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i.
There’s a bulletin board in the intersection on the route going from the local elementary school and the Shimada estate. Whenever Hanzo walked out of the house to go to school, he would pass by it without so much as a glance, as most of the posters on it were irrelevant to his interests. Ads for local game or dance competitions, job offers, wanted posters, concert posters, movie promotions, the annual announcement of government projects, and/or the newly-passed laws that affected the general demography of Hanamura.
When the posters of the Overwatch Strike Team reached Japan, they were posted on all the walls and bulletin boards in the city. Hanzo didn’t see one until almost a month later, when an enthusiastic decade-old Genji pulled him over to it and pointed at the poster. “Heroes, anija! Real ones. Just like on the video games,” the smaller boy excitedly said, bouncing in place and almost shaking with enthusiasm, his eyes shining.
“This is what everybody has been going on about?” Hanzo asked. It’s not that he was ignorant of the issue regarding the Omnic Crisis. Genji had been born in its era, it had given his family the boon of powerful connections for giving aid overseas, and it has only recently been put to an end. It had been his heavy training that had been keeping him occupied and distracted from its finer details—such as the heroes who supposedly ended it.
The man in the middle pulled Hanzo’s attention the longest. He stood tall, his impressive build angled just slightly to the side, his stance relaxed. What Hanzo supposed should be a battle-hardened face smiled at the camera amicably, blue gaze piercing. He wanted to think that this image had been altered, that nobody’s eyes could really be so blue. He must be so charismatic in real life, Hanzo remembered thinking last before he herded Genji to their estate.
From then on, whenever Hanzo passed the bulletin board, he would glance at the poster and stare at the man. His curiosity of the man was overridden by duty however and once that poster was taken down, Hanzo had easily forgotten about it, at least until he chanced upon a TV commercial promoting an exclusive interview with the war heroes.
The schedule of the interview coincided with Hanzo’s free time. It was a rare occasion that he sat down in the living room to watch television. This behavior was more Genji’s hobby, if he wasn’t hooking the TV to his many gaming consoles.
Of course they did not show the blond man’s interview first. There were a few other soldiers Hanzo cared little about—a gruff dwarven engineer, an Egyptian sniper, an Asian demolitions expert, and a shield-wielding giant. Then finally, it was his hero’s turn. Jack Morrison’s introduction included details about his past—how he had been a farm boy before he joined the US military, how he’d been part of some form of military program (the Japanese subtitles were unclear on this and Hanzo’s English hadn’t been fully honed at the time), and how he led the unlikely team through their many incursions against the omnics.
Hanzo watched the screen intensely, noticing every expression the man made, every gesture, hearing every verbal tick, staring at the impossible blue of his eyes. It hadn’t occurred to him at the time what his focus meant, only that he’d been curious and entranced by the humble war hero. And that was what Jack seemed. Humble and unsure and awkward. His behavior in the video was very different from the relaxed pose in the photo. He stumbled over his words and he made terribly dry jokes—some of which Hanzo understood from his language lessons. He was charming in the way that one would yearn simply to be in his presence. Hanzo felt it, though he knew that it was an impossibility.
Men like Jack Morrison lived to tear apart the kind of men Hanzo was being groomed to be.
ii.
Hanzo was twenty-six when he met Jack Morrison face to face, brief though it may have been. The Shimada group had become a neutral player by then, existing only to protect and operate within Japan. At least as far as Overwatch knew. The international organization was in need of aid in its ordeals in Asia. The Shimada-gumi had not been its first choice, but Overwatch was driven into a corner and had no other choice left.
Sojiro Shimada wanted Hanzo to be present during the agreement of course, so that he may learn and observe how dealings with transnational leaders were created. When Hanzo had heard the name uttered, he remembered his short-lived childhood crush—an embarrassing secret he buried into the very back of his mind. His father took his hesitant silence as apprehension and reassured him then that Jack Morrison was just another idealistic fool chasing after an impossible dream.
Hanzo slept little the night before the accord. When Morrison’s group landed, Hanzo had been sent to welcome them and accompany them into the estate where the meeting would take place. Three others exited the plane before Morrison himself emerged. He was understandably older than Hanzo remembered, but he looked older than he should be. Still, he stood tall and had a firm grip when they shook hands, and his voice was a smooth baritone. Hanzo was most taken by the striking color of his eyes.
