Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On a busy city street in the heart of Hanamura, a man and an omnic walked together. 

Few paid them any heed; they made less of an unusual pair on this corner than almost anywhere else in the world.  Genji Shimada was far from the first cyborg ninja to walk these streets, even if his “costume” was a bit more functional than most.  As for his companion, anti-omnic sentiment was mild in Hanamura compared to many of Japan’s larger cities, and Tekhartta Zenyatta nodded gently to half a dozen of his kind as they made their way down the street. 

They had been walking almost an hour when they finally reached their destination: an arcade that was all faux-retro neon lights and peeling signs advertising new machines that had been old when Genji was young.  Genji felt a pang of nostalgia as he looked up at the old building.  Zenyatta often spoke of the ways the natural world aged yet remained unchanged at its core, and his student found something oddly comforting in the idea that this most artificial of places would do the same. 

These days, Genji had little reason to visit his hometown.  The Shimada clan had crumbled in the space of a decade; Hanzo’s defection had sent the clan into a furor, and Genji and Overwatch had used that confusion to systematically dismantle it.  He had struck directly a few times, infiltrating old family outposts to steal away records on the clan’s activity or destroy assets that provided for the clan financially, but most of his work was done from the shadows.  Japanese detectives found lists of criminal associates landing on their desks, and in places the family was too entrenched for the wheels of justice to properly turn, bosses woke to find handwritten letters warning them that it was in their best interests to confess lest they receive another night-time visit.  There were a few stragglers, but the family that had once been said to mastermind half of Japan’s crime was no more. 

But even if the Shimada clan was gone, there were a thousand more groups like them waiting to take their place.  Genji’s loyalty was to Zenyatta before anything else, but he and the monk had agreed to do what they could to help Overwatch bring an end to the conflicts threatening to erupt into a new Uprising.  In two days’ time, Genji and Zenyatta were to depart for Hokkaido to investigate murmurs of a Talon cell operating there.

Until then, he was home, and he couldn’t pass up the chance to show it to Zenyatta.  Genji knew Zenyatta was curious about his life before his fateful clash with Hanzo, but the monk had learned not to press Genji on the topic unless he felt it necessary.  When he had suggested making a detour to Hanamura’s downtown district, Zenyatta had happily agreed.

“So this is where you spent your youth, Genji? It seems… rather loud.”

Genji looked back over his shoulder at Zenyatta and smiled.  “Part of my youth, master.  It is not as though I lived in the arcade.”

“That is not how your brother tells it some days,” Zenyatta replied, a gentle tease in his words.

Genji groaned.  “What have I said about not speaking to Hanzo without telling me?”

“That you would prefer it if I do not.  And what have I told you about my belief in the possibility of greater reconciliation?”

“You will have to enlighten me as to how Hanzo complaining to you about my teenage years is supposed to get him to talk to me.”

“It was but one snippet of a greater conversation about your time growing up together.  It was clear to me that despite his resentment at the time, he still viewed you with great love, Genji.”

Genji squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation, glad for the visor hiding them.  “Perhaps we can continue this particular conversation later, master.”

Zenyatta nodded.  “Of course.”  But the tease returned as he went on, “I am very interested to see the many ‘high scores’ your brother says you achieved in your time here.  Lead the way, my student.”

The interior was a cacophony of light and life, so much so that Genji momentarily found himself dumbstruck.  From the exterior he had braced himself to find the place all but abandoned, a relic of a bygone fad, but he had rarely seen it this crowded in his halcyon days.  Couples huddled over machines, surrounded by whooping and cheering crowds; in one corner, a gang of omnics were blasting their way through a four-player shooter that had always cost three times the other games. 

He turned slowly, taking stock of the machines.  There in one corner were the few mechanical pinball tables, practically display pieces at this point, imported and maintained by an ever-shrinking set of specialists; there were the new wave of VR arcade cabinets from the mid-40s; there the rhythm games, their metal pads worn away by decades of pounding feet.  Two teams had taken up spots opposite a massive table in the center, shouting to each other as they guided a set of yellow balls around, dodging ghosts.  A row of cabinets he had never seen before lined one wall, blinking and spinning with lights, and a gaggle of kids gathered around Fighters of the Storm, shouting and pointing while the two players bit their lips in concentration.

“How lovely,” said Zenyatta from behind him.  The omnic was taking in the sights with his usual impassivity, but Genji could tell his teacher’s words were sincere.  “Someone in search of leisure here might never exhaust his options.”

“I must admit, I came pretty close,” he replied, still scanning the arcade.  He counted the machines as he went, their names dredging up half-forgotten memories of lazy weekends.  “I used to spend whole afternoons here, watching people try to top my scores.”  He smirked.  “They never did.”

“Your competitive spirit has always been strong, I see.”  Zenyatta gestured into the crowd.  “Show me a favorite, Genji.  I have traveled the world, but I cannot say I have spent much time in places such as these… though the more I look around, the more I begin to suspect a few words on tranquility could be useful.”

Genji chuckled at that.  “Well, if anyone could pull off a sermon in an arcade, it would be you, master.”

There was a clanging of bells, and one of the groups huddled around the pachinko machines in the far corner let out a chorus of cheers.  Genji turned at the sound, grinning.  Most of the pachinko parlors in the city were little more than gambling fronts his family once owned, but the ones here had always been for pure entertainment.  On days when he hadn’t been in the mood for games of skill, there was something soothing about their randomness.  You paid your credits, pulled the lever, and then things were out of your hands.  He and his friends would faux-brag about their victories on the machines, challenge each other to duels knowing odds were that both parties would fail spectacularly.

But you could find pachinko anywhere.  More importantly, there was nothing in those machines that showed that Genji Shimada had ever played or won them.  If he was going to show Zenyatta anything, it had to be one of the games where he had carved his initials at the top of the scoreboard, revisiting them once a month to ensure nobody had stolen his place.  He cracked his fingers - what was left of them, anyway - and began to make his way through the crowds.  Zenyatta followed closely behind.

The two of them stopped in front of a looming cabinet that proudly claimed to carry a dozen titles from bygone years.  Ordinarily, the arcade avoided these sorts of compilation machines - it annoyed players to have to share their machine with people who weren’t even playing the same game, and spectators preferred to know what was being played at each station.  But the owner of the arcade, a lean, short-haired man named Tsujiro, had made a few modifications to these cabinets, allowing a player’s credits to carry over from game to game.  Anyone who could run through all twelve games on a single credit earned a permanent place on the back wall.  As Genji laid his hands upon the controls - a joystick slightly wobbly from years of use, buttons that had been used so much they had long since lost their shine - it suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea if Tsujiro even still owned this place.  He hoped he did.

“This was where I made my name,” he said to Zenyatta.  “Twelve games, all by different companies.  It took me a summer and fall to learn to complete them all, and the winter to begin to master them.  When I cleared them all in a single afternoon the following spring, I felt as though I were a god.”

“It is good to know humility has always been your strong suit, my student.”

He chuckled at that.  When he had first met Zenyatta, it had been impossible to tell when the omnic was being sarcastic; then it had been impossible to believe he ever could be.  But years together had taught him that Zenyatta carried a mischievous side.  That he now teased Genji was a sign that not only he trusted him as a friend, but that he believed Genji had grown enough as a person that he no longer needed to play the role of teacher all the time.

Genji reached down and pressed a credit chip - one of the many burners Overwatch supplied on missions - to the side of the machine.  There was the sound of a coin clinking into place; the machines kept a few inside for the express purpose of giving digitally-paying customers that satisfying ka-chunk.  Genji could see the glow of his helmet reflected in the screen as it filled with a list of the games available.  He flicked the joystick absently, taking in the names.

“What were they like?”

Genji was still considering the list of games.  “What was who like?” he replied absently, trying to decide what he was in the mood for.

“Your friends here at the arcade.”

Genji started for a moment. How did he - no, Zenyatta was just making a guess, that was all.  “What makes you say that, master?”

Zenyatta gestured to the group of omnics gathered around the table in the center of the room.  “It seems to me that a place such as this is best enjoyed in good company.  And you have told me many times that even in your youth you never could resist a friendly challenge.”

Genji glanced away from his master.  “Well… yes.  Of course, I would play with friends from time to time.”  He was sure Zenyatta would see the statement for the lie it was; the only question was if the omnic would recognize that from time to time was the falsehood.  Unbidden, his mind turned to names that had once passed his lips nearly every day: Ken, Michiko, Himaru…

He took a deep breath and returned his focus to the present.  He was here to show Zenyatta a piece of his past, a fond hobby or two - not relive a decade of regrets.  He had spent enough nights at Shambali doing that. 

Zenyatta was watching him closely, waiting for him to say more, but Genji turned his attention back to the machine, scrolling through the list of games until he settled on one that would take all his concentration: Metal Runner, a run-and-gun shooter that had always been a favorite. Plenty of the games on the machine could ruin a twelve-game attempt, but MR was infamous for its brutal difficulty.  Genji had even considered having a cabinet brought to the Shimada estate for practice, but ultimately decided against - it felt too much like cheating.

