Weapon

Days were uneventful. Once the constant disbelief and self-pity gave way to anger, there was not much left to do. Being bed-ridden was as boring as being tutored by the mentors back at home had been. He couldn't help but compare. Every person he saw, every conversation he heard, any emotion he felt were immediately translated. It made him miserable.

At times, he would wake up disoriented. Would wonder and worry. Then he would remember, and the resentment would come back. After the first incident, he had been tightly secured to the bed. A doctor had come in and assured him there was no way out using violence. Not like he intended to actually harm anyone. Nobody knew he was there, and even if they did, they would let him rot. He didn't want to be killed. He'd be dammed if the self-preservation that got him here in the first place didn't serve its purpose.

So, he was stuck with cables coming out of his body and restraints pinning him to a hard mattress. Like a monster. At times, it would become too much. He was never the calm type. He would thrash and yell, promising bloody murder to his brother and clan. The nurses steered clear of his room now. Better for him. He didn't need any other white surface with an Overwatch logo.

Now was one of those moments that seemed to occupy most of his awake time. Staring at the ceiling blankly, letting the bright lights guide his mind to paths of sweet vengeance. He stayed completely still. His arms and legs no longer had the necessity to twitch or move after prolonged periods of inactivity. They just dropped down. If he didn't acknowledge them, it was almost like they weren't even there.

The door slid open with the characteristic sound of a high-end facility. It pulled him out of his thoughts. He was used to the constant check-ups and the curious stares of the personnel. They usually did their business silently and efficiently, letting him crawl back into his thoughts unbothered. Not today. As soon as they took the first step into the room, he knew they were not an every-day visit. It seemed like ages since he last heard the clacking of high heels.

She was beautiful. Golden hair, classical features, and a graceful step that made her seem to glide. When she sat next to him and looked him in the eye, hers shone a deep blue. He was awestruck. Years of practice almost threw her an instant pickup line. He caught himself, the silent reminder of his reflection still fresh in his mind.

"Hello Genji." She spoke softly, like a caress. The way his name rolled off her tongue was enough to mitigate the surprise of hearing it again. "I've been informed by the nurses that your strength and coordination are making steady improvement. How do you feel?" It took him a while to answer, still not used to the otherness of his new mouth.

"I feel fine." Somehow, it felt like he knew her from somewhere. A distant dream, or maybe a nightmare. As much as she was beautiful sight, something in her presence made him uneasy. "Perfect! I will then remove your restraints. If you could please stand up for a quick demonstration." As she nimbly undid all the clasps, he examined her face closely. She lacked the concealed disgust every other doctor had when they looked him over. Or maybe she was just a better actress.

As he stood up and walked around the room, her eyes followed him. She kept a small, reassuring smile at all times, but her eyes didn't wrinkle as they should. He couldn't decide if they were sad, or pitying. "It seems all is in order. Fine motor skill is still lacking, but it is expected to develop soon enough." She stood and headed for the door, the slight sway of her hips hypnotizing.

"Please follow me. The commanders would like to see you." She seemed to trust him. No trembling, no nervous looks over the shoulder. Pure confidence as she floated through the doors. A couple of weeks ago, she would have been his favorite type. Those he had to slowly coax into accepting him. Now, she only made him conscious of his state.

"Who are you?" It hadn't escaped him she didn't wear a nametag. While he didn't remember the names of any of the people that checked on him, the presence of the tag had become expected, familiar. She, on the other hand, was unmistakably different. The question made her turn around. Her smile still kept its place, but the nervous tremble in her voice hinted at something different.

"Oh, I hoped you would remember me." Her hands coiled. Her eyes refused to remain steady. "I am Doctor Angela Ziegler. Head of medical research." Then it hit him. The blurred vision of a doctor asking for consent became clearer, morphing into a blond girl with beautiful features. His gut clenched and his head fell, trying to conceal the tell-tale features of his fury. He let her guide him, silently.

A part of him had thought the girl would somehow not belong to Overwatch. That she hadn't been part of what was done to him. Maybe her angelic features had misled him. Or maybe the prospect of living the rest of his life in a pathetic state had, for a second, made him yearn for something different. Something he could latch on.

But he was alone. His clan had never wanted him there. His father was dead. His brother had chosen duty over him. Even an organization that proclaimed justice backhanded him when in his most vulnerable. He had no future to choose for himself. No place to go back to. No one to lean on. Even those that seemed kind or different would always choose themselves. He had no space for them anyways. And certainly no space for hope. As the sound of their steps filled the air, and moisture began to seep into his eyes, he chose to think of anything else.

The place was much larger than he expected. It was an endless maze of glass surfaces he avoided looking at. Small touches of orange, blue and metal broke the monotonous white he had grown used to. He found it boring and inorganic. Flashes of the abundant gardens of his home entered his mind. There was no comparison.

He had never given much thought to Overwatch. They were just a distant presence the clan tried to avoid. Now, the sheer magnitude of the imprint they left on the world was evident. As they traversed the corridors, ample windows let him catch glimpses of multiple buildings in the compound, as well as people working on all sorts of research he couldn't understand. He was insignificant.

"So… what do you think?" Her voice was muffled by the ample distance he had let grow between them, and yet it commanded his attention. Her question was left unanswered. He thought many things he couldn't bring himself to say. Rather, he looked at her steadily, forcing them both into a stop.

"I don't need your pity. You have done enough." He didn't miss the sudden watering of her eyes, or how her lips twitched downwards to then press tightly into a line. He didn't miss her jaw clenching and the way her hands grabbed her files for support. It felt good. Like victory. The rest of the walk passed by in silence and a feeling of triumph.

"So, this is the famous Genji Shimada." The man in front of him seemed to tower over him, even while reclining casually on the table. His presence was dense and intimidating. "Morrison, you never told me he would be this short… or ugly." But that didn't mean he would let himself be insulted. He was in no mood for the scornful stares and teasing speeches. As much as he had wished to punch the bastard's wit out, the other man's hand on his shoulder prevented him. Instead, he glared.

"Cut it out Reyes." The others presence was just as strong, albeit more professional. He removed his hand, noting the growing tension in Genji's muscles. "I am commander Jack Morrison, and this is Gabriel Reyes, head of Blackwatch." The man was a poster boy in every sense of the word. Blonde hair, chiseled features, toned body, determined stare. Probably also a dazzling smile. So much perfection made Genji recoil. This, for some reason, was amusing to Reyes.

"Oh. It seems the runt has a better sense than I thought." A deep grunt, and the man stood up completely and walked towards him with a purpose. "Listen kid. You are part of Blackwatch now. We are the ones that get shit done. We do things that no other part of this organization has the balls to do. It isn't going to be pretty, or easy. You are under my command now. And you damn better be worth it." Reyes eyed him up and down, seemingly satisfied with the glare he was receiving. "We start immediately. Morrison will lead you to the training grounds." He looked at the other commander, almost expecting a refusal. But he remained silent. As the man walked towards the entrance, he suddenly turned around with a frown. "And go get something to wear."

Reyes exited the room, leaving behind the sound of heavy stomping. "You will find someone outside to guide you towards your quarters and the training grounds. Welcome aboard soldier." Morrison wasn't looking at him, but rather at the place Reyes had been. He seemed annoyed and angry. But above all, worried. Genji didn't answer. He just headed towards the door.

He encountered a man in the corridor who showed him just what he was told. On the way, he was given a training suit. He was received at the training grounds with shouts and expectations. His prosthetics refused to work properly, and the strain would sometimes leave him breathless. But through the ruthless orders of Reyes and the heavy sweat falling over his eyes, he found himself with the tiniest of smiles. It felt good to have a purpose.