Chapter Text
Genji ties the cloth around his waist and leaves the city center without glancing back, making his way towards the city outskirts instead. He knows that omnic activity tends to be higher there-- like most other cities, their populations tend to cluster where humans are less likely to come and throw rocks. Power tends to be scarcer, but they make do.
He isn’t going there to lament about power though. He’d realized, belatedly, that his joints are still stuttering with remnants of Saudi Arabian sand.
Yeah. Genji is going shopping.
He’s done it before. He doesn’t particularly like dealing with omnics, but he knows that they tend to be more accepting than humans-- if they can tell that he isn’t just a more advanced model at all. They also tend to know how to pressurize the shit out of air so he can blow it between his parts without ruining the finer intricacies.
The streets here are sleek and sharp, made with inorganic angles that could hardly house a human comfortably. In a lot of ways, it’s nicer than the centres. No litter, for one. Omnics tend to be more polite by nature, and they also tend to wave at him when he passes by. A couple follow him with their gaze; older models that still have round, exposed joints and wires. Besides them, Genji stands out like a honed blade in a pile of spoons.
The door he seeks slide open with a hiss. Genji finds what he needs quickly, not wanting to rest here.
While he searches the aisles, a rusted omnic catches his attention with a curt “Pardon me,” and nearly startles Genji into attacking him. He notes that he has his joints welded unevenly, so that his head rests in a perpetual tilt to the side. It gives him a quizzical look that his otherwise unmoving face doesn’t afford.
"You are a man, aren't you?"
"I used to be.” His eyes narrow. “Now I am none of your business.”
The omnic chuckles and presses on, stepping closer. A discolored patch of metal shines atop his head in the florescent lighting. "I look at my hand, or my chest, and I know it is a part of me, however damaged or old. But you see your body as a tool, a vessel for keeping something in, rather than being part of the fabric that holds you together."
Taken aback, Genji raises his nose into the air and turns cheek. "Spiritual nonsense.” Last he needs is a high and mighty omnic telling him that his little remaining human flesh will rot away.
The omnic steps even closer, gazing downwards at the mangled remains of Genji’s chestplate. Self-conscious, he covers it and scowls.
“I can smooth that for you.” The omnic says. A gear inside of him groans.
The patch of rust atop his head becomes a halo.
“You can?” Genji’s fingers dart to the mess, catching along the sharp ridge of where his collarbone presses downwards into the center of his chest, and the omnic nods.
“My wife and I, we do this often. With the heat often comes stuttering, malfunction. It is no great concern.”
The ever-present voice of pride pipes up in the back of his mind and vehemently agrees. Death is never an excuse for ugliness.
Genji jerks downwards into a bow and mutters: “Thank you.”
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Two omnics lean on the brick carapace of the building and trade a charged pen between them. Genji notes a flicker of electricity and a distorted laugh. The stranger ignores them, pressing forward in the same groaning shuffle he’d had since they’d left the building.
“My wife will be happy to have someone like her to talk to.” The tilt of his head makes the statement seem pensive. “Not many can understand our style of life.”
It’s phrased to make Genji ask more about his life, but he can’t find the energy to fake curiosity. The elevator he leads him to cries under both of their metal bodies, but moves fast enough that Genji’s impulse control doesn’t rocket him through the roof and into the shaft to climb the ropes instead. A small victory.
Two more steps and the omnic opens the door to his home.
The inside looks remarkably like the home the raiders had been in, though admittedly better lit. Parts and pieces are hanging from the ceiling and off of hooks that cover the walls, interspersed with old christmas lights and the occasional, genuine lightbulb. It smells slick and heavy, like gasoline and old oil.
“Nousha.” The omnic pushes aside an entire curtain of omnic parts and into a kitchen, where Genji follows silently. “We have a guest.”
Nousha is a tall and gangly woman, not particularly old but certainly past her prime. Genji notes that she has multiple beauty marks and eyes that don’t quite capture light the same way the girl’s at the marketplace had. She is remarkably human. Nousha puts down the towel she’d been drying her hands with and turns to face Genji. Her smile is youthful.
“A guest!” She chirps happily, clapping her hands together. There is grease beneath the nails. “Another repair, no? Let’s go into the shop together then. What is your name?”
“Genji.” He hopes the confusion doesn’t show in his tone. He looks over to the omnic (who he now realizes had never truly introduced himself,) and then back to his wife. His human wife. What? She shuffles towards him and outstretches her blackened fingers, taking hold of the bent metal atop of his chest. Then, leading him by the grip she has on his chest, she begins to walk him out of the kitchen. Genji is struck with the sudden, deep-set panic that he will be scolded.
“How did that happen to you? You are not from Tehran, that much is obvious.” She sits him down on a dirty bench and Genji physically coils away from it, worried it might ruin the fabric he’d stolen. The omnic brushes past both of them and hands her a can of pressurized air off of the wall and a crowbar, which she takes and kneels in front of him.
“Raiders.” He replies nervously.
Her eyes turn upwards and narrow, bringing to attention the crows feet that stamp their corners. She takes hold of his knee and straightens it, then takes the nozzle and begins spraying air between his intricacies. Feeling particularly trapped, Genji grips the edge of his seat and fights the urge to kick her.
Her hands twist his knee to get deeper into the machinery. “Did they know that you are partially human?”
“You and your husband are both talented at making assumptions.”
She snorts and finishes on his knee, following down the seams of the prosthetics; Genji’s grip splinters the wood. “You’re shaped organically. More importantly, you’re much too impatient to be an omnic.”
“Stereotyping.” Chimes in the omnic from behind Genji, and Nousha snorts derisively.
“Look how he splinters the wood.” She points out, then taps his chest plate. “And this? Only the monks in Nepal could consider fixing such a gash. Why bring him here?”
“We can smooth it, no? At least it won’t blind anyone who turns a corner into him.”
Time passes too slowly; Genji’s agitation builds with the slow, unstoppable force of a wave beneath the ocean. His foot begins to tap as Nousha finishes his other leg and stands up, dusting off her fingers. “Come here, 02.”
The omnic, 02, makes his way in front of Genji and peers at him with his ever-quizzical gaze. “Are you uncomfortable?”
Genji feels the overwhelming urge to spit. Nousha takes his cybernetic arm and begins clearing it as well. “Yes.”
“Why?”
‘Because you’re dating a human. Or rather, this human is dating an omnic! What the hell?’ He wants to say, but the crowbar is still resting within reach of Nousha’s wide hands, so he stills himself and scowls beneath his mask instead. “I was told I would have my chest sanded, not my personal space violated.” The apartment feels much too small, much too stuffy.
Nousha’s eyes harden slightly, but she steps away for a moment and steps back into view with an old circular sander. The pad is worn, but Genji can still (nervously) see that the grit will have some bite. The wave swells, bringing with it an undertow of defensive anxiety.
He realizes she reminds him of Angela.