He pressed the start button, and the screen filled with pixelated explosions.  Synthesized-rock guitars blasted out of the speakers, the music blotted out by the surrounding noise of the arcade.  Zenyatta watched impassively as the game began.  A small soldier made his way to the right of the screen, his miniscule gun firing bursts of bright yellow pellets.  Hordes of half-robotic monsters bore down on the soldier, exploding or bleeding as Genji took them down one by one. 

It was about the time that he launched a rocket into a queen bee-bot, causing it to explode in a shower of gore that would make a B-movie director wince, that it occurred to Genji that perhaps this had not been the ideal game to show Zenyatta. 

“Not all the games are like this, I promise.”  It had always been a blessing that his mask hid his face when he blushed, but he was painfully aware of how sheepish he sounded.  “But, you know, this was - this was what sold back then.”

“I see.”  There was a tiny hint of humor in Zenyatta’s voice.  Genji gritted his teeth and tried to focus on what was in front of him.  The basics of the game had come back to him almost automatically, but muscle memory was betraying him here, as it ever had.  No metal hands would ever quite be the same as the ones he was born with, and his brain struggled to compensate for the change in reaction speed. 

It didn’t compensate very well.  Two wolf-tanks and a bottomless pit later, Genji was staring blearily at a blinking GAME OVER.  Maybe that was for the best; if he recalled correctly, there was a brood alien near the end that had made him a bit squeamish even as a teenager.  He didn’t particularly need to show it to Zenyatta. 

“It seems quite challenging,” Zenyatta commented.  His voice was thoughtful.  “I can see how it would serve as both a diversion and a way of training one’s mind.”

“Pardon?” For an instant he remembered a dozen arguments with Hanzo, his brother chiding him that staring at screens all day would turn his brain to mush.

“It teaches you to concentrate, to be able to react to anything while still remembering all that has come before.  I may have… doubts about its ethical lessons, but it seems a fine way to hone the mental faculties.”  The monk nodded to himself.  “Perhaps we will need to order an arcade cabinet or two for the monastery.”

Genji stared at Zenyatta a few moments longer, then broke out into a smile.  Even after all this time, the monk could still surprise him.  “Perhaps so.  I would be happy to teach you what I know.”

“I am always happy to learn, Genji.”  Zenyatta nodded to the screen.  “For instance, these letters are…?”

Genji looked back and felt a rush of nostalgia at the sight of the high-score screen.  There had been a time in his life when nothing had mattered more than these lists.  “This is a record of those who have had the most success.  Including myself.”  His eyes flicked to the top, and he was satisfied to see RSG was still there. 

So satisfied that it took him a few moments to realize it was not quite at the top of the list.  But that was to be expected, wasn’t it? He had been gone more than ten years.  If anything, he should be proud that some other local youngster had stolen his spot, carried on the Shimada legacy.

Then he actually read the three letters at the top.

He stared at the screen a while longer, then smashed the menu button and navigated to the next game on the list, a top-down shooter that he and Michiko had always battled for the top spot on.  The wait for the high score list to come up felt like an eternity. 

Third place, SIM.  Second, RSG.  First…

He slammed the button again, navigated to the next game, a racer.  The same top two.  The next, golf.  Fishing.  A platformer. 

All of them had the same top two, in the same order.  Second place, RSG.  Ryuu ・ Shimada Genji.  A nod to his family’s crest.

The top initials needed no explanation.  If there were any three letters in the modern gaming world that didn’t, they were D, V, and A.

Zenyatta made to say something, but Genji was already pushing his way through the crowd to the back wall of the arcade.  The frame next to the office was filled with photos that went back decades.  There was Tsujiro, first to establish the dozen challenge and the first to clear it.  A few heads down the line from him was Genji himself, a smile somehow noisier than his sea-green hair plastered across his face.  Ken and Michiko even later. 

And at the far end, printed on paper so fresh that it had to only be a day or two old, was D.Va, leaning against the cabinet - his cabinet - a finger pointing out at him.  Bang, the signature said, with a bunny icon sealing it. 

Genji glared at the photo with such ferocity that he didn’t even hear Zenyatta come up behind him.  “Ah, this explains it, then.”

“Explains what?” Genji asked, unable to pull his gaze away from the photo.  She was surrounded by a gaggle of a dozen or so fans, who all looked starstruck as could be.  It wasn’t every day a world-class gamer graced the local arcade, after all.  Genji found himself strangely relieved that Tsujiro was nowhere to be seen in the photo.

“Hana asked me to pass along a message to you.  She insisted I would know when the time was right.” 

Genji tore his gaze from the photo and looked to Zenyatta.  The omnic kept his voice entirely level as he recited: “I believe her exact words were, ‘Get dunked on, old man.’”

For a time Genji stared at Zenyatta.  Then his eyes narrowed behind his mask.  “Master, you have taught me peace these many years.  It is time I taught you war.”

Chapter Text

Hana looked at the time on her HUD and counted down silently.  Five… four… three… two…

“Helloooooooo D.Va Nation!”

In the corner, her viewer count snapped into focus, already in the tens of thousands and climbing rapidly.  Next to it, a notification told her where she was standing in the categories: #1 IRL, #4 overall.  The grin that spread across her face was only half for the viewers - it was nice to be reminded you were on top of the world from the word go.

Not that it was much of a surprise.  “D.Va in Akihabara” was the kind of stream title that would bring on an extra thirty thousand viewers without even a push from her PR company - and oh, had there been a push.  Hana and her team knew exactly how much they could sell “gamer queen in otaku mecca”, and the fact that she’d been there half a dozen times before off-camera didn’t make a difference.  This wasn’t just Hana Song on holiday - this was D.Va giving her legions a chance to explore a whole new world with her. 

In fact, the biggest problem was going to be keeping some semblance of normalcy.  She’d meticulously mapped out her trip, and her team had reached out to each establishment she’d be visiting to warn them that they were likely to get a wave of fans trying to swarm in the door after her.  She was no Lúcio, but she was still a modern celebrity broadcasting her every move to the whole world, and if there was anywhere that she’d get mobbed, it was here. 

All of which was to say that right now the proprietors of this charming little café were doing their best to handle the twenty or so pink-clad groupies outside their doors while Hana panned the camera across the room to show off everything but the scene outside the window.  “I’ve never been to a maid café before, much less one entirely run by omnics!” She giggled.  “No idea what took me so long!”

Japan had been a flashpoint in the Omnic Crisis, a country that had long celebrated robots in the abstract suddenly forced to deal with the stark reality.  Before the crisis, a few omnics had taken roles in city or prefecture government, but this had done little to quell tensions.  Instead, Japan became a civil war within a civil war; in some parts of the countries, omnics had refused to take up arms, insisting peace was still possible.  In others, casualties had been catastrophic, as the pain of being treated as curiosities or science-fiction characters brought to life fanned the flames of revolt.

When the dust settled, reunification proved tricky.  In the few areas that had maintained peaceful relations - inasmuch as that was possible - omnics and humans created a new normal, but in the rest of the country too many wounds had been dealt to heal quickly.  The end result was a nation that self-segregated to the extreme.  In some cities, omnics mingled with humans freely, while others seemed populated almost entirely by one or the other.  Ironically, the rural villages of the country proved to be the most integrated, as omnics and humans alike thrived without the societal pressures the high-tech metropolises created.  Yasumizu, a tiny farming outlet nestled in the Fujiyoshi mountains, was well-known for having a population of no more than two dozen - half omnic, half human.

But a few large cities had worked towards integration - or at the very least, a few small areas like Akihabara had.  Tokyo as a whole was still marked by the scars of the war, but inevitably the first people to give the omnics a second chance were the people who had grown up with characters that looked just like them.  In turn, the omnics had found a subculture where they were accepted, not feared - and more importantly, they now had the respect that would let them use the image of the “robot” to bring their own culture to humanity.  Omnic mangaka told stories of high-schoolers who teamed up with their omnic classmates to fight evil and find love.  Omnic animators helped lighten the load for humans nearly driven mad by drawing hundreds of in-between frames.  A few omnics even modified their bodies to resemble characters of old, and Sunrise had set up a shop where children could meet their favorite Gundams in person - albeit at a much smaller size.

So it wasn’t that much of a surprise when the first omnic-run maid café opened.  There had been something of an uproar at first - the idea of omnics playing servant to human patrons was even more troubling than the original concept - but business was business.  And there was no denying the good sense of humor that ran through the place, with omnics of all genders faithfully recreating the costumes that had once been the sole purview of younger human women.  The rules of respecting the maids’ privacy and agency were as strong as ever, but the inherent clash of frilly lace and hard metal served to defuse any tension.

Hana didn’t know how many of her viewers had more than a humorous interest in the place - there was a reason she left the chat channel to her mods - but she was having the time of her life.  The omnic serving her, Kei-ko, was a head taller than her and a brass-gold color, with metal cat ears welded atop her head.  Her outfit was an explosion of lace and lavender, and while she spoke with perfect formality there was an air of mischief to her every word.  Kei-ko knew how to play to the cameras, to boot - in her downtime she was a streamer just like Hana, and she’d received special permission to stream Hana’s visit from her perspective as well.  An IM in the corner of Hana’s HUD from one of her moderators informed her that Kei-ko’s stream was seeing record numbers.  That was good - it was always fun to give an up-and-comer a boost, especially when they were no threat to her.

