Overwatch

It was simple enough. Get in, kill the target, get out. They had given him all the information he could need. Guard shifts, blueprints and schematics all laid down orderly, efficiently. There had been no real warning. One day, Reyes had simply called for him. The next he was aboard a glider headed for Japan's headquarters, alone. His breathing was shallow, and he could feel the frantic beating of his heart. But he wasn't nervous. A smile kept trying to creep on his face. When the carrier landed with a tremble and the door opened, he let it.

He was immediately and discretely dispatched to the site. He could hear Reyes' orders playing in his ears, reminding him of details that were forgotten as soon as they were heard. He wouldn't fail. It didn't matter most still thought he would run away or turn on them at the first opportunity. Didn't matter that if he was caught, he would be left behind with no second thought. No. All other voices and opinions were background noise to him. He came with a single purpose, and that was to kill.

He knew Overwatch was using him as an easy way to get rid of the Shimadas. They counted on his previous experiences to get the mission done. To him, there was no difference as long as his clan's blood ran through his sword. The vehicle came to a stop, and a small pat on his shoulder signaled they were in position. He grabbed his weapons, running the side of his hand through the blade's edge. It was given back to him some time after the first months of training. They told him it was found near him, drenched in his blood. The irony only served to make the moment sweeter.

He recognized the building as one of the many warehouses where the clan stored weapons and other contraband. He used to come here with his father and brother to learn what they called "trading". Hanzo and him would stand back as his father discussed numbers and shipments with the man in charge of the zone. Sometimes fights would break out or a rat would be flushed out. Behind the backs of bodyguards and the security of guns, those had been nothing but fieldtrips to him.

Ahead, two guards stood at the entrance, barely illuminated by a dim light. They talked idly, not paying attention. He could have easily found a way around them. Yet, both men dropped to floor. A second later, he was entering the building unseen. The path wasn't clear. As the night progressed, bodies fell one after another. He dodged, climbed and killed, adrenaline flowing freely through his body. The communicator buzzed, bullets bore into him, but to no avail. He could see the fear in their eyes, feel the strain, the pain. It was exhilarating.

In the end, only the target remained. He had made sure it was that way. The sound of the man's pleading echoed between the walls. Genji stood in front of him, letting his victory sink in. Letting the hatred boil within him. He took his mask off, but the man didn't look at him. He had his arms above his head and his eyes on the floor. Sweat and tears rolled off his face. In some other situation, he might have recognized him. Now he only saw his death.

Genji had so much to say. To scream and accuse. To blame. So he let his blade do the talking. When he finally walked away, the yelling in his communicator came through. The bodies on the floor became visible. The many wounds on his body bled.

He was received at the headquarters by a very angry videocall. Apparently, he had jeopardized the operation and had refused to follow direct orders. They called his methods unnecessary and over the top. But he had completed the mission. He knew it. And they knew it too. He would be going back to Switzerland without mayor consequences.

He spent the rest of the day away in the medical unit, replaying his first mission in his mind over and over. The hatred hadn't gone away. It was still there, lurking. He felt sick.

He sat in the carrier, quietly observing the people in front of him. Even now, after dozens of missions together, they kept a visible distance from him. It didn't bother him. It made his work easier. When they worried for each other and stalled the mission, he could go ahead to fulfill his own. No restraints. So, when the carrier landed and they walked off together, he silently stared at their backs. He only knew the names of half of them.

Reyes talked of cooperation, and the obligation of supporting your squad. When on missions, he restricted their interactions to only that. And even after all the times Reyes yelled for him to work with the team, they were still strangers to him. He exited the carrier with the sole purpose of getting to his room. Yet, he was stopped.

Dr. Ziegler was waiting for him, as she did every time he came back from another murder. She would insist on running maintenance on his prosthetics, and redo any medical procedure performed by other doctors. He would try his best to avoid or ignore her, wanting nothing else than to distract himself. But she would get her way most of the time, apparently undeterred by his angry glares and lack of response.

Most Blackwatch agents whispered behind his back. Said they would kill to spend some time with the doctor, have her "check on them". He would give them his place if he could. The doctor annoyed him at her best, and made him remember many things he barely managed to keep out of mind. Her stare was by far the worst. Even if most people in Overwatch had already gone through the stages of fear, disgust and apprehension to eventually tolerate his presence, she was still stuck in pity. Her eyes looked at him the same way they did when she first offered him that smile, and it still made him feel the same anger.

"Genji, over here." Her voice was as warm as always. He at least had to accept she was perseverant. He stood in front of her, arms crossed. Her smile trembled for a second, but came back as intensely as before. "I have something I would like to show you. Something I've been working on." She had never tried to show him any of her projects before. Their interactions had been strictly medical, and he was happy to keep them that way. He wanted to know where she got the idea that he would like to see her work. He began to speak and let her know he had no time for her pet projects, but she wasn't finished.

