Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mother, could you please tell me the story again today?”

The childish voice echoed high through the room, naive and pure in its intention. It grazed the surface of the old chimney piece before it reached the midnight blue silk curtains that gently swung in the light breeze. Eventually, it reached its destination: a beautiful woman of a lean build who rested against the wooden window sill. Her gaze had been lost in the lights of the city beneath them, her long black hair dancing in the breeze.

The question seemed to have awoken her; the delicate jerk that shot through her body shattered the dreamy atmosphere that had hung hazy in the air around her. She closed her eyes, and a deep breath rumbled through her throat before she turned around.

She was surprisingly similar-looking to the young child who waited impatiently in his bed. Her hair was reminiscent of ink, floating like the rivers that wound their way through the center of the city they lived in. It made her alabaster skin look even paler in the gentle moonlight that shone through the window.

She had the grace of a fairy; her movements were sensual and well-paced, like a long rehearsed dance.

Her son had inherited her beauty: his eyes had the color of raw umber, an esthetic contrast to his coal black hair. It fell down on his slim shoulders, making his young age and unharmed soul even more obvious.

“Of course, my dear,” she answered, her voice soft before she closed the blue silk curtains. The rings clattered against the metal bar, intruding upon the intimate atmosphere of the room.

Her steps were barely perceivable as she came closer to her son’s bed. His eyes lit up when his mother sat down next to him, the bed squeaking under the additional weight. She softly chuckled at the expression of interminable happiness in Hanzo’s eyes, and he hastily tugged himself below the huge white blanket.

The woman’s face was lined by gentleness as she looked down to him. “Are you comfortable?”

Hanzo nodded enthusiastically, which made his mother laugh. His display of eagerness and level of energy had always been impressive to the people around him; sometimes she wished she could claim that for herself.

“Alright,” she said and leaned forward in the direction of the wooden nightstand. The drawer beneath the top squealed loudly in a desperate attempt to get oiled in the near future.

She noted it in the back of her mind; one of their maintenance people would have to look at it in the morning. But that wasn’t important now, Hanzo was waiting for her to start reading. He did his best to suppress it, but a glance from the corner of her eyes revealed his gaze, starving for her voice to form those magic words.

Quickly, she opened the old book that certainly had seen better days. The plain leather cover was marked by the uncountable hands which had taken care of it, loving and gentle until they had passed it to the next person.

She had loved it as well when she was younger; her mother used to tell the story that was written between the brown leather to her at least once a week until she was too old to listen to it. Now she was the one who read it aloud.

A tiny smile decorated her face as she thought back to her childhood days. How fast time went by…

Hanzo’s quiet mumbles she didn’t understand, hushed but enough to reach her ear, tore her out of her trance. Quickly she turned back to her son, who still waited patiently. She smiled an apology.

“I am sorry Hanzo, I’ll start reading now,” she said into the silence of the room, her voice strangely quiet.

With practiced movements she opened the book, skimmed to the right side, and took the book to the right position. With a tender voice she began to read the story she heard throughout her childhood. The words were as familiar as her own mind branded into her innermost core; they were part of her soul, part of every Shimada for thousands of years.

“Long ago, in the deeps of a forest, lived a human...”

The moon had long settled down and night had thrown its inescapable coat over the roofs of the city as she finally closed the book. She hadn’t read the whole story; Hanzo usually didn’t manage to stay awake long enough for that. With gentle eyes she looked down on her son: he reminded her very much of herself, maybe even a bit more than was good.

He had inherited her disciplined, sometimes too-cold aura which only served as a protection towards strangers, and unfroze little by little as she started to trust someone.

She bent over him, her black silky hair spilling around them like a waterfall to cut them off from the rest of the world and leave them in their very own moment that seemed to be lost in time.

“Sleep well, my dear,” she whispered against his forehead, her lips stroking the soft skin. With adoring eyes she looked at him as she straightened herself. Carefully she stretched out her left hand, the deep cyan of her kimono brushing her pale skin. Her fingertips were as gentle as the soft mist that laid on the cherry blossoms in the quiet mornings.

Hanzo delicate body snuggled into the warm embrace of her hand as if it were the only thing that would promise him safety, causing a heavy weight to tug at his mother’s stomach. Maybe she was the only one giving him safety, and the thought of that frightened her.

Suddenly, her head flooded with old memories she thought she had forgotten long ago. But they were there, bright, colorful, filling out all corners of her mind.

Sojiro’s soft smile, the tender summer breeze that brushed through his hair, the sweet scent of camellias, Hanzo’s first word, breathless under giggles as her delicate fingers tickled him, loud and gasping: “Mom!”

They were memories of happier days, and she couldn’t deny the bitter taste they left in her mouth.

Gently, she shook her head. It was pointless to mourn them; they were gone and so were the feelings she had felt back then. With great effort, she tried to focus on the present, and the old memories faded away like smoke in her head.

She remained in her leaning position, her palm’s soft skin still against Hanzo’s warm one. Gently she began to stroke it, maybe a reminder of the worth her current life had.

He was so pure and innocent, not expecting anything evil from the world around him. An exhausted sigh left her lips; seeing her son in such a state reminded her of her own position and the things he would have to bear one day.

Her mouth tensed; she didn’t want to think about that, not now. A lot of time still needed to pass until the fateful day of her husband’s death would approach. Until then, Hanzo should live a life free from worry that didn’t come with training or studying.

The breathy sigh that left her mouth spoke other tunes, however. She knew he would never be free from any duty.

“Miharu, will you come to bed?” A new, deep voice suddenly floated across the room, causing her mind to startle. Quickly she calmed down, once she processed the voice she has heard since the days of her youth.

“Sojiro, love, you frightened me,” she hushed as she straightened herself and turned around, her eyes quickly finding those of her husband. He looked beautiful in the moonlight, as elegant as the cherry blossoms that blew gently in the wind in front of their bedroom.

His smile was gentle, yet small, something she had grown used to over time. A wan image of the bright smile he had offered her all those years ago.

His whispers had the bare touch of the same tune he used during his phone calls in his office, suave and intimidating, but they were overshadowed by gentleness. Yet, she still heard it.

“I am sorry. I did not wake him, did I?”

“No you did not,” Miharu breathed back as she made her way to the door. She gave her husband a loving smile once she had stepped close to him, and he returned it with a gentle expression in his eyes.

“Let us go to bed, shall we?” he asked, his voice barely more than a tender blow of air against her skin.

She nodded, and with a last look on her son, she left the room, her footsteps fading away in the darkness of the night.