Out of amiability, most people initiated small talk as they made their way to the office. Jack Morrison did not, much to Hanzo’s liking. He was here for business and he was keeping it strictly that way. When they arrived, his father took over and Hanzo quietly sat and watched, quickly forgotten by the more powerful men in the room.
It was to Hanzo’s great surprise when he found the Strike Commander wandering alone in the zen garden, seemingly lost in thought. Hanzo approached him with a greeting. Morrison chuckled then as an answer.
“Call me Jack, please,” the blond said.
“Alright then, Jack,” Hanzo replied easily, finding pleasure from having been given the honor. “You must forgive me if I disturbed you. You seemed distracted.”
“Yes, I’ll admit I was. I was admiring your magnificent gardens when I recognized these trees. They are sakura, correct?”
“Yes, they are. Unfortunately, it is not the season where they are most beautiful.”
“Unfortunately. I was wondering how much more wonderful this place would look like had they been in bloom.”
He didn’t know what overcame him then, but Hanzo smiled at the man and offered to give him a tour of the gardens. The Shimada property took up a good chunk of the island so it was spacious. Most of the space was utilized as gardens, furnishing a relaxing atmosphere.
Jack had been very appreciative of the estate, a smile lighting up his face whenever Hanzo pointed out something that did not exist in his land.
“And that, you called it the sozu?” Jack asked, pointing to the small bamboo fountain, his accent giving the word a strange flavor that made Janzo smile. “What is its purpose?”
Just then, the hollow bamboo tipped over and hit the rock beneath with a sharp sound. “It is meant to scare away deer or bears that may graze on the plants whenever it is filled. The sound startles the animals,” he explained, fond amusement filling him when Jack’s eyebrows rose upon hearing of the animals. “However, as there are rarely bears here and very few deer, it is more used as an ornamental piece.”
They continued to talk then about small things, a fire steadily growing within Hanzo the more they talked. It seemed that the Strike Commander was similarly affected, too—if Hanzo was reading him right. He never acted upon it though, his self-control more dominant than his desire, unlike his brother. Hanzo was pleasantly surprised to find that Jack loved his home and wished to return to see it one day. However, they both knew it was a promise never meant to be held onto.
He learned many things about Jack Morrison that day, though the knowledge would have been useless since they expected Overwatch to leave them alone as soon as their business was over. In any case, Hanzo was still to inherit an underground criminal empire and men like Jack Morrison would become the very bane of his existence soon enough.
iii.
None of it happened. He inherited nothing after he rejected his clan and killed his brother.
He was thirty-seven when he first saw Soldier: 76. It was one of the many nights when Hanzo simply wants to drink himself to sleep so that the dreams were replaced with a black blank canvass that stretched throughout his rest. Though no sake was available here, Dorado offered many other spirits with which he could carry on with this unhealthy habit.
That night would be no such night however. Upon exiting a local liquor store, Hanzo had heard the telltale beats of a gatling gun. In paranoid haste, he placed the paper bag carrying his newly-acquired alcohol before scaling up the side of a nearby building to more quickly navigate his way towards the sound. He was probably half a block away from the miniature warzone when he saw them. Three men on the roof of another building, all brandishing guns, their backs to him.
Hanzo concealed himself behind a protruding block of concrete that housed a chimney chute. He maneuvered around the other side of the building to see who exactly these men had bad blood against. Hanzo really shouldn’t have any care whatsoever for these gang wars, but his curiosity drew him to the scene and he had no plans for the evening that wouldn’t lead him cursing an inevitable headache away in the morning anyway. Plus, he had a gut feeling that something was going to happen tonight.
Their machine guns are silenced as they take shots from their enemy below, and they fall off the edge onto the street. Hanzo left his hiding place and very quietly watched the scene in the dark, narrow alley. Several incapacitated men, their glowing body tattoos marking their alliance to the Los Muertos gang, lied on the ground. One end of the alley was lit by burning crates of things that Hanzo could not yet identify.
Directly below him stood a man with a bulky rifle. Glowing red visor and masked mouth, silver crown, worn jacket with two large numbers embossed in red at the back, Hanzo recognized him as the vigilante called Soldier: 76. He trudged towards one of the fallen thugs, his pace unhurried. His target tried to crawl away, however when he was reached, the vigilante dropped his weight on the glowing one and beat him with—of all things—a piñata. “These aren’t your streets,” a brusque tone growled after every hit on the purple-glowing skull head. “Anymore!”