Kei-ko returned to the table bearing a plate loaded down with the fluffiest, roundest pancakes Hana had ever seen.  “For you, my lady.  I hope they suit your taste.”

Hana made a show of lifting her fork, pulling away a piece, putting it into her mouth, and chewing thoughtfully.  Then she swallowed and smiled radiantly.  “It’s wonderful, Kei-ko.”

“Is that so?” Kei-ko put a hand to her mouth and laughed daintily.  “I am glad to hear it, lady Song.  I had the chefs add extra salt to match your palette.”

The chat exploded, but Hana paid it no heed.  Instead she let her smile drop a degree into a smirk and lightly pushed the plate towards her host.  “Why don’t you have some, then? Or is jelly more to your taste?”

Kei-Ko curtsied with a smile of her own.  “Why, I’m sure my lady could recommend some wonderful jelly.  I would be honored to hear your recommendations.  But first, allow me to fetch more tea.”

Hana stuck her tongue out at the retreating omnic and turned the camera back towards herself.  “She’s just getting her shots in before I crush her at Hearthstone after the meal.”  Technically this tour was IRL-focused, with an emphasis on showing off Tokyo and the surrounding areas to her viewers, but there needed to be a bit of red meat to satisfy the base.  Three days ago it had been the arcade at Hanamura, today it would be her wiping the smile off Kei-ko.  The omnic was technically required to lose if a customer desired it, but Hana had specifically asked the cafe to waive that clause.  She wanted a fair match, same as ever.

Most people who met Hana assumed she hated omnics, or at least bore a grudge against them.  The truth was a bit more complex than that.  Hana would be lying if she said she bore no ill will towards omnic-kind: even before the kaiju-omnic began its assault on her country, Hana grew up painfully aware that there were parts of her countryside that were little more than barren wastelands because of the Uprising.  Officially, the Korean government and school system encouraged peaceful reunification with the omnic race, but every parent and teacher in the country had seen what they could do.  No child grew up without a healthy fear of metal-heads.

And yet Hana couldn’t bring herself to write off all of omnic-kind.  There was no Great Firewall to keep internet-hungry kids from seeing images of omnics living in peace or creating their own cultures, and when she dived into gaming headfirst it didn’t take her long to realize that many of the world’s best players were machines.  At first she resented them even more.  Surely machines had an unassailable advantage over humans? Surely they would play perfectly, interacting with the game in ways humans never could?

But they weren’t perfect.  They got too invested in a losing strategy, or misread their opponent’s strength, or made one of a thousand other mistakes Hana had as she learned the ropes.  And that was infinitely more exciting.  Hana didn’t care about beating a perfect AI - all it meant was that either she had cheated or the game was broken.  But conquering someone near-perfect? That was where the real fun began.

Her phone rang.

Her HUD blipped and moved the caller icon into her line of sight.  She had to hide her smile when she saw it was Zenyatta.  It wasn’t marked as high-priority or Overwatch-class, but she could guess what he was calling about. 

“Hate to do it,” she said to her viewers, “but looks like it’s time for an ad break.  We’ll be back with tea soon!”

And with a press of a button, she was off air.  Leaning back in her chair, she smiled and answered Zenyatta’s call.  “Hey there Zen-zen!”

“Hello, Hana.  I hope I have not interrupted anything.”

She waved a hand in dismissal, then remembered the call was audio-only.  It was hard to break the streamer habits.  “Just the usual.  My big Japan stream.”

“Is it going well?”

She glanced at the corner of her HUD - she was now #3 overall, and that was on an ad break.  “You know it.”

“How wonderful.  I am calling because I wanted to let you know that I passed your message from the other day on to Genji.  He would like to speak with you directly.”

She laughed and squirmed in her seat with anticipation.  “Oh, I bet he does.”

Even amongst the members of Overwatch, Hana and Zenyatta made for an odd pairing.  They met at a strictly off-the-books conference in Seoul, where the South Korean government was discussing how much support to provide Overwatch and what they expected in return.  While the men in suits debated behind closed doors, Hana had found herself alone and offline in a stuffy conference room with nobody but the monk for company.  At first she had ignored him and focused on her laptop, already working out the details of how being connected with a covert-ops operation would effect her streaming schedule, but when she leaned back and stretched her arms, she had seen -

“Are you juggling?”

The omnic looked back at her with a perfectly neutral expression.  “Of course not.  These orbs are a representation of my connection to the iris.  I would never disrespect them so.”  With a flurry of movement, he caught five orbs in a row and launched them back into the air to hover around him.  “Though I am sure it would be quite fun.”

That had been all it took to cement their friendship.  They rarely had a chance to meet in person, but Overwatch provided ten-times-encrypted channels to anyone it worked with, and Hana occasionally called the omnic to run down her latest streams and matches.  He listened with infinite patience and more interest than most she’d met, and he never failed to go pound-for-pound with her when it came to verbal barbs - he just did it with the best deadpan she’d ever heard.  More than once she invited him to come on her stream, but he had always politely declined, citing his preference to speak one-on-one with people.  Besides, he wasn’t wrong when he pointed out that a lecture on human-omnic compassion probably wasn’t exactly what her target audience was looking for.

Of course, wherever Zenyatta went, Genji went as well.  Hana ignored the cyborg ninja at first - he was hardly the first she’d met - but the fondness with which Zenyatta spoke of him piqued her curiosity.  Besides, she had a policy of reading up on anyone she might be on stream with one day.  Zenyatta provided her with all she needed to know about Genji today, but social media told her all she wanted to about Genji in his youth.  And it told her that he had been a massive tool.  He had used his family’s resources to have girlfriends in half a dozen countries, buy out concert halls for birthday parties attended only by other scions, and display the kind of truly awful fashion sense only found in the mega-rich. 

Hana had no particular ill will against Genji as he was today, but as soon as she saw the photo of him on a yacht with a woman in each arm, an open bottle in each hand, and a shirt declaring him “PRO OF PROS”, she had decided to destroy him.  That the Genji of fifteen years ago no longer existed was irrelevant; he was an embarrassment to the art of gaming, and thus required some D.Va justice.  And so when her producers - and Overwatch - told her she was heading to Japan, there was no doubt in her mind that she was going to make a stopover at Hanamura.  If Genji was as changed as he claimed, he wouldn’t mind if she mopped up some old scores of his.  It was all in good fun, after all.  And if he wasn’t, well…

She tabbed over to Genji’s channel with a grin.  “Hey Genji.”

“Hana.”  Genji’s voice was pure ice.  “I hope you realize this means war.”

Sweeter words had never been spoken.  Hana giggled in delight.  “Wow, Genji.  I thought you were supposed to be past such material concerns as getting steamrolled in the leaderboards by now.”

“And I would have thought you had better ways to spend your time.  But if you intend to challenge me, I will not back down.”

“Go for it, ninja.  But don’t forget - I play to win.”  She leaned back in her chair and took a long drink of water.  Outside, a few desperate fans were waving for her attention, but she ignored them.  “You’ll play on the original machines, of course? I don’t trust emulators for something this important.”

Genji made a strangled noise.  Hana’s expression flickered into a smile.  Genji and Zenyatta were globe-trotters; even if Overwatch wasn’t sending the pair of them on missions every week, Genji would never make Zenyatta wait around in Japan so he could spend days re-learning some old videogames.  Time to see if the dragon had any bite to match his bark.

“Of course,” he finally said.

She raised a brow.  “Really?”

“Tsujiro might be the only person on earth to put those twelve games together, but those cabinets are still out there on their own.  If I have to sail the seven seas to find them, I will.  And when I do, I’m going to remind the world why I was once called the Golden Fingers of Hanamura.”

Hana considered this for a moment.  Then she deadpanned, “Professional advice? Get a better gamertag.”

Genji made another squawk of irritation, and Hana grinned.  Past her HUD, she could see Kei-ko coming out of the kitchen with a truly titanic teapot in hand.  The show had to go on.  “Sorry, Genji.  I’ve got work to do.  Give Zen-zen my best, okay?”

“I’m going to crush you, Hana.”

“Bring it on.”

Chapter Text

They found the first machine in a pub in Eichenwalde.  The paint was peeling off the vinyl sides, and the dust atop it was good reason to believe it hadn’t been moved in half a century.  When Genji asked the bartender to plug it in and it actually powered up, the snow-haired man swore twice - first in surprise, and then again when he realized he’d been letting a revenue stream go uncollected for years on end. 

Reinhardt found the two of them there hours later, Zenyatta watching in silence as Genji laid his hand against the trackball.  The air seemed unspeakably still - even Zenyatta’s orbs hung in place.  Then Genji shot his arm forward, and the ten-pixel-tall sprite on screen smacked the ball straight into the rough.  Genji groaned in exasperation and sunk his head against the console.

“Do not be discouraged, my student.”  Zenyatta patted Genji on the back of the head affectionately.  “A single victory can erase the pain of a thousand failures.”

Before Genji could reply, Reinhardt made himself known.  “Now what’s all this, then?” he called, stepping up to loom over the omnic and his student.  His face broke out into a look of delight.  “Hah! Old Meiser’s Golf! I didn’t even know this thing was still around!”

Genji looked up, the light of his visor shifting in surprise.  “You know this game?”