» Every human is made for another human. They are bond in the helix of infinity, meant to stay together for their life as well as their afterlife. The four tunes that play inside the chest of each of us form a melody with those of your soulmate. If you find your soulmate, fate will grant you nothing but hap- «

The book made a crude, loud sound as its hard cover met the plain white stone wall. The loud shouts of disapproval from the neighboring room caused the thrower to growl in the back of his throat before he took off his left shoe, made of brittle and dirt-covered leather, and threw it after the book. The dirt that had stuck to the sole rained down on the poor book’s cover before the brown boot landed on it; it wouldn’t survive long if the young man who sat on his messy bed continued to treat it so violently.

He didn’t, judging by his aggression-deformed face, as he spat in the direction of the book. The furious grimace twisted his face, a reflection of the anger that simmered in his whole body.

Soulmates, pah, who believes in that crap, he sneered inwardly, a weak attempt to escape the sorrow that followed the anger.

Maybe he didn’t believe in soulmates because he was convinced something so beautiful couldn’t exist in a world marked by war and violence. Even now as a member of Blackwatch, where he had experienced happiness and safety, he could not grow used to the image of destiny.

How could someone wait for him?

That was all bullshit. Jesse had never heard those sounds and he never would. There was nothing like soulmates, and fate even less.

A particularly loud scream from the other side of the wall tore Jesse out of his trance. Keen-eared, he slipped down from his bed to take a few closer steps towards the wall. The tone of the shouting had changed: it seemed to be directed not at him but at the other people in the room.

Jesse, as curious as he was, hastily pressed his ear against the cold white wall. He knitted his eyebrows in confusion as he heard several very vulgar insults thrown around as random and colorful as confetti.

Jesse scowled before he turned around and strode back to his bed. Idiots. He didn’t have a high opinion of most things his life had been too unfair to him in the majority of situations.

The bed squeaked under the sudden weight of its owner, who bounced up and down on the mattress. The bed was nothing he had experienced in all his years. In his Deadlock days he had slept on saggy mattresses, if he was lucky. Most of the time, he had to make do with the cold floor.

A sigh left Jesse’s lips, breathed into the white pillow beneath him. He didn’t want to admit it, but Blackwatch provided him with a lot of advantages he never dared to dream about. Yet he felt out of place like an unfitting puzzle piece which laid unused while every other one was put together to form a picture of beauty.

But without him.

He spent a little while longer on his bed eying the ceiling, which yawned at him in horrible boredom. Jesse’s heart sank lower and his eyes wandered to the right, to the opened wardrobe he had been too unmotivated to fill with the few clothes he owned. The emptiness of his room echoed through his body and reminded him of the endless void in his soul. A bittersweet pain laid its hands around his heart and squeezed it bitter-sweetly.

Every time he looked in the mirror he saw a shadow of his former self, of the small boy who used to play around in the backyard of their home, happily giggling, high screeches echoing between the trees, jumping between their trunks like a bouncy ball.

Now nothing was left, only the emptiness of his soul and the numbness of his mind.

A huff left his lips - nothing but lies. He closed his eyes in pain, the hole in his chest roaring, trying to overcome the emptiness that wasn’t supposed to be there,

The moment Jesse wanted to bury his face in the pillows, a loud bang at the door and an even louder yell made him jerk up. Almost instantaneously, he grimaced. Not everything in Blackwatch could be nice after all, and Aaron’s booming voice was one of the less pleasing things.

“Get up kid, Commander Reyes wants to talk to you!”

Oh well, Reyes was even worse than Aaron, and according to his angry tone, Jesse seemed to have fucked up. Fucked up pretty badly.

A groan that made him sound like an old man left his lips as he heaved himself to his feet, unmotivated and saggy like a plant that hadn’t seen water in ages.

“I’m comin’,” he growled as the banging went on and Aaron’s booming voice started to get on his nerves.

The hushed “dang it” left his mouth just before his fingers touched the cold metal of the small key that was inserted in the clinically sterile lock. It turned, creaking and scraping against the relentless material, its sharp tune echoing through the room like a prophecy.

“Stop destroying my door next time you want something,” Jesse grunted as his teammate came into his field of view. His chestnut-brown locks were tangled up into a messy bun and some strands framed his face, which happily whipped up and down to the nodding of Aaron’s head.

“Come on, Reyes wants to see you, we have no time!” he hastily said before he turned around, leaving Jesse alone in the door frame.

And with that, the door fell closed, the hollow sound resounding in the small room.

The propellers of the small motorboat roared in Hanzo’s ears as he ran his fingers through his hair. Sweat had drenched it and now stuck to the palm of Hanzo’s right hand. He wanted to grimace at the wet and warm feeling.

He shivered in disgust. His gi stuck to his back and got wetter every second, drenched by the cascades of sweat that ran down his neck.

Hanzo looked up in slight agony before he signed quietly. The road seemed to be endless; it meandered its way in uncountable curves towards the old Watchpoint that seemed to be in use once again.

Hanzo turned around to cast a last look at the ocean. It surged at the coast, the waves rearing up and their crowns white and shimmering in stark contrast to the harsh edges of the stone that rose, ominous, in front of them. They reminded Hanzo inevitably of himself and his wandering soul, searching for answers in the vast world but only finding more questions he couldn’t answer.

Maybe the frustration that roared through the depths of his body had been the reason for his decision, or maybe it was something else entirely. Hanzo was unable to name it; he only knew he had to act. The sooner the better.

His ponytail crinkled in the sharp wind as Hanzo slowly turned around. Some strands had loosened from his precisely put together plait, blowing across his eyes to obstruct his view of the giant rock that halved the island. Still, the sight tightened his stomach.

After he had met Genji in Hanamura, Hanzo had spent months thinking about his brother’s last words. They had echoed through his mind every free second until they had driven him towards the south coast of Spain, through the metropolises of China, the valleys of Kazakhstan, the Alps, Provence and finally, Andalusia.

Hanzo’s face stiffened. That would be a long way.

Sweat poured down Hanzo’s back as he made a large step across a pothole that stretched over the whole street’s surface. He sighed before he raised his head, his gaze moving from the old asphalt beneath him and to meet the harsh beams of the sun. It had reached its zenith half an hour ago and he squinted now to shield his eyes while it burned down on him without mercy, as if it was trying to kill him beneath his clothing.

He huffed. The shaved parts of his head offered little reveal, the black boots imprisoned his feet, and the tight trousers weren’t better.

The sun burned in Hanzo’s eyes and a soft sigh almost left his lips. Quickly he bit down on the inside of his cheek. No weakness. It wasn’t that bad, he told himself. A few steps more and his eyes started to lose focus.

That surprised Hanzo so much that he stumbled on his feet like a toddler, attempting to find enough balance to stand correctly. The metallic tip of his shoes scraped ugly over the asphalt and frightened away the mist that had settled down in the alcove of his mind.