Hanzo noticed her at about the same the dominant one did. The terrified girl—where she came from and why she was even there, Hanzo had no idea—screamed and tried to shuffle away as well just as the roar of a hovercar engine echoed from the bright end of the alley. A truck appeared, driven in reverse with some more tattooed on the back. He called for his friends to gather the fallen ones.
The vigilante barked at them and attempted to pursue, however one of the men threw a grenade. It rolled at an alarmingly close distance to the girl. Hanzo was tempted to help them, to shoot down the thugs, but he knew the consequences of helping a stranger powerful enough to take on a gang singlehandedly so he continued to stand by. He watched the masked vigilante pause in mid-chase. Hanzo’s brows furrowed in confusion, the man’s dilemma unclear to him, until he saw the man sprint impossibly quickly to the girl—who at this point had been too shocked to run or do much of anything. 76 wrapped his arms around her, his back to the grenade.
Then it went off, causing dust and smoke to fill the entirety of the alleyway. Even Hanzo had to look away and move to another position to find the vigilante.
The blast was powerful enough to send him off his feet and skidding onto the concrete a few feet away. He lay unmoving for a few seconds. Hanzo wondered if the man’s foolish attempt at heroics had killed him. It wasn’t the case when he slowly and carefully stood up, holding his side. Even the girl seemed baffled that the masked man bothered saving her at all.
“Old habits die hard, I guess,” was the grumbled reply to her question, barely audible to Hanzo from his position. He then proceeded to dismiss her, throwing her something blue—a purse. Hers? Hanzo wondered, while he watched the man gingerly pick up his rifle.
“You’re one of those heroes, aren’t you?” The little girl’s question threw Hanzo off-guard. His interest shot up to its peak then, Hanzo waiting in suspense for the man’s answer for a reason he cannot explain. He felt like he must hear the answer. It was an irrational need, certainly, but Hanzo barely did rational things these nights.
“Not anymore.”
Nothing about it should have brought back memories of his childhood crush, of the poster he saw every day before and after school and that which he so badly wanted to take down to place in his room after Genji filled his walls with posters of ridiculous other things. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Not anymore. The words still echoed in Hanzo’s mind even after he’d collected his bottle and had emptied it. He could not think up an explanation as to why the phrase wouldn’t leave his mind.
Maybe it’s because it reflected a lot of things he was too. A brother, not anymore. A son, not anymore. A leader, not anymore. A Shimada, not anymore. Worthy of absolution, not anymore.
Maybe it’s because Hanzo wanted to believe that maybe he isn’t as alone as he thought he was. That somewhere in this world, someone else walked a lonely path too, making up for things they could never hope to really atone for.
Maybe it’s because the man reminded Hanzo of Jack Morrison. He couldn’t explain how or why, it was too ambiguous and confusing even to himself to even try.
At any rate, one bottle hadn’t been enough to lull him to sleep that night.
iv.
Hanzo had barely been in the Overwatch base two weeks and already the members of the reformed organization looked at him with caution or repulsion. The original members knew of his deed, of the fratricide. They were the ones who regarded him with disgust and distrust. They avoided him and/or watched him closely.
The younger crowd, those who had never been part of the organization before, was guarded around him. They have no knowledge of his deed to his brother, Genji had assured Hanzo himself—except for Zenyatta. Why they remained uneasy around him despite it was unknown to Hanzo, however he did not care enough to find out. He was fine being left alone, with mostly only Genji to communicate with. With the general attitude they portrayed towards him, Hanzo became more secluded the more the group grew.
Genji and his omnic friend Zenyatta were mostly the only ones who bothered to seek him out. Sometimes it would be Hanzo who would seek for his brother. Sometimes, when Genji was out on an errand, it would be Zenyatta who spent time with him, though Hanzo had still been very closed off with the monk. Within a month, the brothers managed to make some sort of unspoken agreement to spend the evenings with each other to simply sit on a roof to enjoy the cool air and the quiet movement of the sea in the distance. Sometimes they talked and most times they sat in silence. There were also nights when they had to postpone for the sake of missions or duties.