"It has to do with, uh…" She glanced at the retreating members of Blackwatch, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I think I found a way to give you back your taste." He was surprised. Ever since his initial reconstruction, all other procedures had gone towards making him a better weapon. For him to jump higher, run faster. Never had someone proposed the idea of something so mundane. It seemed suspicious. At first, he thought maybe Overwatch was using him for testing. To see if the omnic freak could take yet another operation. But the doctor looked at him with wide eyes and a nervous smile, not the professional coldness other Overwatch members used with him. He nodded.

He was nervous. The doctor said the operation had been completed without a hitch. He could feel the familiar numbness of anesthesia wearing out, but his mouth felt the same. It had barely been hours since he had been informed of the opportunity, but still it had been enough to raise his expectations. While he had been unconscious, he had dreamt of the delicate taste of fish, and the onslaught of flavor a full meal could bring. He had hope. And he knew how easily it could be crushed.

The doctor arrived, carrying in her hands a small tray. She laid it out in front of him. They were chocolates. "These are swiss chocolates. The sensitivity might still not be as strong, but we should know if it worked by now. Try them." He could see her expectations. The way she moved her weight from foot to foot, and slightly clenched her hands. He grabbed one, noting how it didn't melt in his hand. Whatever the result was, he would remain inhuman. With a flick of his hand, he threw the chocolate into his mouth.

For the first few seconds, he could taste nothing. He couldn't help but show the disappointment on his face. The doctor frowned, and began to explain all the alternate procedures they could try. He didn't hear her. Slowly, something sweet expanded in his mouth. Silky, creamy. It was watered down, bland. But it was chocolate. For the first time in more than a year, he could feel a genuine smile form on his face. And he let it be.

The doctor looked at him with her own smile. As he ate all the chocolates on the tray, one by one, she began to recount all the research she had made. But he was far away. As the initial happiness began to diminish, he couldn't shake a feeling of discomfort. The doctor he knew pitied him, but would always be professional. She had the same agenda as the rest of Overwatch. Therefore, she didn't really care.

"Why do this?" Her rambling slowly came to a stop, and her eyes lost the gleeful glint. "I wanted to help you." She gently lowered herself on the bed, looking at him with that same old expression. "The nurses told me how much it affected you not being able to taste the food. I thought maybe this would help you feel… more human."

He could feel the anger rising within him before she even spoke her final words. With abrupt movements, he stood up and headed for the door. "You do not know what it is like. Of what it means to be human for me." He stopped at the entrance, refusing to let her see his pain. "I've said this before. I don't need your pity. And I don't want it either." She was silent. Then he exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

At night, he sat in the dim lights of his room, staring at the steaming bowl of instant noodles in front of him. The package had been with him for a long time now, at the same time a sweet memory and a brutal reminder. He never thought he would ever cook them again. Once, eating had been a pleasure. Something he did with his friends after a fun-filled evening. Now, it was a chore only shared by himself and his room.

The first spoonful was glory, as was the last and everything in between. Memories came crashing one after another, and the taste lingered long after he was finished. He looked at the empty bowl. His hand still lingered near it, clutching the chopsticks the same way he always had. And for a moment, he was human again.

Another mission, another meeting with Reyes. At some point, it had come to be expected of him to do some wrong at them. It was something of a monthly chat of theirs, involving more yelling and angry glares than talking. Not this time. Reyes stood in the shadows, as always. His eyes were looking steadily at him, but his mouth didn't move.

It was Morrison in front of him. The one doing the yelling. As much as it was a special occasion the commander took time off his schedule to come talk, he couldn't bring himself to listen. He knew what they wanted from him, and he damn right wasn't going to give it to them. He was here for his own reasons.

He had had to infiltrate and bring information. It hadn't been difficult. Had he wanted to, it would have been done flawlessly. His abilities had been recognized early on, and someone had finally made the decision to send him on an important mission. Something about the function of god programs. He didn't care. He wasn't an errand boy. He wasn't here to play fetch, and even less do it without killing a bastard.

So, knowing what it is they wanted, he set out to do it in the most unpractical, problem-inducing way. He might have crossed a line, but he had lost the fear for his life the instant he noticed how they treated him. Beyond a soldier, and even beyond a human being, he was a huge investment and a dirty secret. As much as they preached about justice and "doing the right thing", they would keep him around just to keep themselves intact.

Even now, after knowing he had compromised the security of millions, all he could think of was what they could do about it. In the end, he had actually gotten it. Many people had died. Some had survived. Pictures of him along with many Blackwatch agents were circulating the internet. But the information was being decoded by Athena, and many more lives would be saved.

"Look at me! Do you understand what you've done?" Morrison was livid. He spat at every word. Thankfully, it all stopped at his visor. "Are you even listening? Are you looking at me? For fuck's sake… Take that thing off!" Genji froze. He crossed his arms defiantly, but remained silent.

"Take that fucking thing off! Right now!" He didn't want to. As a matter of fact, this had a long time coming. He didn't move. Morrison was about to pounce on him. A vein popped out of his forehead, and his hands twitched forcefully. But he didn't. He stilled, and let it out in a glare.