He blinked once more as his vision cleared and suddenly became aware of the burning demand for water. He helplessly gulped, his saliva slowly crawling down the dry skin of his throat. It tickled so that Hanzo had to cough, his head violently shaking with it.

His sweat-drenched top has shifted a bit and uncovered some of Hanzo’s wet skin. He sighed in annoyance before he fumbled for the hem, his eyes trailing along the street to eventually find the peak of the Rock.

He had done a bit of research and had found out that the Watchpoint was located on the eastern side of Gibraltar. The Rock was said to be almost plantless there, a harsh contrast to the rest of the island. Hanzo could already see parts of the blank spaces, which gave his roaring head and dry throat some hope.

Arriving there doesn’t mean they will let you in, the quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered, sending chills up and down his spine. His muscles cramped and his lips tensed as he tried to deal with the sudden surge of negativity in his chest.

The voice was right, there was no guarantee they wanted him. Maybe they had enough agents already, or maybe they didn’t need him. The thought echoed through the empty spheres of his soul that once had been full of life.

Hanzo swallowed before he closed his eyes for a swift second. This was nothing he wanted to think about, not now. The veils of negativity slowly disappeared in the back of his mind and opened the way for other worries.

His long trousers stuck to his legs like a second skin and screamed to be removed. With clenched teeth, Hanzo looked at the path in front of him again. It disappeared from view after a sharp right bend framed by all kinds of bushes and trees.

It almost looked like an oasis among the plain rocks and dusty earth. And even more importantly, it promised shade: Hanzo’s heart made an excited jump in his chest.

The alluring idea of taking a little break under the biggest tree spread in his mind like an epidemic and clouded his judgment. Hanzo was a loss as the shadows appeared to be bigger and darker the closer he came, and a quiet sigh fell from his lips as he made his first step under the shady age of the big tree.

It wasn’t much cooler, but at least the burning sunbeams were shielded by the leaves above him. Hanzo looked up and his eyes got lost in the colorful play of the deep greens illuminated by the sunlight.

It brought a tiny smile to Hanzo’s lips, the warmth reaching even his eyes. It was rare for Hanzo to smile like that: the last time had been in early childhood when he had still been with Genji.

Suddenly, the warmth was supplanted by a pricking, icy-cold feeling he couldn’t quite place. The only thing he knew was the fact that it brought back memories: memories he had long abandoned in the depths of his mind, hoping to never see them again.

His legs began to shake as he couldn’t stop the seemingly endless stream of thoughts that revolved around his early days, happy days paining him too much to revisit them again. The heat didn’t help either, as he could feel his breathing come faster: ragged inside of his lungs, crawling up the back of his throat, furious and pained until it reached his lips and left them, cooling the spit-drenched surface, bef-

Hanzo closed his eyes. His breath, which had been roaring through his body slowed down every second, fending off the hurry in his mind, replacing it with hollowness.

As Hanzo put down his hand, he realized in dismay that it trembled. Another shaky breath left his lips.

His feet were uncoordinated and clumsy as he set them in front of another, the tree’s trunk set in sight. It felt like a small eternity until he finally reached it, the time slowly passing by like honey running down a spoon.

The bark was rough and dry, little valleys framed by mountains, scratching into Hanzo’s skin. He didn’t mind though; he actually relished in it. It kept his focus in the realms of reality, reminding him of his current task and place of being.

His arm buckled, unable to hold its owner’s weight anymore. Hanzo let it happen, it was unimportant anyway. Nobody was here who could see him, nobody would see how he shamelessly hurt his own honor in public.

Hanzo closed his eyes, and almost instantly he felt the overwhelming tiredness he had suppressed the whole day. It took over his mind, slowly crippling his limbs until there was nothing less but numbness.

He knew he was an easy target for anyone right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and keep walking.

Way too welcoming was the reassuring safety of the trunk. Hanzo sighed in relief as his other hand, which had hung down uselessly, crawled up to his head. What would he give to get rid of his soaking wet hair?

His sweaty fingers felt for his hair tie. They found it and delicately slipped past it; Hanzo slightly pleased at the idea of letting it go.

To Hanzo’s misfortune, he was too caught up in his tiredness and wishes that he didn’t hear the loud steps of an approaching person. He also didn’t perceive the sudden stop of the same sounds.

What he heard, and it shot icy horror through his body, was a deep rumbling voice behind him, slightly muffled:

“Any last wishes?”

Chapter Text

The rifle of the gun gleamed in the sunlight, promising and yet, indescribably dangerous. Hanzo swallowed. The hole that pointed directly at his head seemed to be groundless, like it wanted to absorb his soul, draining it from the deepest core of his body and consuming it in the vast emptiness of its being.

His hand clasped around the bowstring like a steady vice. He wasn’t afraid; it had become an unrelenting routine for Hanzo to stare death straight in the face, even in the worst of situations.

The stranger had been as quiet as the night as he had caught Hanzo off-guard, much to his shame. At least he had reacted quick-witted and had drawn his bow, a deadly arrow pressing against his gloved fingers.

No one made a single movement, knowing it would be pointless. Hanzo couldn’t help admitting the slight, barely existing respect he felt for the stranger: He seemed to be not completely dense. Countless enemies Hanzo had faced on the battlefield had made the mistake of underestimating his abilities and they paid a high price for doing so.

Hanzo allowed his eyes to trail from the gun to its owner. The man who stood in front of him fitted oddly well to the voice Hanzo had heard a few seconds before, and even better to the gun.

He was slightly taller than him, his skin bronze and his hair reminded Hanzo of the bark of the cherry blossoms that lined the way up to their castle. His hair framed the sides of his face, sweat-drenched strains stuck to his cheeks and front head.

His arms were decorated with several huge scars, and Hanzo felt like they would all share little stories, belonging to one big one. His opponent’s long legs were covered by gray sweatpants, which hung loosely on his narrow hips, its endings crumbled over well-worn red running shoes, covered by dirt and grass.

Hanzo’s eyes found those of the other man and the expression that greeted him caused a feeling he couldn’t quite name on his chest. They were determined, and cold, fixed on him like he was his prey. They had a deep shade of brown like his hair and yet nothing alike. Hanzo felt his chest clench.

Something was strange about their expression, however, as if something would be missing in their iris. Something he couldn’t describe and yet seemed to know more than he probably should. They were a bit too cold to be normal, a bit too different from all the other eyes Hanzo had seen in his life.

Hanzo swallowed, his throat had gone dry, making it easier for the sharp claws of fear to crawl up, finding their way to his lips and beyond. He hadn’t time to focus on them, there were more important things that wanted to be addressed, that craved to be treated with the needed attention he couldn’t offer them, not now.

It didn’t come. The man’s eyes carried a known expression, something Hanzo couldn’t sort in, it was so terribly familiar, almost hurting, and yet, it was completely unknown to him. They continued to stare at each other, while the wind brushed gently through their hair, as they were embraced by silence.