Hanzo himself had been assigned monitor duty for every Monday and Thursday. He would spend six hours in the mornings on Mondays and six hours in the afternoon well into early evening on Thursdays in front of a screen, watching security cameras, looking out for incoming messages from whoever had gone out for missions, reporting to their interim leader, Winston, for any unknown hails—an AI can only do so much in running a base as large as Gibraltar after all. It was a tiresome job but Hanzo accepted it without complaint.
One Monday, Tracer’s plane returned with two extra passengers. It was Soldier: 76 and another one who was called Shrike. Hanzo had known this even before they landed—the task of Tracer’s group was to fetch them all the way from Egypt after all.
On the screen, the cowboy called Jesse McCree and Dr. Ziegler exited the aircraft first, leading two masked figures behind them. One Hanzo was already familiar with from the incident in Spain more than a year ago. The other, Shrike, had a smaller build—female most likely, though it was not obvious from the bulk of her garments—under a dark hooded coat with torn and hole-riddled ends; her face obscured by a dark full-face mask; sniper rifle hung across her back. They seemed to be conversing with Dr. Ziegler and McCree. Shortly after, Tracer jumped out of the cockpit just as Winston appeared in the bottom left of security feed, presumably to welcome them.
Hanzo spent the rest of his shift observing Soldier: 76. Winston brought them to his lab first for a discussion with Dr. Ziegler. The four of them spoke like old acquaintances, seemingly arguing without discomfort. As with most security systems, the cameras did not come with microphones so Hanzo could not listen in to their conversation even if he wanted to. He was given no choice but to only observe.
He found it curious that the man seemed to know his way around the base. Winston did not assign anyone to give either of the newcomers a tour after the four seemed to have come to an agreement. At this point, Hanzo was certain they’d been ex-Overwatch agents. Soldier: 76 retired to an unoccupied room after a short while and Hanzo had not much to do then.
General meetings were often called upon before and after large-scale missions and at the beginning of every month. Every member was required to attend. In last month’s, Genji told him that there had only been a mere seven individuals who arrived. After the sudden boom of recruits, the roll call totaled to eighteen, Hanzo now included, and the newest addition being the masked pair.
The meeting went about as Hanzo expected—taking up about an hour, its agenda inconsequential to him other than the details for the upcoming mission, mostly filled with introductions for the new recruits—however it turned a little more chaotic than he expected. To see the different figures sat around the table was a little amusing though. Had he been an enemy of the reformed Overwatch and he saw this, he might think it was more a traveling circus than an anti-terrorist organization. Until 76 shut them up with a fist slamming on the table and a growl to quiet down.
“We’ve come here to unite against a common enemy, not to be pitted against each other. Now, if any of you have forgotten who the enemy is, stop and think. Regardless of where you stand about anything—pro- or anti-omnic, whether you like whoever else is in here or not—remember that there’s a much bigger threat out there and it’s only to get much bigger if we waste our time here arguing.” By the end of Soldier: 76’s tirade, most of those who’d been arguing have taken their seats and were either hanging their heads or glaring at someone else accusingly. Winston had awkwardly taken over the meeting then and without much trouble.
In the next meetings, Soldier: 76 would keep everyone in check. Sometimes a turn of his head towards a troublemaker (usually the arsonist from Australia) was enough to silence him. Hanzo was impressed. The man possessed an aura of authority and respect. Not only that, he also proved to be an excellent tactician. Their missions have gone smoothly thanks to his meticulous strategies and back-up plans. He wasn’t surprised when the vigilante became Winston’s second-in-command, though it remained unsaid.
Briefly, he remembered the power that Jack Morrison held over the people he met. This man, Soldier: 76 was charismatic as well, but they were on opposite sides of the spectrum. Where Morrison clasped onto him with easy smiles, 76 seized him with a commandeering tone that simply demanded respect. Hanzo discovered that the way both men held themselves easily attracted him.
In the early mornings, Hanzo could often be found in the training range. It was the ideal time for him to practice. No one else would be awake yet. Additionally, he missed this: waking at ungodly hours to train until the break of dawn. He would shoot arrows one day, on the next he would practice his forms with his ninjutsu, then he would go back to using his bow on the third. Some days, he had the AI make simulation battles where he’d practice both his archery and his hand-to-hand. It was a routine ingrained into him since childhood and coming back to it after so long gave him comfort amidst the stress of adapting to the new environment.