“Know it? It was the only way to pass the time when we were stationed back here during the Uprising! The commanders confiscated every electronic device they could get their hands on.  Too much risk of hacking, they said.  But even if this thing could connect to the net, what would they do with it? Launch coins at us?”  He reached over and brushed a bit of dust off the arcade cabinet affectionately.  “We’d spend hours seeing which of us was tops at this old thing.  I never got the hang of putting, but I could drive my way down the fairway with a single stroke.  Turned out the same went for the real sport, hah-hah!”

“How wonderful,” Zenyatta replied.  “Perhaps your old comrades’ names are still recorded here.”

Reinhardt chuckled sadly.  “Could be.  Some of those men never got a proper memorial, you know.  This place’s been redecorated and repaired so much it hardly looks like it used to.  Be funny if this hunk of junk did a better job remembering them than the army did.”

Genji thought of SIM and KEN and RSG and sighed.  “It would be.”

“Shall we find out?” Zenyatta asked.  Reinhardt and Genji both looked to him, and he nodded gently.  “I suppose we could just reset the game and wait for the leaderboard to display, but it would be a terrible waste of an opportunity to practice the later stages.  You are still planning to challenge Hana, are you not, Genji?”

Genji started.  “Y-yes, master.  Of course.”

“Hana? You mean the gremlin?” Reinhardt threw his head back and laughed.  “Don’t tell me she’s set her sights on these old boards now! She’s got to leave something for us old-timers.”

“I’m afraid she has,” Zenyatta replied with a dead seriousness that anyone who didn’t know him would have taken at face value.  “Genji is on a quest to reclaim his honor after she impugned it.”

“Zenyatta!”

Reinhardt just laughed harder.  “That’s a good quest to be on, if you ask me.  Come here, Shimada.”  He gently nudged Zenyatta aside and took his spot alongside Genji, then laid his hand on the trackball with a grin.  “Watch and learn.”

It was near midnight when Brigitte came to collect Reinhardt for the night (”you’re going to ruin your hands if you keep scrunching them up like that”, she chided as she led him away) and Genji and Zenyatta found themselves alone at the machine.  With a flick of the wrist, Genji putted the ball into the last hole, and a triumphant fanfare blared out of the machine’s speakers, happily oblivious to the fact that Genji was still a good ten strokes behind D.Va’s record.  With a sigh and a roll of the shoulders, he stepped away from the machine.  At his side, Zenyatta looked up from his meditations and nodded.  “How kind of Reinhardt to provide instruction.”

Genji chuckled.  “I still have a ways to go.  Golf never was my strong suit.”

Zenyatta idly twirled one of his orbs around a finger.  “And yet you topped its leaderboard in your youth.  Do not ignore your past successes because of your present mistakes.”  He stopped the orb and looked pointedly at Genji.

Genji sighed.  He had known this was coming sooner or later.  “Master…”

“Forgive my prying.  But I cannot help but notice that, happy as you are to speak of gaming and share it with me, you have yet to speak of why it means so much to you.  I came with you to Hanamura because I wished to learn more about you, Genji, and as much as I have enjoyed this quest, I did not need it to know of your playful nature or competitive spirit.”

Genji leaned back against the cabinet and looked up to the pub’s ceiling.  Between his cybernetics and his helmet, he could easily make out a tiny spider spinning its web in a dusty corner.  “Zenyatta,” he finally said, “I know you mean well.  But…”

“Not tonight?”

Genji nodded.

“If you do not wish to speak of this, that is your right.”  Zenyatta stood and nodded again, gently.  “I am always here to listen, for matters large or small.”  He turned and started to make his way to the stairs at the back of the room.  “Come along.  It grows late, and we should be well-rested for tomorrow’s mission.”

Genji watched him go, then looked back to the arcade cabinet behind him.  He thought of how Reinhardt had guided his hand and smiled softly.  “’Never put the index and middle fingers together’, huh?” He chuckled.  “I bet you would’ve gotten into some great debates with this guy, Ken.”

They found another in a old arcade in the outskirts of Detroit, nestled among pinball machines and crane games.  The place wasn’t half as busy as Hanamura, but like the arcade there it was undergoing something of a renaissance.  Zenyatta got a few suspicious stares as they made their way over to it - omnics were a common sight in Detroit proper, but significantly less so out in the suburbs - but he ignored them.  Genji looked up at the title and sighed wistfully.  CosmoShooter. 

“A favorite, Genji?”

“You could say that,” he replied, waving his palm across the credit scanner and waiting for it to flash green.  (An underrated perk of having a cyborg body was not needing to carry a wallet anymore.)  The screen lit up obligingly, and Genji slammed down on the controls, eager to get started.  Top-down shooters had seemed random to him at first, with their tiny ships navigating screens full of shining bullets, but training and memorization would eventually reveal their patterns.  After that, it was a simple matter of dexterity.  Few things were as satisfying as bobbing and weaving perfectly through a mob of enemies that had seemed impenetrable weeks before.

“It seems this one is two-player.  Perhaps I should join you.”

Genji nodded, but didn’t look away from the screen.  “I would be happy to someday, Master.  But we haven’t much time today, and I’d like to see if I can’t top Hana’s score while we’re here.”

“Of course.”  Zenyatta stood at Genji’s side and watched impassively as he tore through the game’s levels.  For his part, Genji was having the time of his life - he still wasn’t quite up to his skills with his original body, but he was close.  Hana’s high scores were recorded in his visor’s memory so that he could pull them up to compare as needed, but Genji didn’t bother just yet.  This was just the practice round - once he’d warmed up, he’d give it a real try.

They stayed like that an hour longer, Genji throwing his ship against horde after horde of enemies, Zenyatta offering the occasional gentle reassurance when Genji’s hand slipped and his progress went up in flames.  Genji felt the weight of the world slipping away as he challenged the game again and again.  Some part of him chastised him - surely there was more important work to be done.  But it was peaceful, losing himself in the old patterns and repetition, a friend at his side to share in all the small defeats and victories along the way. 

He hadn’t spent time like this since -

The thought jolted him, and his hand jerked a little too far to the right.

There was a flash as the last ship exploded into dust, leaving Genji staring at the “press any button to continue” screen.  He stood there silently a little while; Zenyatta watched him, waiting for Genji to say something.  

When he didn’t, Zenyatta tilted his head gently towards his student.  “Is something the matter?”

Genji didn’t reply.  The screen flashed NEW PLAY?, again and again.  It didn’t care that fifteen years had passed; it was the same as it ever was, and it always would be. 

Finally, he pressed the fire button, and the display reset itself, a punk-rock fanfare heralding the start of his next game.  Genji’s hands began to guide his ship, but the shapes before him seemed flat and colorless.  When he finally spoke, he was almost startled to hear his own voice.

“My family decided everything for me, Zenyatta.  My education.  My training.  Where I would go, what I would experience, what I was supposed to be.  If they’d had their way, I would have never left the family estate without a cadre of bodyguards and a schedule mapped out to the minute.”  He flicked the joystick a little harder than he needed to, his ship jerking over to the side of the screen and narrowly avoiding a rain of bullets. 

Zenyatta remained silent, but Genji knew he was listening with his full attention.  Genji’s fingers tapped away at the buttons beneath them almost automatically, knocking out enemy after enemy.  “Hanzo… took pity on me.  There would be afternoons where he was supposed to train me in archery.  But instead he would shoo me out, let me wander back into the city and have the time to myself.  He said it was because he couldn’t be bothered to teach me, but we both knew that was a lie.

“Gaming was one of my few escapes at home, so on my second or third time out I made my way to the arcade.  I still remember walking through those doors the first time, feeling like my heart was going to leap out of my chest, afraid that at any moment one of my family’s attendants would swoop down and spirit me away back home.  But nobody ever did.  The place was half-empty, and I was just another kid wandering the aisles, peering up at groups of teens laughing and shooting the breeze as they played.  I was nobody.  It was incredible.

“I met Ken - Hashimoto Ken - on my second visit.  We were in class together, but we barely exchanged a word at school.  He caught me trying Golf on Tsujiro’s cabinet, and -” Genji’s voice dropped into an exaggerated baritone.  “’No, no, no! What’re you doing? Why’ve you got your fingers pressed together on the side like that? You need to use all five to get proper putt control!’” Genji laughed.  “We were ten years old, but I already knew that as a Shimada, I was supposed to expect everyone to treat me like royalty.  Instead this messy-haired kid with glasses was telling me what to do! I nearly challenged him to a duel then and there.”

“But you didn’t,” Zenyatta said, his voice warm.

“Not that day, anyway.  Maybe a few times over the years.  We became… friends, of a sort.”

Zenyatta tilted his head just the slightest. 

Genji sighed again, accepting the unspoken reproach.  “Not ‘of a sort’.  Friends.  Then a month or so after I started frequenting the arcade, we met Michiko.”

“Oh?”

“Sadame Michiko.  I believe I’ve mentioned her a few times before.”

“You have,” Zenyatta said calmly.  “Though less in the context of gaming and more in the context of your - how did you put it? - romantic conquests.”

Genji felt a rush of embarrassment.  “Did I really use the word ‘conquests’?”

“No, but you used everything but it.”