The man in front of him had to belong to Overwatch. Hanzo had checked the activities on the island for long enough; there wasn’t a chance this guy wasn’t here without a purpose.

Furthermore, who would carry a gun in their sweatpants without any kind of protection?

Although, nowadays everything is possible.

His voice was stern and hard as he formed his question with the tip of his arrow still pointed at his opponent: “Are you a member of Overwatch?”

Hanzo had expected everything but not the sly smirk that laid itself on the man’s chapped lips, forming lines of amusement around them. His voice had a nonchalant tone as he raised it and inflamed ineffable anger in Hanzo’s stomach.

"Well, you'll have to invent time travel there, partner, ‘cause I hate to break it to you, but Overwatch ain't a thing anymore."

Hanzo clenched his teeth. The man lied, blatantly and blunt he dared to speak such nonsense right into his face.

“Don’t dare you to lie to me,” Hanzo spat out and his right hand pulled a little bit more on the stretched string.

His opponent gently clicked his tongue against his unnaturally white teeth; the grin on his face stretching impossibly wider. Hanzo growled his fingers trembling under the temptation to let the arrow slip. Against his selfish desire, Hanzo couldn’t do that. This man was the only painless chance he had to get into the Watchpoint, at least when he behaved right.

the man made it anything but easy for him; he looked so arrogantly amused and so disgustingly relaxed that it did nothing to sooth Hanzo’s temperament.

“Believe me, I never were much of a hero, I’m afraid,” he answered in a low voice, still as calm as before, maybe even more bored; Hanzo couldn’t tell.

What he knew although, was the fact that they turned in circles, regardless of what Hanzo would ask for, the other man would have an even better answer for it that would tell him nothing. After a few seconds of internal arguing, he decided there was no use in trying to lull the man into a sense of safety and letting something slip. “Bring me to the Watchpoint,” Hanzo demanded instead, directly and loud as his eyes basically pierced through the other man’s ones.

Finally, those eyes showed a reaction which pleased Hanzo in more ways than he understood.

“Oh that’s a new one,” he heard as the man swirled his gun around one finger before he started speaking, his eyes still locked-on Hanzo, yet the words were not directed at him.

“McCree here... everything’s fine, found an intruder... archer... no... understood.”

Hanzo’s heart throbbed as he watched the man who still pointed his gun at him

It was the rough voice that tore him from the depths of his mind, back to his thoughts’ surface: “If you wanna go to the Watchpoint, please do me a favor and put down your weapon. Always hated pointy things.”

The sudden release of tension in his arm took his limb by surprise, a numb feeling running up his veins. The bowstring went limb in his hand, obeying him like a small child and leaving Hanzo behind, who couldn’t fight the slightly uneasy feeling rumoring in his stomach.

He couldn’t detect any reaction in the other man’s face, it was as blank and serious as it had been before. Hanzo toyed with the idea of lifting his bow again, but something told him if he did that, it would be the last thing he would do.

Bullets were faster than arrows.

Finally, he surmounts the resistance of his soul and he eventually lowered his weapon. Hanzo was a bad loser, but he was not stupid. He knew when he had lost, and this standoff was one of those situations.

Hanzo held up his face in an attempt of pride, but he got the feeling that he failed horribly to hide his fear.

The man didn’t seem to be interested, judging by the careless expressions of his eyes and the provoking disinterest that lined his face as he lit a thick cigar. His lips clenched around it as he spoke.

“Well then, this gonna be fun,” he said, the smoke forming strange clouds in front of his face, bedimming Hanzo’s view.

Something told him he lied.

Jesse slightly chewed on the end of his cigar as he looked through the dusted glass panel. His eyes roamed over the body of the stranger, getting caught at minor details. The outsides of his leather shoes were slightly darker than the tongue, which was surprisingly clean. It indicated that his shoes must have been wet for some time, strengthening his assumption, the stranger had come across the ocean to Gibraltar. His jacket was too thick for the weather on Gibraltar in August, maybe it was unawareness but Jesse doubted that. Someone who carried bows around on a lonely island was prepared.

His eyes trailed further upwards and finally met those of the stranger, their expression was blank. Jesse stare was equally vacuous as they locked eyes. Jesse wouldn’t give away how he felt, feelings were dangerous, especially in situations like these.

Words he thought he had forgotten long ago echoed through his mind again, harsh yet caring and Jesse immediately felt fifteen years younger.

Reyes’ voice had always been full of authority and yet, it was somehow nice to hear his advice once again, even if it was only in his memory.

“Never show feelings, they’ll doom you, kid.”

Jesse had difficulties to hold back the small chuckle that boiled up inside his chest - Reyes had been the uncrowned master of cheesy lines. But most of them had been true, to some extent, including this one.

He wouldn’t give the stranger the satisfaction of tickling an emotion out of him. He never allowed it anyone else and certainly not a bow-wielding, skinny pants and undercut wearer. That was below his dignity.

The rattling of the door tore Jesse out of his thoughts and from the corner of his eyes he saw Winston and Lena, who had entered the room. Both carried serious faces, although Lena looked suspiciously casual - a jeans jacket with a bunch of colorful buttons and a loose orange shirt that covered her chronal accelerator. Jesse narrowed his eyes - he knew better than to assume she wouldn’t carry her pistols with her, her pants were too baggy for wasting the opportunity.

Winston climbed on the white chair to Jesse’s left, allowing Jesse’s eyes to trail to Lena, who framed the other side of the gorilla. Their eyes met, and he was surprised to meet nothing but seriousness and suspicion in her eyes, emotions she barely showed, at least not to this extent.

He could feel her desire to ask questions, but both of them knew this was not the right place to do so.

Winston raised his voice, forcing Lena and Jesse to focus their attention back on their special guest again, whose face equaled a white wall.

“Athena, please activate the microphones and the recording program.”

“Of course, Winston. Please bear with me,” answered a monotone voice.

Jesse used their preparation time to let his eyes trail to his right to the bow and the quiver he had divested the man earlier. They lent almost innocently against a table leg - they had forfeited their danger, and Jesse dared to say that they even looked aesthetic, in some way.

Athena’s voice created a feeling of conclusiveness as she raised her voice again: “Preparation complete, now ready for service.”

“Thank you,” Winston answered and adjusted his glasses. Before he had avoided the direct eye contact; Jesse guessed it was his nervousness that had prevented him.

“Your full name?” Winston asked in a neutral tone, unaffected by the tense atmosphere in the room.

It took a few seconds before the man answered and caused everyone in the small room to inhale sharply.

“Hanzo Shimada.”

