Blood arced through the air like crimson ribbons, but it was neither his nor Hers, so it was inconsequential. He would have neither redemption nor revenge today.
Killing was like a dance, the steps deeply ingrained in the warrior's muscle memory. He'd abandoned the shadows he was raised in long ago, and the gift of light was one that did not come for free. He'd been branded traitor, and his mortal body destroyed by the one he trusted most. So he'd embraced the brand with all of what was left of the true Him and become a tool to bring about the downfall of the human race.
Genji had been human once. No longer. And it was all because of Her. Her silver-tongued promises of freedom and peace. And yes, he'd found himself free from the strict code he'd been raised with, one binding him to the shadows, battling futilely against those who sought to destroy him, as if picking them off one by one could truly orchestrate their end. However, he was now bound to those whom he'd become one of in this second life, this rebirth.
There were those who'd kill for immortality. He wished he could die to escape from it.
The last scream ended in the sick sound of a woman choking on her own blood. Genji no longer cared. He had enough control of his own senses to shut her out, but why would he? They weren't his kind. Not anymore. Her fingers, with the last of her strength, reached out futilely, leaving trails of scarlet down his otherwise spotless white armour. He stared blankly at her body. He felt nothing. He almost wished he did. But what good would that do him? He was on Their side now. He was Omnic.
Genji Shimada sheathed his blade and walked calmly away from the scene he'd left behind him. Women, men, children; all staring glassily ahead. This was his world now. He was a killer of innocents, those seeking only to survive in a world no longer their own.
And still he felt nothing.
The man flipped open the pack of cigars absentmindedly, taken aback momentarily as he tipped the packaging and received nothing in return. Right. He'd run out days ago. His mouth curled downward in a sneer. Great. He dropped the box and crushed it under his heel. Who knew how long it would be before he could find more. They were becoming more and more scarce as people's guilty pleasures became their only pleasures in this damned world.
The sun glared down on Jesse McCree, and Jesse McCree glared back. It was this world that had robbed him of his place in life. He'd been more than happy working with the Deadlock Gang, before he'd been caught and that life had come to an end. Then Morrison had picked him up. Perhaps it was an opportunity at redemption that had encouraged him to join Overwatch. Or perhaps it was just the only alternative to rotting in a cell for the rest of his miserable life.
Jesse had never been very good at understanding emotions, even his own. Perhaps he had grown somewhat fond of his comrades, especially those he'd worked with in the Blackwatch. Maybe it was just a bond formed out of necessity. He couldn't really be sure at this point. He spat on the ground, drumming his fingers anxiously on the hard-packed ground he was sitting on. He wasn't sure whether the anxiety stemmed from the lack of tobacco, or the fact that he'd been dwelling on thoughts of the Blackwatch again.
What did it matter? He'd never see those bastards again. And if he did, he was more than likely honour-bound to kill them. They had torn Overwatch apart from the inside, and they'd killed-
His thoughts were interrupted by pain searing through his skull. Damn withdrawals. He slowly stood up and dusted off. Not that it would do much good. Dust was all that was out here.
He turned towards the direction of the nearest city. He knew there wouldn't be much left, but if he was lucky, he'd find something to ease his cravings.
Jesse McCree needed a smoke.