Genji sighed as the game screen flashed to the next level.  “She was a regular at the arcade.  I must have met her when I was no more than eleven.  We would spend afternoons trading high scores, then evenings trading cards.”  He pressed down the button to begin and was greeted with a familiar scrolling ocean.  His ship, all sleek metal and silver style, began making its way up the screen as hordes of bullets rained down.  “We got older.  She never outgrew the arcade, and neither did I.  I thought that meant we were soulmates.”

“A common mistake, I am certain.”

Genji smirked at that.  There had been a time when Zenyatta’s jokes had sent him into fits of rage, believing the omnic was mocking him; now they kept him grounded more than anything else. 

“And then there was Himaru.  He was three years older than all of us, which meant he was all but a god in our eyes.  When I was older, I realized Hanzo had asked him to keep an eye on us, but at the time, I just thought it was - so cool that an upperclassman was talking to me like I was his friend, not like a kid or like some prince.  And in the arcade, we could do battle on equal footing.  I always felt proudest when I bested him in a head-to-head game.”

Zenyatta’s voice was a smile.  “Sometimes I wonder if my sermons could have stood up to the ego of the young Master Shimada.”

“Stop it,” Genji said, but under his mask he was smiling.  This - this was exactly what he’d spent so many hours of his youth doing, wasn’t it? A game he could challenge, a friend at his side, the conversation flitting from idle chatter to trading jabs to their doubts and fears.  How many times had he wished he could bring those days back, but -

There was a static-y explosion as Genji’s ship slipped and crashed into a charging enemy.  He groaned and leaned down to wave his credit chip against the machine again, hoping against hope that he Zenyatta wasn’t about to ask what he knew he was.

“And where are they now?”

Genji fell silent.  For a while Zenyatta watched him navigate the game with practiced ease.  When he spoke again, his voice was heavy.  “I don’t know.”  Genji’s hands flicked back and forth, effortlessly guiding the ship through waves of enemies and out of harm’s way, but even with his eyes hidden behind his mask it was clear his thoughts were elsewhere.  “I did things in my youth I am proud of, Zenyatta.  Things that I look back on and do not regret.  Small as it may seem, those days in the arcade were one of those things.  But for all my rebellious spirit, I was still an egoistic and self-centered man.  That I did not condone my family’s greater crimes was no excuse for my smaller ones.”

“You are, as always, too harsh on yourself,” Zenyatta said kindly.

Genji laughed, but it was a short and hollow sound.  “You were the one who taught me to strive for self-improvement.”

“Yes.  But I hope I did not forget to teach you to recognize that improvement.”  The omnic looked away from the screen to his student; Genji stood stock-still besides the movement of his hands.  “That you are capable of recognizing not only your past mistakes but also take pride in your past joys is a sign of how far you’ve come, Genji.”

“Is that why you’ve been so cooperative on this little quest of mine?”  Genji spoke warmly, but with a touch of inquiry.  “Traveling the globe to regain my high scores is… perhaps not a shining example of our philosophy.”

Zenyatta’s lights flickered, a sign of bemusement.  “You have always had a competitive spirit, Genji, and so does Hana.  This exercise will bring the both of you closer together, I am sure.  And I believe it will help with our current lesson.”

For a moment Genji glanced away from the screen and towards his friend.  “That peace without happiness is hollow?”

“I have been happy to accompany you on this quest of yours, Genji.  I hope only that you have been happy pursuing it.”

Genji nodded his head gently.  “I have, Zenyatta.”

There was a squawk from the machine, and Genji looked back just in time to watch his ship disintegrate ten seconds short of the boss.  He groaned and leaned down to wave his hand against the credit reader again. 

“Do not be discouraged, Genji.  True happiness is not lost through temporary setbacks.”

“Shut up, master.”

Chapter Text

There was a spark, and Genji swore.  Angela looked up from his body, forceps in one hand, her eyes hidden by protective goggles.  “Language, Genji.”

“Try not to short-circuit me, then.”

“I’m a doctor, not an electrician.  I’m doing my best here.  Unless you’d like me to call in Torbjörn?”

Genji gritted his teeth and leaned back against the gunmetal bed.  This wasn’t the first time he’d wound up under Angela’s knife, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it - especially when his physiology meant no general anesthetic.  He closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing steadily and slowly, and not on the gaping laceration in his chest his own cybernetics had made for him. 

A wave of relief rushed over him, and he let out a sigh and relaxed.  He opened one eye to see Zenyatta’s harmony orb glowing again.  “Thank you, master.”

“Do not thank me, Genji.  Thank Dr. Ziegler.  Without her we would be lost.”

“You see?” Angela said, not looking up.  Her hands moved with the speed and precision that had landed her a top surgery position at 22.  “Zenyatta is appreciative.  Although I am obligated to repeat that he should really be getting a check-up as well, not playing anesthesiologist.”

“I am in no pain, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Your arm is hanging by a tendon.”

“A minor issue.”

Genji tried not to laugh.  If not for the arm swinging side-to-side and fact they were currently holed up in Overwatch’s premier surgical bay in Gibraltar, there would be nothing to suggest Zenyatta had been sent flying through several walls in an explosion not six hours prior. 

There was another spark, and Genji yelped in pain.  At least one of us walked out of this alright.

At his side, Zenyatta squeezed his hand reassuringly.  “Pain of the body is temporary, Genji, but that does not mean it is not real.  Do not hesitate to voice it.”

Genji returned the gesture as best he could and forced a smile.  “I assure you,” - there was another jolt, and he gritted his teeth for a moment - “if this gets much worse, there will be no doubts over whether I am ‘voicing it’.” 

“That won’t happen.”  Angela lifted a shard of shrapnel from the wound and gently placed it aside.  “You were lucky, Genji.  Insofar as having your own armor lacerate one of your few remaining internal organs can be lucky, anyway.  I’m going to pack the wound and close up here, and we’ll call in the engineers to start repairs on the cybernetics.” 

Genji sighed and squeezed Zenyatta’s hand again as he felt the surgeon begin placing biofilm gauze into the wound.  A moment later, pinpoints of pain began to lance up his body as she sutured the wound closed.  Genji tilted his head towards Zenyatta.  “Now that you have seen I am not dead, will you please get your arm replaced, master?”

Zenyatta looked over to the dangling limb as though he had already forgotten about it.  “I suppose.  But compared to your wounds, it is not urgent-”

Angela gently placed the suturing needle back onto the tray with her other tools and looked up at the pair in exasperation.  “I don’t know which of you two is the more troublesome patient, and I’ve had to reconstruct half of Genji from scratch before.  Come along, Zenyatta.”

Genji watched the pair go and sunk back into the bed, letting a breath of exhaustion out.  If he had his way, he would go with them and stay by Zenyatta’s side the entire repair process.  The explosion in Madrid - a Talon distraction tactic that had been plenty lethal on its own - had nearly killed the both of them.  It was dumb luck that they had escaped with survivable injuries, and if Reinhardt hadn’t been there to cover them, Genji wasn’t sure Zenyatta would have been able to get him back to the transport without being overrun by Talon’s mercs. 

There had been a time when he would have stayed and tried to burn Talon to the ground in revenge, his own wounds be damned.  And had Zenyatta not stood no worse for wear (save the arm) after the explosion, he may very well still have.  But they would survive, and his life was worth too much to throw away on petty vengeance.  In time Talon would face justice for their crimes, just as his family had.  When he recovered, he and Zenyatta would visit the battlefield and offer what peace they could to the bystanders harmed in this latest skirmish, and then they would return to the work of putting an end to Talon’s machinations.

When he recovered.  He lifted his left arm and flexed his fingers experimentally. No issues there.  But he didn’t even bother trying to lift the other; the crushed plating along his chest told him all he needed to know.  It would be some time before he wielded his blade again.  A flicker of anger ran through him, and he groaned and leaned back in the bed.  For now, there was nothing he could do but wait for the engineers to have a chance to look at him. 

“Tough break, huh?”

He looked up.  Hana stood in the doorway of the medbay.  Her own arm was wrapped in bandages, and her face was still streaked in mech oil.  When she smiled, it was a half-formed thing, more an obligation than anything else. 

Genji nodded to her, ignoring the pain in his neck.  “The same to you.”

“Whatever.  Not the first mecha I’ve lost, and it won’t be the last.  HQ pays the bills.”  She glanced back over her shoulder.  “How’s Zen-zen? I saw Mercy walking him down towards the repair bays.”

“Almost lost an arm, but otherwise unharmed.”

Hana chuckled at that.  “Nearly lost a limb but still in great shape.  Sometimes I’m almost jealous of omnics.  Glad to hear he’s okay.”

Genji nodded again, then looked to his own limp arm and sighed.  “I suppose you will be holding on to those high scores a little longer.”

Hana looked back at him, her brows raising in surprise.  “You’re still trying? It’s been like a year.”

“Zenyatta was supposed to be sending you pictures of my progress.”

“He has.  But the last one was six months ago.  I thought you might’ve gotten bored.”

Genji summoned a fighting grin.  “What? Hoping I’ll give up and give you an easy out?”

She snorted at that.  “In your dreams.  Last I checked you only beat me at five of them.  You’ve got a long way to go if you want to take down D.Va.”

“I welcome adversity,” he shot back, then winced in pain.  “But we shall have to put our duel on hold a while longer.”