It would not last long however, especially after the arrival of Soldier: 76 and Shrike. The first time the male vigilante arrived at the training range a half hour before daybreak, Hanzo was forced to end his regimen early. The next day, it’d been the same. On it went until one day, Soldier: 76 stopped him as he was leaving the range.
“Hanzo,” the man had called, startling the assassin. Hanzo turned to look at the vigilante, visor glowing red stark against the brightened floor of the training area. “You don’t have to leave, you know. I don’t see the harm in the both of us training here at the same time. It’s a pretty big range.”
There wasn’t much Hanzo would be doing back in his room with all this free time in his hands again. Soldier: 76 didn’t seem to be the prying type either. There was no harm in trying and Hanzo found no reason not to accept. “All right,” he replied, walking back and taking the available ‘half’ of the training area.
From then on, his morning training had become a little less lonely. Soldier: 76 didn’t administer small talk and focused on his own shooting. Sometimes, when Hanzo was practicing his forms (something 76 had initially observed from the corner of his eye with confusion and curiosity), he could see the man’s impressive shooting.
Simulations could not be done without using the entirety of the training range however, but Hanzo felt that asking Soldier: 76 to undergo a simulation with him might seem selfish, so Hanzo decided to drop them from his routines altogether. It was to his surprise when it was Soldier: 76 who asked him if they could run a simulation one day.
“I would not mind it,” Hanzo answered. The vigilante nodded and told the AI to launch one that was at a higher level than Hanzo usually trained with. He suddenly felt a surge of apprehension, but he figured that he might as well accept the challenge for himself. He’s faced greater battles before. Additionally, he had the protection of his dragons, should he need them.
It had gone smoothly, surprisingly. They finished the simulation without much difficulty. Hanzo deduced that it was because there were two of them, and they’d had each other’s backs. He felt overwhelmed as well after seeing Soldier: 76’s proficiency in combat up close. Regularly, he was perched at a distance during missions, covering for his teammates. Fighting side to side with Soldier: 76 gave him a better impression of the man’s prowess in battle. Hanzo’s intrigue grew. He started looking forward to their morning ritual.
v.
The first time Hanzo released his dragons in the presence of the Overwatch members, it was to save an injured Soldier: 76 on the field. They’d been up against Talon, one of the terrorist organizations bent on instigating anarchy between omnic and human relations. Overwatch has been on their tail for months, but every time, Talon has been two steps ahead of them. This was their first real encounter with Talon and it had become very clear to Hanzo that it was a trap laid for their group.
After his twin dragons have driven away the single Talon operative that had singled out and gone toe to toe with Soldier: 76 without anyone knowing (until almost too late), Hanzo jumped down from his perch and ran to mission de facto leader to see how badly wounded he was. He did not know any medical first aid, but the instinctual need to see the extent of their leader’s wounds had driven him forward anyway.
What he saw made him uneasy. 76 was unconscious. From what Hanzo could see, there were traces of several shotgun blasts on his jacket. Most of the bullets seem to have been caught by underarmor, but his arms were not similarly protected. Neither was his neck. He was bleeding profusely from those unguarded areas. There seemed to be wheezing coming from under his mask.
Dr. Ziegler had been separated from their group. The members who did not get separated were making their way to the wounded vigilante as well, seemingly finally having gotten over the shock of seeing his dragons chase away the equally impossible smoke-man. Their only healer was the young DJ on skates. He skidded over to them, lowering himself onto his knees on 76’s other side. Hanzo watched him inspect the vigilante’s wounds, equally helpless as his amplifier had been damaged in battle.
“Hey, uh, Dr. Z, we’ve got a situation here,” the DJ informed her with using their comms, tone shaky and distraught. “76 is in a really bad shape. I—I can’t do anything. He’s destabilizing real fast.”
Dr. Ziegler’s distress echoed all over the comms. Hanzo tuned her out. She of all people knew better than to panic, but she made mistakes as well. Hanzo rummaged through 76’s pockets for his biotic grenades. The man had used it many times before to aide his teammates. When Hanzo found none, he turned to the panicking DJ—Lucio, Dr. Ziegler called him.
“Help me stop the blood flow,” he ordered. This seemed to get the younger man some more self control and he nodded. Hanzo loosened the scarf holding his hair up. “Let’s tie this around his neck.”