The silence that answered him got more and more unbearable every second they continued to spend without saying a single word and yet, nobody cared. Jesse didn’t know what barred the others from forming words, but for him, it was disbelief.

He didn’t know much about the elder Shimada brother, only that he had caused Genji’s current state and that he ran away after doing so.

Winston’s voice eventually cut the silence, like a knife through soft butter, filling Jesse with relief: “Athena, mute the microphone and watch him.”

They waited a few seconds more before they turned around and dared to react in some way. Jesse raised his eyebrows in wonder, Lena exhaled loudly and Winston adjusted his glasses. Again.

“He lies,” Jesse calmly stated, his cigar jumping around between his lips.

Lena raised her eyebrows before she answered: “You sure? I mean,” she turned around a bit, looking at the man again, “he looks a bit like Genji..:”

“He could use a face forming program, he could be anyone.”

“Athena checked him before,” Winston threw in, as he leaned back in the chair. Jesse only gave him a questioning look.

“Sorry to say that, bud’, but even robots are not free from mistakes.”

“I have to accord with Agent McCree,” Athena’s voice sounded down on them, which made Jesse smile.

“It’s pointless to argue about something we can’t solve,” Winston said, causing Lena and Jesse to dart knowing looks to each other. Yet, even when Jesse knew what awaited him, it still caused a pressing worry in his stomach.

The gorilla turned around to face Jesse and his face showed a slightly worried expression, matching with the feeling that had floated Jesse’s stomach. With a sigh, the gorilla adjusted his glasses. Finally, he seemed to have found the right words, yet they hit Jesse hard as he vocalized them.

“Athena, contact Agent Genji, please.”

It didn’t take long for Genji to arrive, in fact, it took him less that one minute. His three demanding knocks echoed through the room, and Lena blinked to the door to open it for him. His face was uncovered and Jesse’s stomach twisted at the vulnerability it held for his friend and the blunt visibility of his emotions.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice hurried and without the robotic sound, it usually had on the battlefield. He stood in front of the closed door, his back almost touching the metal. It was good he stood there, Jesse noted. The glass panel was flushed a bit further away, taking the opportunity away to see who entered from the other side of the room.

Lena didn’t sugarcoat the happenings, she knew they had no time for that. Instead, she was straightforward and Jesse’s heart clenched at the sight of Genji’s facial expression which changed along with Lena’s words: surprise, hope, and determination.

“Your brother is here. On the other side of the room. We’re not sure if he’s the real Hanzo, so we wanted to ask you if you’d ask him some personal questions?”

Genji’s answer came promptly: “I will do so, please leave the room, I want to ask very personal questions that are not suited for strangers.”

They nodded and with a last look, Jesse left the room, Hanzo’s eyes piercing through his neck. The last thing they heard was Genji’s voice, calm and friendly.

“Hello, brother.”

“Was every evidence he made correct and do they overlap with your personal experiences and knowledge?” Winston asked Genji, his big hands laying on the armrests of the white chair. They had returned to the room twenty minutes later, Genji awaiting them leaning against the table, Hanzo still on the other side of the room.

Genji nodded, his eyes filled with joy Jesse didn’t understand: “He is, and he says he wants to join Overwatch.”

Winston huffed and Lena made a surprised noise while Jesse content himself with preventing the words he wished to say behind his cigar.

“If he really wants to join us, nothing should prevent him,” Winston answered after a while and got up from his chair. Lena and Genji joined him, strolling on both of his sides, chattering in a friendly manner.

“Oh, that’s great, I never met someone who uses a bow in battle!” Lena said happily as Genji opened the door, who answered promptly.

“My brother is a very skilled archer, he will be to good use, I can assure you that.”

They didn’t realize they were leaving Jesse behind, who still stood at the table and looked into the other room. The door got unlocked by Athena and was entered by Winston, Lena, and Genji only seconds later.

Winston made a few steps in Hanzo’s direction before he greeted him. Hanzo’s hand vanished in Winston’s big palm as they shook hands. The absent expression in Hanzo’s face from a few minutes ago had been replaced by a more neutral one and Jesse would even dare to assume it was friendly.

Their eyes met and Jesse slightly narrowed his eyes as Hanzo turned away, his eyes giving no evidence of what he really thought.

Jesse started to dislike him even more already.

Hanzo’s back pressed uncomfortably against the hard brick wall as he stepped sideways. His hand, which had been clasped around his bow, now found its way upwards to the tiny com in his ear before he raised his voice to a barely audible whisper.

“Hanzo and Tracer at the crossroad,” he said and Winston acknowledged him with a firm “good”. The com distorted the noise, making it sound more mechanic, as he dared to cast a glance around the corner again.

In front of him laid the crossroad; one broad street led the way to the lower parts of the city while a narrow road, meandered its way to the upper part. From his current position, Hanzo couldn’t see everything, but what he could spot wasn’t nice. In front of him gaped a mostly destroyed street. Several tree trunks blocked the way and under their dark brown bark, Hanzo spotted several crushed cars. They looked like run down frogs and Hanzo swallowed at the idea of crunched bodies in between their metallic walls.

Hanzo leaned back again and looked at Tracer at his right, her flashy bodysuit gleaming in the twilight of the dawning day. She made a hand gesture to the broader road and he gave a curt nod before he took the street that led further upwards and to the less lively part of the city.

The earthquake, that had happened only minutes before the hostage-taking, had lost most of its strength on its way to the coast but it had been enough to shake all houses, deviating the sails of the windmill and making streets impassable.

The hostage-taking had happened in a less lively area of the city, so most of the people already had been evacuated. Strangely, the military hadn’t stumbled over the five missing people, which made the whole situation even more suspicious as it had been before.

Involuntarily, the mission description Winston had given them shoved itself to the forefront of his mind:

“Five hostages in Ilios, Greece, Monday, 4:13 AM, during Earthquake, Magnitude 5.7, center 60 kilometers away. Talon might be involved.”

Talon, a well-organized group of terrorists, involved in all kind of talented people. Hanzo once had met one of their members, a tall man with a huge, golden gauntlet on his right hand. He had offered him a membership back then, which Hanzo had politely yet distinctly turned down.

He was not ready to be part of a bigger organization back then, his very own struggles had concerned him more than those of other people.

Secretly, he hoped Doomfist wouldn’t be here today. He had the feeling his arrows wouldn’t realign a significant amount of damage. He doubted anyone in their current team could.

They had landed at 4:36 AM when Winston had practically kicked them out of their beds. Over the half of the agents had been away on another mission, which forced Winston to include Hanzo on this mission. He had seen the discomfort in his eyes, Hanzo knew he had wished to send him on an easier mission but life wasn’t a picnic.

Hanzo scrunched his nose; he had no time to lament over unimportant things, the mission was urgent now. He couldn’t screw it up, he was not allowed to. It was his first time to prove himself as a worthy member of the time. He needed to do a good job.