Hana bit her lip, and Genji realized she hadn’t once looked directly at his torn-up body.  “You’re gonna be okay, right? Like, they can put you back together properly?”

“Of course.  But it will take me a while to learn whatever new hardware they install.  They can’t wire things up to the exact same nerves after damage like this, and software can only do so much.  My mind will need to find its own way to accepting a new hand.” 

“Which means?”

He smiled through another jolt of pain.  “Zenyatta would tell you it means a time to meditate and refocus my inner self.  The doctors would tell you it means a lot of physical therapy.  I am sorry to say this is one time my teacher is wrong.”

“Yeah.”

For a while neither of them said anything.  A few distant clanks and voices filled the silence as other members of the base went about cleaning up the Madrid operation.  Finally, Hana stepped away from the doorframe.  “I gotta get back to control.  Grandpa’s hosting a debriefing as soon as he gets in.”

“And which Grandpa is this?”

“Both, actually.  Though only Reinhardt likes it when I call him that.  Morrison’s got too much of a stick up his butt.”  She glanced at him again, and Genji could see her trying this time to take in the sight of his wounds.  He felt a pang of anger.  She was the youngest of them; in a different world, she would have been safely back in Seoul, climbing the ladder and living the life of a gaming superstar. 

“Take care, Hana.  I will tell Zenyatta you stopped by.”

“Thanks.  I’ll check in on him later.”  She bit her lip again.  “Take care, ninja.”

The cabinet arrived at Gibraltar a week later. 

At first Genji thought it was Tsujiro’s own.  The original had been a custom job, and at first glance this one had the same markings, the same awkward configuration of a half-dozen control schemes on one deck.  But looking a little closer, it was clear this had been put together by someone - or someones - with a little more time and money than an arcade owner tinkering about in his back room. 

At his side, Zenyatta read from the letter that had been tucked into the bottom of the screen.  “’Dear Genji.  After the success of my Japan special a year ago, my company reached out to Tsujiro-san about cooperating on custom-made cabinets matching his famous dozen.  We went as far as mocking up this prototype, but ultimately he declined.  I guess I could’ve sent this along earlier, but I kind of enjoyed your travelogues.  You and Zen-Zen could be a great pair of gamer personalities if you put your minds to it.’  Genji, what is a ‘gamer personality’?”

“Don’t worry about it, master.  Just keep reading.”

“’Mercy says it’s gonna be a while before you can really swing your sword or use your shurikens again, and that you’re going to need to work on your fine motor control first.  So I figure this is as good a practice box as any.  And don’t forget that our challenge is still on.  One of these days when we’re both free we’ll have a proper showdown, so you better get practicing.  Love, D.Va.’” Zenyatta folded up the letter and returned it to the pink-bunny envelope it had been delivered in.  “How thoughtful.”

Genji ran a hand along the edge of the cabinet and smiled.  “It is incredible work.  It nearly had me fooled for a moment.  I suppose the illusion was bound to break as soon as I started it up, though.”

“In what sense?”

“The high scores.”  He patted the side of it, his smile fading a touch.  “Those are stuck in Hanamura for good.”

Zenyatta considered this.  “Perhaps that is not such a bad thing.  Tsujiro’s machine will always be an artifact of Genji and Michiko.  Perhaps this new one will become an artifact of Genji and D.Va.”

Genji chuckled at the thought.  “And Zenyatta?”

“Why, Genji.  I’m sure I wouldn’t want to get in the way of such a spirited competition.  And I am plenty satisfied watching you play.”

“You should try it some time, master.  You might have fun.”

Zenyatta’s mouth curled into the slightest of smiles.  “Perhaps so.”

“Chikushou!”

Zenyatta said nothing as Genji pounded the front of the cabinet with his good hand.  One stroke, that was all it would have taken to finally beat Hana’s score and be done with this infernal putting green for good.  Instead, his fingers had seized as he had lined up the shot, sending the virtual ball off into the water.  With a chorus of sad MIDI trombones, the screen scrolled to show where the ball had been placed for another try.  Genji glared at the machine, then reached around back and flipped the power switch.  There was a momentary whine as the screen died.

“Genji.”  Zenyatta’s voice was calm, but firm.

Genji didn’t respond.  Still standing in front of the cabinet, his hands clasping the side, he took a few deep breaths.  He looked down at his still-healing hand and resisted the urge to slam it down in anger. 

“Genji,” Zenyatta said again. 

Genji stepped away from the cabinet.  Without a word, he brushed past Zenyatta and into the hall.  At this hour, the base was almost silent, and the hallway glowed dimly in the after-hours lights.  Not that he needed them; Angela’s repairs all those years ago had given him near-perfect night vision, and his mask could always take care of the rest.  He strode past the other cabins, his hands reflexively flexing and unflexing.  He knew Zenyatta was following behind him, but there was nothing he could do about that.

A few stairways and hatches later, he clambered out onto the roof.  Technically, nobody was supposed to be out here - “a tactical liability”, Morrison had told them half a dozen times - but it wasn’t like Talon didn’t know the base was occupied.  Sombra joyriding a satellite to spy on him letting off a bit of stress wasn’t going to be the thing that pushed Talon to decide an attack was in their best interest.

Genji took a long, slow breath, letting the salt of the nighttime sea fill his lungs.  That was one thing Angela and her team hadn’t been able to fix all those years ago; smell and taste weren’t nearly as important as, say, a cardiovascular system.  He could still enjoy a breeze or the taste of chocolate, but there would always be a part of him that knew he wasn’t getting the full experience. 

There was a faint clang as Zenyatta lifted himself up through the hatch.  Genji still ignored him, but sat and crossed his legs, looking out over the darkened sea.  Zenyatta joined him, saying nothing.  This was the way it had always been with them, since they had first met; Genji would push the monk away, and yet Zenyatta would always come following after. 

Genji finally looked at the omnic.  “Don’t you ever tire of my temper tantrums, master?” he asked.

Zenyatta said nothing, only looked at him with the impenetrable expression he wore when he intended to let Genji do the talking. 

Genji turned back to the sea, trying to ignore the jolt of annoyance he felt towards Zenyatta.  Some nights, he didn’t want to deal with self-reflection and self-improvement.  Some nights, he just wanted to let out his frustration on a video game cabinet in peace.

He looked down to his hands again, his shoulders sagging.  How much longer would it take until he could return to work? He had spent so many years looking for a purpose, for something he could take in pride in being, and now he found himself whiling away his days in front of a game cabinet, as he had so many times in his youth.  Why was he even doing this? Genji Shimada, pro of pros, only existed in a few forgotten high-score lists.  He was gone now, and that was for the better.

“I’ve had enough of this challenge,” he said quietly.  “It’s only a distraction.”

“Is that so,” Zenyatta replied.

Genji hated that those three words were enough to keep him talking.  He knew what he was doing out here; he wasn’t really out here to cool off and make his own decision.  He was just going to talk until Zenyatta showed him an answer.  There would always be a petulant part of him that resented how much he had come to depend on his friend.

“It is,” he went on, as though he had no intention of listening to the omnic.  “Hana is kind, but there is no need for me to waste away my days on these frivolous pursuits.  Even injured, there are better ways I could spend my time.  I could re-double my meditations.  I could help sort through the letters you receive.”

“You already spend six hours a day doing these things, but I am of course always happy to see you devote yourself to further study.”

Genji had to hold back a laugh at that.  “I can - I don’t know.  Do better things with my life than game.  I don’t need to go chasing old ghosts.”

Zenyatta considered this, idly twirling one of his orbs around a finger.  When he spoke again, his tone was casual.  “What happened to your friends, Genji?”

Genji looked up to the night sky.  Of course Zenyatta had seen his lie back in Detroit for what it was.  For a sick, awful moment he found himself wishing he could say they all died in an accident or they all got cruel and abandoned me or any other tragedy.  Tragedy was something he had no control over; tragedy was something that needed no forgiveness. 

“Nothing,” he finally said, his voice quiet.  “They all live in or around Hanamura.  Michiko and Ken each married college sweethearts.  Himaru once worked for Hanzo, but he got out of the business years and years ago.”  He had found files on Himaru while working to dismantle the Shimada clan’s operations, and omitted his old friend’s name from the list he forwarded to the detectives.  As for Michiko and Ken - he had never actually deactivated most of his old social media accounts.  A few minutes scrolling was more than enough to tell him how much he had missed.

Zenyatta considered this in silence for a little while.  “So why do you make no effort to connect with them once more?”

He sighed and looked down.  “It is the same story I have told you a thousand times, Zenyatta.  I grew vain and cruel and willing to overlook a thousand small crimes because I did not condone the larger ones.”

“And these crimes of yours drove them away from you? Is that what you intend to say?”

Genji felt the heat of an old shame in his chest.  “I have told you a lie of omission, master.  It is true that I met them at the arcade, and that they became some of my few friends - but as much as I pretended like I did, I did not truly see them as equals.  I was second heir to the Shimada clan, and for all I liked to play the rebel, I never shied away from the power and prestige that title brought me. 

“When I grew irritated that Ken knew the ins and outs of a game better than I did, I would casually mention that hours spent training with the blade cut into gaming time.  When I asked Michiko to coffee one day in my teens, there was a part of me that knew she was aware a Shimada was asking her out, not just the boy from the arcade.  I could even pressure Himaru if I complained about him to Hanzo.”  He chuckled bitterly.  “What great friendships I made.  I should have saved everyone the trouble and asked my father for a few more vassals.”