“No.” Lucio shook his head. He peeled back the torn jacket sleeve. “This is the biggest wound. Let’s tie it around here. His neck is gonna be fine. They’re only skin-deep.”
“He’s right,” the usually sprightly British girl, Tracer, said quietly from behind Hanzo. “Reaper would not kill Soldier: 76.”
Hanzo frowned, confused. He said nothing as he let Lucio take the scarf to tie it around 76’s arm a couple times before making a knot.
“Lena,” Dr. Ziegler’s voice cut through the comms sharply, almost as if she’s reprimanding Tracer. When Hanzo glanced back at her, the woman was bowing her head and biting her lips, seemingly torn. The doctor’s voice returns to address them. “We’re on our way. ETA two minutes,” then she continued, asking of the extent of 76’s wounds then instructing Lucio what to do.
Hanzo didn’t dislike Dr. Ziegler. He’s more neutral towards her, but he’s also careful around her as he is with the original Overwatch members. It was obvious that she knew of what had happened between him and Genji. She has given him enough undecipherable looks that he could easily interpret as judgment.
He still respected her nevertheless. She held her ground when most of the team had adamantly tried to visit the bedridden Soldier: 76, telling them to leave him alone. Hanzo did not blame them. 76 had been the only casualty in that ambush and their concern was understandable. They looked up to him. Dr. Ziegler had been firm though, denying even Winston access in the first few days of 76’s recovery.
“Dr. Ziegler will be very upset when she sees you walking about,” Hanzo told the empty training range one early morning. He released the arrow, watched it penetrate the heart of the dummy, then lowered his bow and turned to the doorway where Soldier: 76 stood watching him.
It was bizarre to see the vigilante in sweatpants, a worn dark blue turtle neck, house slippers, and his signature mask. Hanzo has never seen him in anything else but his vigilante attire. The man seemed otherworldly then as he shuffled towards Hanzo, hands in the pockets of his pants. “I couldn’t sit on my ass without thanking the guy who saved me from imminent death,” 76 replied, his voice rougher than usual.
“It was Dr. Ziegler who attended to your wounds,” Hanzo said. “And she will truly be displeased when she finds you are not in your bed, resting.”
“I don’t know about that. She’s the one who said I was good to go,” Soldier: 76 said with a shrug. He stopped a close distance in front of Hanzo. “Thank you for saving my life, Hanzo. Will you show me?”
Hanzo stared at the visor, unsure what the man was talking about.
“How you drove away Reaper,” 76 supplied. “They told me you released a pair of… dragons.”
“You have seen Genji’s. They are not unalike,” Hanzo answered. He meant to turn away from the man and resume his training, however the question that has been burning in his mind returned to him. “If you truly want, I can show you. However you must first tell me what it is that lies between you and the Reaper.”
At that, 76 turned his head away. Hanzo might have heard a small scoff, he’s not sure. “Reaper,” Soldier: 76 repeated, the word sounding like a vile echo. “What do you care about him?”
Nothing. Hanzo didn’t care anything for Reaper. Soldier: 76 on the other hand however was a different story. “I don’t. However he has set his sights onto you somehow and he had come so close to ending your life,” Hanzo explained. “You are a very good leader, 76. To see you beaten down by an entity who seems to harbor so much hate for you unsettles me… and the team.”
The vigilante shook his head, as if disbelieving. He turned away from Hanzo, but the assassin continued. “Tracer—Lena told me that Reaper would never kill you. For all the times she would chatter, she could never seem to say anything about it whenever I ask. Dr. Ziegler seems to know something as well, but from what I’ve seen of her resilience, it is unlikely for her to say any more than Lena.”
The man turned his head toward Hanzo. He then sighed and said, “Reaper was—is an age-old rival. We have a very long and a very bad history. That’s all you need to know.” Afterward, he made his way out. Before he disappeared into the hallway, he glanced at Hanzo again and said, “I’m not as good a leader as you think. The decision to follow Talon into that ambush was my call. My fault. This won’t mean anything to you, but it’s best we all learned that I’m exactly the same man I used to be.”
Maybe it had been 76’s intention to arouse Hanzo’s curiosity, or maybe he only meant to prove something to himself, but the last thing he told Hanzo that morning did not leave his mind. Hanzo started researching Soldier: 76 in secret.
