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”It feels like I'm trapped into a tin can,” Genji said, mostly to break the silence. He and Zenyatta had been sitting on top of a mountain, looking at the sun rise. The sun was far up in the sky now, and not a word had been uttered between them. Zenyatta's new tactic seemed to be to annoy Genji into talking. Sometimes he wondered why he even still was with the robot. But there was something genuine about the robot that made him stay, even if he didn't quite understand it.
Zenyatta said nothing, but inclined with his hand for Genji to go on.
”I feel trapped. Limited somehow.”
”Yet the body of flesh and bone you used to have surely wasn't any less limited, its boundaries any less sharp. Did your body not end where the flesh ended?”
”Yes. But. It felt more.”
”Felt,” Zenyatta repeated. ”Is that what you have lost?”
Genji was silent for a while, watching a cloud pass over the sun. Since they were so far up, the light of the sun didn't disappear, instead they could see the shadow of the cloud passing through the valleys and peaks below them.
”Yes,” he finally said. ”There is a wall of metal between me and the world. Instead of senses I have sensors. I've lost my ability to feel.”
”Then you must learn to sense again,” Zenyatta said and extended his hand. Genji took it. Instead of pulling him up, like Genji had assumed he would, Zenyatta merely closed his fingers around Genji's hands.
”What are you doing.”
”Surely you've held hands before.”
”Not with a robot.”
”Let's give it a try. What do you feel?”
Genji looked at Zenyatta sitting next to him. The robot's face was unmoving, like it always was, which was frustrating even on good days, but especially now. He then looked at the metallic hand holding his.
”It's not soft,” he said. ”Not like human's hand. You'd think it'd be cold, but it's not, probably because my hand's metal too...”
”Don't focus on what you think you should feel,” Zenyatta interrupted. ”Focus on the things you do feel.”
Genji sighed, but it didn't look like Zenyatta was going to let go, at least not until Genji humored him, so he closed his eyes, and tried to focus.
It was only a pressure at first; Zenyatta's thumb pressed on his knuckles, his other fingers holding Genji's hand up. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel real. Suddenly Zenyatta's thumb moved slightly across his knuckles. It must have been intentional, Zenyatta couldn't do unintentional things, it wasn't in his programming. Just testing, Genji squeezed Zenyatta's hand. Zenyatta squeezed back, his grip firm but gentle.
And Genji remembered.
They are still kids, still allowed to be kids; young and oblivious to the world.
They go to the forest that is near their home, the only spot of green in the all-consuming ever-growing city.
Hanzo is already growing, much faster than Genji. It's hard to keep up with this sudden gangly creature with steps like leaps of a giant. He fears that Hanzo will leave him behind, in the forest, and he will never find his way home.
But just then, Hanzo turns around, realizes how far separated they've become and returns to Genji. Hanzo takes his hand, leads him home. And Genji holds on.
It was that contact point he remembered, the warmth of his brother's hand, the bony fingers wrapping around his hand and pulling, but always gentle, never hurting.
Genji said nothing, but he was sure Zenyatta had noticed a change of sorts, because the robot let out a small hum, and then said nothing more. They sat like that, silent, hand-in-hand for a long while, watching the sun move across the sky and the shadows of the clouds on the valleys below. Genji didn't let go.