“Genji.”  Zenyatta’s tone was firm.  “What have we discussed about self-loathing?”

“That it is no better for the soul than loathing of another,” Genji replied wearily.  “But I do not say these things lightly.  I have spent many a night grappling with what I have done to these people I called my friends.”

“And how many have you spent reflecting upon the good you did them?”

Genji bit back the response of what good? He could imagine Zenyatta’s response if he said that, a reprimand laced with painful disappointment.  “A few days spent at the arcade does not undo my cruelties.”

“Perhaps not.  Nor did your brother’s atonements undo the wounds he dealt you.  But he atoned nonetheless, and you forgave him for it.”  Zenyatta bowed his head.  “We are not the arbiters of how we affect others.  It is not for us to decide if we have hurt someone, and it is not us to decide if we have brought them joy and comfort.  You may look back and doubt that you did, but I am certain that you were a true friend to them.”

“And how do you know that?” Genji tried to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“Because that is who you are.”  Zenyatta’s mouth curled into a slight smile.  “You need only ask myself or Hana.”

That threw Genji for a loop.  “Hana-?”

“She is grateful for this challenge, Genji.  There are very few things in this world that are hers and hers alone - not Overwatch’s, not her PR company’s.  If this were nothing more than another game to her, she would not ask after you every time we speak.  And she certainly would not have had this cabinet made.”  Zenyatta reached out a hand and rested it on Genji’s shoulder in comfort.  “I believe you when you tell me you hurt your friends.  But I also believe that you have spent long enough agonizing over your mistakes.”

“That makes one of us,” Genji muttered. 

“That is better than neither of us, is it not?”  Zenyatta dipped his head.  “If you are truly tired of these games - if you wish to forgo this challenge - that is of course your right.  But allow me a word of recommendation, Genji.”

“Do the Shambali teachings have words about videogaming?”

“A word as your friend, Genji.”  Genji started at that; it was rare for the monk to speak so directly.  “I want you to continue this game.  I want you to continue to befriend Hana.  These things are doing you more good than you know.

“I know it can feel right to write off all of the person you once were.  If you call your younger self a cruel and vain man who did nothing but harm his friends, you need never worry about whether or not that is true.  But to do so is to forget the good you have done, and those you did that good for.  The Genji I know is not only shaped by his past misdeeds; he is shaped by his past kindnesses just as much.  And I would find it a great tragedy if he himself could not see that.”

Genji found himself very glad his face was turned away from Zenyatta.

The omnic patted his shoulder gently.  “Of course, there is no need to rush things.  Let us enjoy the sea a while longer before we retire, and we can continue this conversation in the morning.”

Genji nodded, then hesitantly reached up and laid his hand on Zenyatta’s.  The metal was just barely warm to the touch. 

“How do you always know what to say, master?”

Zenyatta rubbed Genji’s shoulder.  “Twenty years of spiritual enlightenment.  Or perhaps I am just fortunate enough to have a very apt pupil.”

Chapter Text

They gathered in the mess hall.  Genji had the machine moved from his personal quarters so that anyone interested could come by and watch the showdown.  Ever since he’d taken on Hana’s challenge, there had been an unspoken understanding that there was no way this was going to end with a few back-and-forths of “I’ve got the high score now.”  A proper duel needed both combatants there, and it needed to be a one-and-done thing.  No playing and replaying to try and smooth out a few mistakes.

Hana flexed her fingers and looked to Genji, smiling radiantly.  “Mind if I go first?”

Genji made a half-bow, gesturing to the cabinet.  “By all means.”

Behind him, Ana and Reinhardt exchanged glances.  The two of them were seated at a table sharing a pot of jasmine tea; Angela and Mei shared another table next to them, occasionally looking up from their laptops.  Zenyatta stood to one side of the cabinet to serve as referee. 

“As we have only one machine, we shall proceed in alternating fashion,” Zenyatta intoned.  “To best match the spirit of the original challenge, each competitor will play all twelve games in sequence without breaks.  Judging will be entirely based on in-game score.  In the event of games with a known max score, time will be used as the tie-breaker.  Are there any questions?”

“I have one,” called Ana.  “What’s on the line here?”

“My honor as the Golden Fingers of Hanamura,” Genji replied, not looking back.

Ana made a face.  “I thought Hana was joking when she told me about that.”

“I say the loser gets an extra week of cleaning duties,” Reinhardt said.  “Put some skin on the line!” An unfortunate side effect of Overwatch’s status as a top-secret, questionably legal covert ops group was that it made hiring a full cleaning staff somewhat difficult.

“Ooh! And the winner should get to decide which chores!” Mei added.  Snowball nodded excitedly in agreement.  Angela rolled her eyes, not looking up from her laptop, her fingers tapping away.

Hana pretended to look contemplative for a moment.  “Well, given that I don’t get to have the fun of streaming this one… sounds good to me! If you’re not scared, Genji.”

Genji crossed his arms and nodded.  “So be it.  Perhaps I’ll have you start with polishing my blades.”

“And I’ll have you wear the D.Va apron we just put on sale.”  Hana stepped up to the cabinet and cracked her knuckles.  “This might take a while, so why don’t you go ahead and look up your size while you wait?”

“And miss my chance to see how badly I’m going to bury you? Never.”

“If we are all finished with the ‘trash talk’,” Zenyatta said with a smile in his voice, “then you may begin, Hana.”

Hana threw one last grin over her shoulder at Genji and smashed the start button.  “Showtime.”

It was the first time Genji had seen Hana play in person, and it was remarkable.  With no cameras to perform for, all trace of showmanship dropped away from her face, and she grew as serious and as still as half the monks he had known in Shambali.  Her grip on the stick shifted almost imperceptibly as she tore through the games, to make it a bit easier to do a hard throw to drift in UltraKarts or to give her the precision she needed to thread the needle in CosmoShooter.  She wasn’t playing perfectly, but she was playing damn near close.

On the fifth game she made her first major mistake.  The swing went wide, and the golf ball slid past the hole to the water beyond.  Hana swore so sharply that Ana looked up from her paper.  “Language,” she called.  Reinhardt just chuckled and leaned over to Ana to whisper about how that hole had always been one of the real bastards when he played

If Hana noticed, she didn’t show it.  Instead she slowed, lined up the shot again, and sent it sailing just short of the hole.  Another gentle roll of the ball was enough to put it in, and she sighed in exasperation.  Two over par.  Not a great disadvantage, but a chink in the armor Genji could exploit.  He resisted the urge to taunt her, instead replaying the hole in his mind and absently shifting his own hands in memory of how it felt to play it. 

Hana’s run of the dozen took the better part of three hours.  Mei left and returned at one point bearing coffee, which Angela took with a smile; Reinhardt trundled off for a while after Hana had cleared Golf.  When he came back, he was carrying a book on proper putting technique.  Ana took a long drink of tea and watched as he took up a spot in the corner of the room and began miming the putt with a cardboard tube he’d found behind the counter.

Finally, there was the congratulatory jingle of BurgerTime, and Hana stepped back with a sigh of satisfaction.  “I counted four PBs in there and the rest were within spitting distance.  Beat that, Genji.”

Genji had spent a portion of the run meditating on the ground, but he’d stood up to watch Hana take on the final game.  It was true, she was playing well today.  But he’d had hours upon hours to hone his skills as part of his therapy.  Whatever happened today, he would come out if it proud.  He stepped up to the cabinet and laid his hands upon the controls gently.  “Watch and learn, Hana.”

Watch and learn, Ken.  Watch and learn, Michi, Himaru.

For a second he paused, and the ghost of a smile worked its way across his face. 

And then he began.

By the time he’d dropped the last patty onto a waiting bun, it was nearly nighttime.  Jack had arrived about an hour into Genji’s run, asked “what in the hell they were all staring at,” and been instantly shushed by the other spectators.  He, Reinhardt, and Ana were gathered in the corner now, a few tables pushed aside and a makeshift putting green set up.  (One of the advantages of being Overwatch’s premier soldier was the right to keep full sets of clubs at each base.)  Mei dozed at the table, while Mercy was on her sixth cup of coffee and had gained the half-dead look of any doctor who’d spent their time between shifts on paperwork rather than sleep.

Genji slammed the A button one last time, and the game segued into its credits cheerily.  He let out a breath and stepped back, flexing his hands.  He had slipped up on Raiden, but somehow managed a near-perfect Golf; his UltraKart times could be better, but he’d never had a cleaner run of Metal Runner.  He turned to Hana, who had watched his entire run in silence, and bowed.  “You offered me a fine challenge, Hana.”

“You weren’t half-bad either, Genji,” she replied, but it was clear she wasn’t really paying attention to the words.  What mattered now was the final scores.

Zenyatta floated to the machine and clapped his hands together sharply.  In the corner, Jack and the others looked up from where he was kneeling next to the cup that served as hole, and Mei jolted awake at the table. 

“We will now review the scoreboards and declare the final results,” Zenyatta said.  “As noted before, winners for each game will be determined by final score, with the overall standing determined by the number of games in first place.”