"Stop being such a fucking brat. This…" He gestured around him, still keeping his eyes on him. "Is good. What we do is good. We are fighting for a better future. And you? You are throwing it away. We gave you an opportunity-" At this, words tried to fumble out of Genji's mouth, fueled by a sudden rage he could barely control. But Morrison wouldn't let him. He kept on talking, ignoring his words. "- to make something out of yourself! To take a better path!"

He couldn't let him finish. His rage wouldn't. His words raised in volume, drowning Morrison's voice under his own. "The only thing you gave me- the only thing you made me into, is a monster!" He walked forward. "What kind of better future could there be for someone like me?" Morisson looked at him. Unfazed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Reyes take a tentative step forwards.

"Sometimes, sacrifices are made. You became what you needed to become, for the greater good." Fury, and sharp yell. "A sacrifice I never chose!" Now, Reyes stood next to him, almost touching him. Morrison still glared at him from his pedestal. Like he understood everything. Genji scoffed.

"It is easy to say that commander, when the greater good has never demanded a sacrifice from you." He turned to leave. Neither of them tried to stop him. The corridors were as bland as they always were. Faceless people scrambled to get out his way. Others were pushed out of it.

At the training grounds, piles of scrap piled at his feet. The force of his blade's strokes was enough to shatter them. Those around him looked on with fear and hint of admiration. The speed and strength this new body had given him enabled him to do so much more. He was so much more. He was helpless.

It was one of the many nights he couldn't sleep. When he could find no comfortable position, and the buzzing broke the silence like an alarm clock. Nights he would stare at the uniform darkness above him, and think of what got him here. Of who was to blame. Of how things had changed. In nights like these, he knew there would be no rest. So he stood and dressed as he always did. Put on his armor and helmet, and headed for the training grounds.

At first, these nights had been filled with screams and punches. With pained grunts and the destruction of anything that crossed his path. Now he let the fury tire him, waited for the memories to be swept away by his sweat. He knew they would come back. Maybe another night, maybe tomorrow. While eating. While walking. It was inevitable. So, it would start again. But for a moment, they would leave him alone.

He had learnt the exact layout of the Swiss headquarters the first few weeks of training. He knew exactly how to get anywhere he pleased, and how to avoid anyone while doing so. At night, the bright fluorescent lights dimmed, and the doors to most rooms locked. Yet, the training grounds were always open. There was never a time someone wasn't punching or shooting. Maybe they came here for the same reasons he did, wishing to forget.

Today, only a single person shot at the targets. Over and over again, with mechanical precision. He stopped for a second when Genji approached, but didn't speak. It was known that at night, it was a time for silence. Even more so when it came to the Shimada.

Hours passed by with the same repetitive sounds of bullets and slashes. When the sun rose, Genji headed for his room. His muscles ached, and the heat inside his armor was suffocating. Still, his mind was unclear. In a last attempt at distraction, he took a wrong turn and headed for the cafeteria. He rarely came here. The idea of anyone being able to see his face disgusted him. There was a reason he almost never took his helmet or visor off. As Reyes had said when he first put it on, "It's much better when we can't see your ugly mug."

It was empty. The lights flickered on at his presence, illuminating the rows of tables in front of him. He sat down, resting his head on his hands. There was no escaping it. It would never go away. Not until he finished his mission. Not until he could see his brother's eyes close forever. Maybe he was missing something. A clue. A witness. Maybe if he forced the information out of the next target he could get a solid lead. Maybe-

"S' mightly lonely in here at this hour, ain't it?" His face snapped up, looking at the man in front of him. A ridiculous hat, a flashy belt and an obnoxious voice. That was Jesse McCree. Out of all the Blackwatch agents he was forced to work with, McCree was the only one that actively tried to talk to him. While most had given up after the first couple of tries, or had never gone near him in the first place, he was constantly there, trying his patience.

"What are you doing here? Mopin'?" At some other time, he might have told him off, as he had done countless times before. Mc Cree would just shrug and move along. But he was too tired. His answer was silence. "Well, ain't you rude." Still, he moved to sit next to him, pulling out a cigar from under his clothes. For a while, neither said anything. McCree puffed out smoke, seemingly interested by the wall in front of him. Genji looked at the table below him, unable to continue his train of thought. The clinking of metal and leather followed the man's every movement.

"When I first came 'ere, I really hated 'em. All of 'em." He still stared in front of him, almost as if talking to someone only he could see. "They took everythin' I knew from me. Wasn't perfect, but it was somethin' ya know?" He tapped the cigar, letting the ashes fall freely onto the floor. With his head propped on his hand, he turned to stare at him.

"But you grow used to it. To anythin'. S' only life after all." With that, he stood up, throwing the remaining cigar with a flick of his fingers. "You and I should go get a drink sometime. Bein' alone's always the worst part." He didn't wait for an answer. Both knew there wouldn't be one. A tip of his hat, and he disappeared back into the corridor.

Genji stared at the empty entrance. At some point, his mind had cleared. The familiar fatigue of a long day slowly clouded his mind. Morning was already here and a shower was long overdue. A smirk stretched playfully on his lips, and he knew nobody would see it. A drink didn't sound so bad.