He looked down the street once more. They had arrived early, only 15 minutes after the hostage-taking and yet, he couldn’t get rid of the worried feeling that twisted his stomach. It might be too late already. He narrowed his eyes. Nothing that would discourage him, at least he told himself that.

His grip on his bow tightened, simultaneously with the muscles in his legs. His mind focused on the task, leaving no space for any other thought than ‘Be fast, be silent, let nobody hear you.’

Hanzo fell into a jog, his metallic armor making rhythmic sounds on the old cobblestones. His back was slightly hunched, protecting his body’s weak spots, the constant expectation of getting attacked any second lingering in the back of his mind like a sinister prophecy.

The innocent white fronts of the buildings passed by as Hanzo ran down the street, jumping over fallen down trees and the shards of destroyed flowerpots. The city was eerily silent and it awoke an unsettling feeling in Hanzo’s stomach.

It was too quiet.

“Agent Shimada, we were able to locate the hostages, they are in the last building of the street, right side. Please wait, Agent Tracer is on her way,” sounded Winston’s voice out of the com and Hanzo answered him with a cut-off “understood”.

Tracer may be further away but she was faster than anyone, and she had got the order to meet up with Hanzo when she was finished with controlling her part. It can’t be that long, Hanzo told himself as he hid in a small side alley that allowed him to have an unhindered view on the front side of the house.

He skimmed over the almost-too-white rendering, the vivid blue colored window frames and the front door of the same color. The door’s wood was clouded by dust, dimming the radiant color into an ugly mix shade of blue and brown.

Hanzo was so fixed on the house that at first, he didn’t catch the woman, who had appeared out of nowhere next to the building.

She was at least five inches taller than him, her dark clothes hanging down on her scraggy body like a potato bag. Her hair had a pricking red color, making it look almost unnatural to her light skin. Her arms were entangled by two thick pipes, filled with an undefinable purple substance. The pipes found their way to her back, but Hanzo couldn’t see what she carried around. Half of her face was covered by a metallic plate, which only allowed a free view on her left eye.

She looked unpleasant to be around and Hanzo wasn’t eager to get to know her.

Hanzo was sure she had noticed him already, and almost silently, he reached behind himself to pull an arrow out of his quiver. He cast another glance around the corner, his muscles tense and slightly trembling. As his eyes flickered around he had to realize in horror that she wasn’t there anymore. At the same time, he realized his com wasn’t working anymore, nothing but his own heartbeat bid his ears welcome anymore.

He hadn’t had enough time to check it when suddenly an odd sound occurred behind him, akin to low breathing. He wanted to turn around, his bow already raised to chest level but he got interrupted.

A smooth voice raised behind him and immediately Hanzo knew he had a problem.

“Hanzo Shimada, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here,” and along it, something hit his back. And with that, Hanzo’s world started to vanish.

Chapter Text

An unimaginable pain took over every cell in his body, wrenching at his bowels as they screamed for mercy, their screams haunting through his veins, shooting up into his brain, boiling up under his skin as a formless mass until it finally combined to billions of needles that pierced delicately through it.

Hanzo’s lips parted, the sound of harsh pants filling his ears, drowning out the oppressive thumping of his heartbeats.

It seemed to be not from this world, Hanzo was sure there couldn’t exist something so painful as the feeling that rushed through his bones at this second. He felt like he would burst any second, his body dissolving and his mind getting lost in the widths of the universe.

Hanzo swirled around, labored and slowly, the metallic armor covering his feet scraped over the cobblestones, creating a high, unpleasant tone. The woman stood close in front of him, overshadowing him as she smiled, her lips pressed together. The lines around her mouth formed a disgusting grimace of cynicism. She had expected him, there was no way she hadn’t and the knowledge twisted Hanzo’s stomach.

In panic, he realized that his vision started to vanish. Steadily and fast, it got limited by the corners of his eyes, coming closer and closer to his iris. His eyes could not leave hers as he stumbled backward, his head colliding with the compliant wall behind him.

The last thing his ears perceived was a worried scream of “Hanzo!”

Nothing but silence embraced him as his conscience found itself again. He didn't feel his limbs like he was bodiless Slowly feeling returned; first taking over his legs, then his lower abdomen, his chest, until it reached the tips of his fingers.

Noises reached his ear, noises he couldn’t describe or understand, and if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t seem to care.

He decided to keep his eyes closed, relishing the quietness that filled his ears. This was something Hanzo barely allowed himself, and yet, he found uttermost enjoyment in it. Actually, he wouldn’t mind spending the next hours like this, unaware of his surroundings and yet feeling as safe as he hadn’t since he had been a child.

The next few minutes nothing happened. Hanzo laid on the soft underground, his body light and freed of sensation. Until something reached his ear. Hanzo couldn’t quite place the noise; it was like he would hear it through a sheet of iron, unclear and far away.

The moment Hanzo opened his eyes, he knew it had been a mistake. The light that crawled through the small slit between his eyelid and bottom lid was annoyingly flashing. At least he was not dead and still had his eyesight - that was more than he could have hoped for.

He slowly blinked several times. The ceiling above him was white, almost as white as the light that enlightened the room; Hanzo narrowed his eyes to get rid of the slightly blurred view that prevented him from recognizing any details.

It worked: The numb feeling that had taken over his head vanished and with it, his view was finally clear. With slow movements, Hanzo turned his head to the left side and was greeted by an unexpected view.

He was in an infirmary.

The room wasn’t very big, at least it didn’t seem like that from the angle that was offered to Hanzo. Its walls were white and even, framing the equally white wall closets.

Next to his bed stood a nightstand, on which a bouquet of flowers rested carefully. Hanzo’s lips formed a soft smile as he recognized that it was an Ikebana arrangement. A warm feeling ran through his veins: It must have been made by Genji.

Next, to the nightstand a white chair faced him, and suddenly Hanzo wondered who used to sit there and watched over him.

The idea created an unpleasant feeling in his stomach and he dared his eyes away to search for a reason why he woke up.

He found nothing, everything seemed to be quiet and peaceful. But Hanzo knew better than to forsaken on such secondary things, he had learned to do better than that.

With rapid movements, Hanzo sat up and in the same moment, he recognized it had been a mistake. His world started spinning again, his head began to hurt once more and with horror, he recognized he had no control over his limbs anymore. He fell back into the soft bed sheets and a subtle, angry growl left his throat.

Weak.

A sudden click echoed through the room and tore Hanzo out of his pain veiled state and his eyes shifted to the door. It swung slowly open, and revealed a middle-aged woman, Hanzo estimated her to be in her mid-thirties. Her skin was pale, a fluent passage to the white tone of her coat. Her hair was tangled up in a high bun, a few hair ends sticking out.

