absolutely horrified, he dropped the blade and stumbled, falling on his back only to be brought into reality again.

The room was bright again, the afternoon sun shined outside, and the banner only gently swayed with the wind. No harm was being done, and yet… It had felt so real. Hanzo quickly left without glancing back. He couldn't do this, not now.