He learned that the earliest sightings of the man had been roughly more than a year ago, that Soldier: 76 uses a unique set of weapons, and that his relationship to Shrike is unknown other than the fact that they met each other in Egypt and have been working together since then. Even with Hanzo’s connection to the underground network, he found only superficial information on the vigilante. There was one thing he noticed however. Tracer and Dr. Ziegler were both part of Overwatch before it was revamped, which upped the possibility of Soldier: 76 being a former agent of Overwatch as well.
Hanzo’s research took a very slow pace, as he did not have a lot of time within a day to accomplish much. Waiting for replies from his connections in the underground took days as well. Add to the fact that he did all this in secret. However, Hanzo did not hide his intentions as well as he could.
The AI Athena kept logs of the computers on the base. Hanzo knew that sooner or later Winston would find out that he’d been attempting to uncover 76’s identity. From there, two things could happen. Either someone, either Winston or 76 himself, would speak with Hanzo and ask him to back off or Hanzo would be left alone.
The former took place on an early Wednesday morning at the training range. He and 76 were training with a simulation then. “You were looking me up,” the man said just as he shot down a couple opponents who were aiming at them from higher ground.
Hanzo reloaded his arrow and sent a sonic arrow to the end of the hallway where most of their enemies were making their way. “You peaked my interest,” he said, counting eight pings of feedback from the sonic arrow. He pulled a scatter arrow from his quiver and aimed for the open doorway.
“Did you find anything, Mr. Shimada?”
He considered lying, but Hanzo decided that it would not benefit either of them. “No, Soldier.”
A wave of foes rushed at them from all possible directions. The vigilante and the archer focused on annihilating them, using hand-to-hand combat when they had closed in. It took a while to complete the simulation. Hanzo was sweating and panting once it was over while the masked man seemed only slightly winded—another mystery Hanzo could not yet find answers to.
76 turned to face Hanzo as the hard light walls of the simulation disappear. “Do you trust me less for it?”
“…No,” Hanzo simply said before he went to retrieve his arrows. “Do you?”
“I don’t.”
Soldier: 76’s face reveal happened on a morning very similar to that one. They were using the simulation, fighting hard light constructs shoulder to shoulder, back to back. It was when Hanzo was taking a break on the bench by the wall when the masked man sat next to him, suddenly maskless. Hanzo had almost choked on the water he’d been sipping.
He stared and stared, not knowing what to do or say or how to react. Pale face, very large and very deep scars, wrinkled and battle-hardened planes on his face, handsome, and most familiarly, impossibly-blue eyes.
It took him a while to recompose himself, to close his hanging jaw and look away after shamelessly staring. “I—I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I did not expect that.”
“It’s quite sudden, I know,” 76 replied with a nod, his voice clearer without the mask. “I had been thinking about this and I found no harm in letting you know. You’ve been curious and I understand—”
“Jack Morrison,” Hanzo said in a breath, almost exhilarated once it dawned upon him. Suddenly, many things made sense. He let out a chuckle, finding it ironic that he’d been crushing over a dead man this whole time. “This is unprecedented.”
Soldier: 76—Jack Morrison did not have a reply to that but silence and a strange look in his gaze. Hanzo took a breath and gave him a dry smile. “It is nothing you should be concerned about. Do not misunderstand; my trust in you has not wavered, neither has my respect. I simply… I just do not know how else to react.”
“Some people hit me,” Morrison muttered, earning a confused glance from the assassin. “Well, mostly because I lied to them.”
“Do you want me to hit you, Jack?” Hanzo teased, his smile becoming a little more real. Saying the name brought back memories that had been left untainted by his horrendous act. Happy memories, or at least, as happy as they could get. With them returned the sense for a familiar pull. Hanzo has never noticed, but the pull had always been there, buried.
Jack laughed and hung his head abashedly, the action somehow making him seem younger than he looked. When he glanced at Hanzo again, he was wearing the same smile Hanzo remembered. He easily ignored the difference that the years have made. “I would prefer it if you didn’t, Hanzo,” Jack replied.
“Then I suppose I won’t.” Hanzo leaned against the cool metal wall and sighed, his eyes closing. His mind was still reeling from the revelation. He wondered if he was seeing a strange dream, if he were actually to yet awaken to a cool, dark room and proceed to the training range.
They sat in silence. It was oddly awkward and comfortable at the same time. After a while, Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze on the empty range. “What say you we get back on track?”
“Of course.”