A pleased smile took over her face as she looked into his eyes before she came closer to the bed. Hanzo needed a few seconds to process her fast movements before he was able to understand the words the woman directed at him.

“Nice to see you being awake, Hanzo, how are you feeling? My name is Angela Ziegler and I’ll be your doctor today.”

Hanzo hesitated a few seconds before he took her outstretched hand she offered him. It was warm and Hanzo felt oddly safe as she squeezed his hand gently.

“How are you?” she asked while she sat down on the chair next to his bed, her eyes friendly yet Hanzo could sense something cold in them, almost like she was awaiting a certain answer.

“I am fine,” he answered after a few seconds what educed an appreciating hum from Doctor Ziegler, “for how long had I’ve been insensible?”

“Oh not for too long, four hours, how long have you been awake though? I expected you to be still passed out for some more hours…”

Hanzo didn’t look at her, his eyes were fixed on the bed sheet in front of him: “A few moments before you came in, there is no need for you to worry about me.”

Her smile was sincerely and friendly before she took of the stethoscope that had hung around her neck: “I’m glad to hear that, I just need to do some basic check-ups, it shouldn’t take that long.”

It took long, longer than Hanzo expected. He had thought he was in a good condition, but apparently, Doctor Ziegler had a different opinion about that. The check-up had included everything from blood sugar tests to a chest X-Ray. It seemed almost like Hanzo had suffered from heavy injuries. But regardless of how many times he looked at his body, there were no signs of any kind of injury. He felt relatively good, as good as someone could feel when they had been in some sort of coma for a few hours.

Doctor Ziegler must have come to the same conclusion, based on her pleased smile as she dismissed him.

It was a bit strange to walk again after laying for so long, Hanzo detected as he made his first few steps into the long hallway towards his room. The fabric of the sweatpants the doctor had given him scratched against his legs and he grimaced in displeasure. His skin was still over sensitive almost as if he was a newborn, tossed into the world and experiencing everything for the first time. Hanzo disliked it.

He would get them off as soon as he had reached his room, he decided, he needed something more familiar, something he used to wear, something normal that would give him the feeling of normality.

His room was like the day he had left it, tidy and clean. Nothing had changed, despite the placement of his bow and quiver, which laid on top of his desk. Hanzo snarled, the person which had placed them there hadn’t done it with care, it seemed like they had tossed it down on the dark wood like they had been in hurry.

He stepped closer to the desk, his breath the only thing that filled the quietness of the room. His bow looked the same since the last time he had his hand clenched around it, no new scratches or splintered color Hanzo recognized while he let his fingers slide over the limp. A small, yet honest smile played on his lips, his bow promised safety.

His hand lingered on the arrow rest while he let his eyes trail to his quiver. Inwardly, he counted the arrows. Seven. His brows furrowed. When did he shoot the other five ones?

Memories of his mission crawled back into his mind, blurry and numb, they took over his senses. Without noticing it, his hand wandered to his chest to feel his beating heart. He closed his eyes as his mind drowned in overwhelming images of the mission.

Greece, the earthquake, Tracer’s flashy bodysuit, the old house, the Talon agent, the black, billows of smoke, streaked by red lines, the pain, a scream, and darkness.

Slowly he opened his eyes, staring down on his bow in front of him. Something felt different, something important, inside his chest, but he couldn’t name it. The sensation annoyed Hanzo; he hated to not know something because it made him feel like he was a small child all over again. A stupid little child that was naive and didn’t know anything about the world around it.

What had happened on the mission. What had the woman done, why did he felt like something was missing?

A deep grunt left his lips before he turned away, his hand pulled back like the bow had burnt him. He faced the bed, his forehead crinkled like a sheet of paper.

He imaged all of this anyway. There was nothing to worry about, Doctor Ziegler’s check-up had shown him that he was in a good condition.

There was nothing. Nothing.

Hanzo shook his head to strengthened his thoughts and to convince himself before he turned back to the desk. He should write the mission report, he was behind a few days, he shouldn’t make Winston wait any longer.

With slow movements, he took the bow and the quiver, which seemed to weight several tons and it cost him all his strength to put them into their coffer.

He gulped as he noticed how much time he needed to put the arrow nocks into the designated recess. You just need time, he told himself after he had managed to close the coffer, and noticed his shaking hand.

Just time.

The mission report was as complicated structured as it was out of fashion, at least in Hanzo’s opinion. There were countless little fields that needed to get filled out, things he didn’t even pay attention to, much to his shame. He needed to keep those questions he couldn’t answer right now in mind for future missions.

He continued to stare down at the report until he decided that there wasn’t much sense in trying. Normally, he wouldn’t have given up so easily but his head had started to hurt and his vision had gone blurry, not allowing him to read properly anymore.

He leaned back in the wooden chair after he had sent the report to Winston, his loose hair cascading on his shoulder blades like a waterfall. They had gotten longer, despite his undercut, and the longer they got the heavier they got, much to his displeasure.

Easing the weight on his head had been one main reason for him to get an undercut, but so far he hadn’t felt a lot of differences, despite his lowered problems with sweaty hair in the heat of Gibraltar.

He hadn’t changed his clothes yet, the mission report had proven itself to be a very distracting task. Especially since he had to think so hard about all the questions which seemed to be connected to memories he had seemed to lost.

Without hurry, he straightened himself, turned off his computer before he stood up. With a last look at the clock, it was 22:37, he decided it was time for him to go to bed. Of course, he knew it was a bit lazy to go to bed after sleeping so long, but he couldn’t help it. His mind felt leaden and Hanzo wished for nothing more than redemption from it.

His steps were heavy and slow as he went into the direction of his bed, and he had great difficulties to walk straight. As his knee nudged against the bed frame, he took a few moments to close his eyes and to refocus again. It was difficult, yet he managed to do it.

Taking off his clothes was equally difficult, his trembling hands did nothing to support his strong will but exhausted mind. Hanzo had never thought turning off a shirt could be so difficult.

Despite all troubles, he managed to turn it off and let it fall down next to him in a very unceremonious way. He would take care of it later, not now, even if his mind protested weakly. After the shirt had fallen down, Hanzo turned around and slowly sank down on the edge of the bed. He wouldn’t be able to take off his pants while standing, he was simply not able to do it.

A small huff parted his lips - Had he really come to that? A shame? Not being able to take off his own clothes without sitting down like a weak, old person, too drained from life to do anything?

And he had been the heir of the Shimada Clan. Unbelievable.

The rough fabric of the sweatpants scratched against his legs as he pulled them down without hurry, leaving him in nothing but his naked skin behind. A short moment, he was tinged with shame, but at the same moment, he ensured himself that Doctor Ziegler had seen naked men in her life before.