Genji felt his heart pound in spite of himself.  They had specifically turned off the post-game leaderboard displays to maintain the drama, and while he was fairly certain he had beaten Hana’s runs in seven of the games, it was possible he’d misremembered her scores.  At his side, Hana bit her lip, clearly doing the same calculations.

Zenyatta flipped a small switch on the side of the machine, then navigated the main menu to UltraKart.  He pressed the start button, and the leaderboards appeared.

MTZ - 2103500 pts

RSG - 1983500 pts

DVA - 1953500 pts

Genji blinked.  “What?”

Hana let out a strangled cry.  Genji looked to her in surprise, but he may well as not have existed; she was staring at Zenyatta with a look of utter shock blasted across her face.  Zenyatta did not turn from the machine, but his voice was teasing.  “Well, let’s move on to game number two.  The Lost Vikings.”

MTZ - 1952500 pts

DVA - 1824400 pts

RSG - 1762200 pts

Behind them, Ana broke out into cackling laughter.  Hana brushed past Genji and grabbed Zenyatta’s arm, speaking to him in rapid-fire Korean, and Genji caught the corner of his master’s mouth curling into a smile.  “Let’s continue.  I know Golf has been troubling to both of you-”

MTZ - 32 (par 46)

RSG - 34 (par 46)

DVA - 35 (par 46)

Genji let out a low, pained groan as realization dawned.  “Zenyatta… you didn’t-”

“Oh, he most certainly did,” called Ana from the back of the room.  “Saw him in here last night running through the whole darn gauntlet.  He said he had to ensure it wouldn’t flake out on you two.”

“Of course,” Zenyatta replied, and finally looked away from the machine, his expression one of utter innocence.  “We couldn’t risk anything going wrong during the competition, now could we?”

Genji momentarily felt the floor of the room begin to fall away.  “How?” he finally managed.  “You never played-”

“Oh, he played!” Hana broke in.  She shoved the omnic in anger, but her face was beaming with joy.  “He played everything from Hearthstone to Starcraft!”

Genji blinked.  “He what?”

Hana pointed a finger at Zenyatta accusingly.  “You never said you were… were… some kind of monk! You just said you were an omnic and that you didn’t even have a job!”

“Well, that was all true.  And I thought that perhaps pub chat was not the best place to hold a sermon.”

Hana looked like she was split between whether to hug the omnic or tackle him.  “And why didn’t you tell me you were MTZ?”

“Why, when we first met ‘IRL’, we got along so quickly that I simply assumed you knew.” 

“Bullshit!”

“Now, now, Hana.  But I suppose I would be remiss in not acknowledging that by hiding my identity, I hoped to impart upon you a very important philosophical lesson.”

Hana gritted her teeth.  “What?”

Zenyatta leaned in close, his face perfect serenity.  “When dunking upon others, one must always be cognizant of if they are themselves being dunked on.”

For a brief time, there was violence.

Chapter Text

Genji sat at one of the cafeteria tables, the bottom half of his mask removed to let him sip tea slowly from a small metal cup.  Zenyatta sat across from him, meditating in silence.  Most of the overhead lights were off, and the few remaining ones cast the room in long shadows.  Other than the two of them - and Angela snoring on her laptop in the back corner - the place was empty.  Hana and Zenyatta had spent an hour half-bickering, half-reminiscing until Jack had ordered her off to bed on the basis that she was due to run support for an operation the next morning, and Ana, Mei, and Reinhardt had followed them out, laughing the whole way.

“Master,” Genji finally said, putting the cup aside.  “Were you really…”

“A ‘gamer’?”

Genji would have choked on his tea if he was still drinking it.  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

Zenyatta smiled gently.  “You need not use the word to say it.  And yes, I was a ‘gamer’.  I frequently ‘owned noobs’-”

Genji groaned and dropped his head into his hands.  “You’re doing this on purpose now.”

“But of course.”  Zenyatta idly lifted a finger to one of his orbs and flicked it, sending them spinning gently around him.  “We were not without our diversions in Shambali.  Gaming was just another way for us to connect with one another - and with those around the world.”

“But what about the isolation?” Genji asked, his face scrunched into confusion.  “The need to find inner peace?”

“Well, of course those came first.  It wasn’t as if we were secretly a cabal of like-minded ‘fraggers’ who had opted to leave society and form the most ‘epic’ ‘pwning’ ‘frat house’ in history-”

Genji’s head smacked into the table as he threw his hands up in exasperation, and Zenyatta chuckled gently.  “My apologies, Genji.  I realize this is a bit of a surprise to you.”  He stopped his orbs and plucked one from the air, rolling it between his hands.  “It is true that ‘gaming online’ is often as far from serenity as is imaginable.  But I have always been convinced of the importance of connecting with others individually, rather than as a group.  And I have been just as convinced that it is the message that matters, not the medium.

“My fellow monks and I turned to gaming as a way to relax and enjoy each other’s company.  But it did not take long for us to realize the potential it had to connect us with people all across the globe.  With each new round, my fellow players and I were stripped of our identities - human, omnic, young, old - and given the chance to embark on a new journey together.  We urged each other on, or tested our wits against each other, safe in this place that offered us a shared experience.  Of course, some of those I met took things… perhaps a bit too seriously, but I suppose that is the nature of any competition.

“But though there were many who turned on me as soon as they learned I was metal and not flesh, there were those who were curious to hear what I had to say, or whom had never considered that an omnic might join them in finding reprieve from the physical world.”  Zenyatta cupped the orb in his hands and gazed thoughtfully at it as it pulsed a soft blue.  “Including one young woman from Korea who had every reason to despise my kind.

“Hana was among the most competitive players I’d ever met, and I think that was what opened her to hearing my words.  When she defeated me in a round of StarCraft, she would gloat or taunt me.  On her worst days, she would say it was a piece of payback for what my people had done to hers.  But I believed that she understood deep down that those boasts were hollow, and in time my faith in her was rewarded.  She was a young woman who had found a place in the world through gaming, and I like to think that by walking along her on that journey, I helped her cross the gap between human and omnic.”

Genji sighed and shook his head.  “Sometimes I think could travel with you the rest of my life and you would never run out of ways to surprise me, Zenyatta.”

The omnic’s mouth curled into a subtle smile.  “I often think the same of you, Genji.”

He felt his cheeks burn and was yet again thankful for his mask until he remembered that he hadn’t put the bottom portion back on yet.  He coughed into his hand for a moment to hide his face, and then made to change the subject.  “But why didn’t you tell me any of this while we were traveling? Or Hana, for that matter? If she’d known who you were, maybe she wouldn’t have challenged me in the first place.”

“I suppose you are correct.  But why would I ever want to put a stop to this? You and Hana both thrive on conflict - on showing the world what you are capable of.  On your worst days, it burns you from the inside out.  But in happier times, it is a way for the two of you to connect.  Gaming was a peaceful way for the two of you to do so - and a way to help you come to terms with your past, Genji.”

Genji looked away, suppressing a sigh.  “You mean… Ken and the others.”  In spite of everything, it was embarrassing to remember that night on the Gibraltar roof.  He was used to sharing his sins with Zenyatta; he hadn’t imagined it would be so difficult to share his happiness.

Zenyatta reached across the table and gently laid a hand on Genji’s cheek, and Genji looked back with a start.  The omnic smiled gently.  “Our pasts are part of us, Genji.  It can be tempting to throw them all away to try and overcome the pain they bring us.  But if there is goodness and happiness in our memories, we must take care not to forget it.”

Genji glanced down at the table, painfully aware he was blushing again.  “I… understand, Zenyatta.  But it is not easy.”

“I know, Genji.  That is why I was so happy to see you embrace your old passions alongside Hana.  The Genji Shimada of years ago may have been an egoistic, overbearing man.  But the love he had for his brother and friends lives on in you.  You need only a reminder to go looking for it.”

They stayed that way for a little while, Genji finding calm in the cool metal of his friend’s palm.  Eventually he gently pulled Zenyatta’s hand away.  “Next time we are in Japan - I was thinking I might invite Ken, Michiko, and Himaru for a round at the arcade.  For old times’ sake.  If they were willing to, of course.”

Zenyatta smiled.  “I think they will be.”

“Of course, you are free to come along.”  

“I would be honored to.  Assuming, of course, that your friends do not mind ‘getting pwned’-

Genji let out a noise like a dying dragon and slumped back in his chair.  “Hana is a bad influence on you, master.”

“Or perhaps I am a bad influence on her.”  Zenyatta tossed one of his orbs up into the air and watched it spin, smiling.  “But either way, I am happy to count her as a friend, on-line and off.  I hope she feels the same way about me.  And most of all, Genji, I hope the two of you have found a little happiness by being brought together.”

Genji looked down to his cup of tea, watching the last of the steam there evaporate into the air.  He thought of a boy, brash and loud, clinging to the one place he thought his family’s name didn’t matter and the friendships he had found there.  

Finally, he sighed peacefully.  “Someday, I may find a way to repay you for your kindness, Zenyatta.”

The omnic nodded gently.  “You already do each and every day, my friend.”

Genji smiled and took a long drink of tea.  In the morning, it would be back to physical therapy and waiting to find out when he could return to fighting the world’s battles.  

But for now, he was happy to take this reminder of happier days.