Or whoever could have changed his clothes.

Hanzo hadn’t looked down while he rolled down his pants, eyes had fixated on the opposite wall. As the fabric stroked his ankles, his eyes shifted down.

And what they met made Hanzo’s breath hitch.

The tattoo on his right leg, once in vibrant shades of blue, white, and gold; had lost all of its colors. It was nothing but a pale shadow of its former glory. Now, it stared at him with dead, white and lifeless eyes.

Hanzo’s stomach tensed before it contracted to a heavy, solid knot. His tongue was flooded by a foul, sour taste before the taste of something rotten took over.

A pressed sigh left his lips as his fingers trailed over the empty tattoo, trying to detect anything that could possibly point towards a reason for the faded color.

He found nothing. His skin was free from injury or any ailments to lead to the fact.

Hanzo felt like rocks hit his rib cage. A sinking weight in his stomach trigger butterflies to fill both his lungs and throat. Breathing became difficult as it dawns on him he may have lost a sacred guardian. The idea had torn him apart. Panic arose within Hanzo, his heart pounding as if it were to escape the confines of his body. His fingers felt numb as he pressed them against his skin, desperate for sensation to ground him.

He pauses, forcing himself to calm. The dragons might be low on energy, as they sometimes were, although their exhaustion never looked like this. No reason to panic.

The voice in his head was right, he had to calm down, panic never solved problems, it never led to rational resolution. He averted his eyes to the floor in front of him and quietly counted to ten and back to one. Repeating this two more times, he let loose a calmer, collected sigh.

The dragons were mythical creatures. He never knew what was going on in their minds, they had their own will and even if he didn't understand their actions all the time, there was surely a reason behind their behavior. A quick look at his left arm confirmed him that the other dragon was there. Its pupils weren’t as white those of its twin.

He had heard stories about people in his clan. People who had lost their guardian because of an accident but had never known the circumstances. Hanzo once had met one of them and their tattoo was as white as his one right now.

Stop thinking about those people. There is a plausible answer why this happened. Maybe he moved. Your dragons move all the time, Hanzo, this could be the case as well right now.

There was only one way to find out if his dragon was still active. If it didn’t work, then the dragon was gone.

With shaking legs he got up and walked around his bed. Hanzo gulped as he bent over and opened the drawer of the nightstand next to his bed with surprisingly steady hands.

His bow and his arrow felt strange and foreign to his fingers, as though he had never held them before at all. The muscles in his arms protested as he drew Stormbow in the direction of the opposite wall, his brows furrowed.

Hanzo could feel the beat of his heart in his throat and he tried to swallow it down. The skin of his arm tickled, the hairs on it stood, the electric feeling shooting through his veins. Normally, his leg would feel the same, but not today. Today, it was quiet.

He forcefully breathed out. Maybe it was just lazy today, or it was asleep. His voice was strangely hoarse and quivered with anticipation as he spoke the words that let his dragons awaken.

“Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!”

The shout echoed through the room, loud and demanding, and yet it created nothing. There was no echo, no vibrations, nothing. Hanzo clenched his eyes as the primal feeling of fear returned, stronger than ever before.

He wouldn’t let himself be ruled by something so ordinary, he stood above such foolishness. Regardless of his strong will, the doubt boiling in his stomach stayed. He tried again, his voice less assertive.

“Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!

Still nothing.

His tone grew desperate, his knees began to quake: “I said; ‘Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!’”

Nothing.

The realization came slowly, but steadily. First, it took over his hands, made them heavy and unable to hold anything. Then his chest tightened as if it was trying to let no breaths escape before it crept up to his throat and leaving it dry. His pupils blown wide, he stumbled backward, until the back of his knees met the bed frame and he fell backward, his bow on his chest, the arrow rolling down on the bed sheets next to him.

Hanzo had been damaged before like a shattered mirror, reflecting light and creating rainbows in its facets but ultimately, something that was broken. And today, another piece had broken apart. Today, he had lost a part of himself.

There was no other possibility, only one reason. And the thought of it caused a tiny sob leaving his lips.

He had lost another tone.

The observation room was lulled into darkness, punctuated with the artificially light of the big screens that showed every corner of the Watchpoint as Angela entered it. The silhouette of Winston was masked by the light in contrast to their surroundings.

“Hello, Winston,” she greeted him with a serious voice, which was answered by a murmured: “Good evening.”

She didn’t take it personally, he was busy, the mission seemed to escalate more and more since Hanzo had left the battlefield and Brigitte didn’t respond anymore. Angela couldn’t suppress the worry that took over her mind more and more but she couldn’t stay.

Not now.  

And she needed to tell Winston, he had only called her for Hanzo and he was in a very good condition so there was no need for her to stay. “I should head back to Iraq,” Angela stated commiseratively, which made Winston rapidly turn around.

“I’m afraid you can’t go back yet.”

Her look grew confused as she processed the meaning of those words, and she stepped closer to Winston as she asked: “What happened?”

“Well, about three minutes ago, we lost contact with Tracer,” the gorilla replied, his fingers clamping around the edge of the table. She could sense the fear he must felt for his friend.

“Athena, please play the recording of Tracer’s last report.”

“Of course, Winston.”

Suddenly, Lena’s voice filled the room, unusually serious and out of breath.

“Tracer here.”

Winston’s voice was serious and had a worrying undertone as he answered: “Winston here, status?”

“Still fighting, South Ilios is clear, Brigitte is still lost, McCree is fighting, same goes for Mei.”

“Any other information?”

“Some of the other agents have shown strange behavior.”

“What kind of behavior?”

“They didn’t react when I tried to contact them, and they,” heavy breathing interrupted her, “don’t move.”

“Don’t move?”

“They're laying around, their skin got blue like they’re missing oxygen.”

“Did they respond to direct approach?”

“No, they just,” a pause, “stared at me. Their eyes were almost empty, they’re all acting like some sort of zombies like they aren’t in control anymore.”

“Any ideas who did that or what could have caused that?”

“I’m not sure, Reaper is there but there is someone else.”

“Tracer who is it?”

“A woman, the same who attacked Hanzo, red hair, and some sort of orbs. She’s very fast, and she can teleport. I haven’t seen her in some while, last time she was in a fight with Mc - ahhh!”

“Tracer?”

Her sudden scream tore Angela out of her trance she had fallen into while she had listened. She looked at Winston as he heard his desperate voice, and she could see the growing fear Winston’s face the more seconds passed and his fingers trembled against the desk.

“Tracer!”

Angela was the first who raised her voice, which was as unsteady and as worried as Winston’s had been on the audio.

“Moira is working for Talon?”

Winston averted his eyes from the desk in front of him to look directly into hers.

“Seems like that. And they have some of our best agents right now.”