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“I’m not planning such a move, Max. I’ve already made it.”
That was clearly all Emre and Freja could think about, the live feed of explosions burned into their retinas.
Wordlessly, he brought Freja to her room courtesy of Talon. Her jet was tucked away, and he had made sure no one would mess with it. But unlike in Overwatch, it wasn’t because they respected him, it was fear.
You're getting off track.
A voice hummed inside him, slowly sounding more and more like him with each passing year.
I’m waiting for our opportunity.
He shot back, not realizing Freja was practically pulling him inside.
You will need to get to their base, regardless of Talon moving ahead.
And I will. Have we fail-
SLAM.
Emre jolted up, his spine tingling as currents shot through him. The program prepared to take control in order to keep its host. He had grown to match its inhuman response time, but it knew there was a weakness here with Freja near.
He was just face to face with a clearly concerned Freja, who knew she was third wheeling a quiet conversation. Her weapons were still holstered, with the little distance he could jam her in the throat and pin her. Their size difference meant he could likely pin her down before other reactions occurred from her.
He shook his head, she was his friend. Not a threat. Despite her promises, he knew that he could never let her become a threat to the program. He just needed the program to believe that.
I can handle this, please.
He received no response, feeling his chest burning. It was threatening another augmentation.
“Freja, I…”
“Is it still you?”
“What?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Your zoning out, I questioned if it's still…you I’m talking to. You looked down with me in the conference…but you were smiling a little. There was satisfaction in that destruction and meaningless bloodshed.
I wouldn’t call it meaningless. The program added.
The red head’s concerned, empathic eyes turned to suspicion, his eyes drifting to her crossbow out of habit. Know your enemy. He didn’t want to view her that way, but…
“I want to know how much of you is left, Emre.”
Oh don’t we all. He mused.
“I’d be lying to say my views haven’t changed.”
He felt a sharp pain in his neck, instinctively moving his arm to rub it. His vision of Freja was blurred, blocked by the eye in his chest appearing in full frontal view. His thoughts rushed, trying to reassure he wasn’t going to spill that much.
“Talon…It rubs off on you. After the mess that is Overwatch, after everything… I can’t say it’s upsetting to see it fall. It’s the innocents in the cross fire that hurts…”
Freja wasn’t an idiot, she knew that was only partly the truth. He knew that, the Program new that. Frankly, everyone knew that. Metal seared into his skin, tubes and wired sharing space with his veins.
He’d long suspected he didn’t have a spine made of anything but metal, and wondered if it could have been the factor in turning him into this. But he learned not to ask much.
“You fear it rubbing off on me?” Freja replied quietly, looking at her hands as if they were drenched in blood. He’d done that plenty of times.
“It was hard at first, the gaps in my memories are appreciated in that sense. But after a while, it’s…it's easier. It’s almost needed. Heh, they probably drug the food or something here. Not that I eat much…” Maybe he ate more in his black outs, for all he knew it was drinking motor oil.
“I can’t say I’ve stuck to my morals either…I’ve chased cash more than justice.” She looked back up at him. “But Emre, don’t try to talk me out of this. I lost you once…never again.”
Can you get any more sappy?
The Program moaned, and it was clear Freja was becoming more aware as her eyes fluttered between him and the eye in his chest.
“If you're so determined to cling to this mess, then so be it. I just don’t want to tear you down with me, Frej. I haven’t even seen my parent’s since this…”
That was a lie. He had seen his parent’s, thrice.
First, he ran to them. He wanted their help, their comfort. He saw their door form a rooftop. Then he blacked out, and woke up in Tokyo.
The second, he woke up just outside the window after attempting to fight the program off. He was drenched in blood, far from the sun they ever knew with plates on his head, and a body count they likely rivaled Reyes. It was a threat.
Third, it was allowed. He had been good, and the program hadn’t needed to override him that day. The screams, everything, God, it hurt but he did it. Then he saw the small flag in the lawn.
It was for Overwatch. Even though they knew how much it hurt him, even before all of this. The program knew how to play on his resentments, his fears, his hatreds. It boiled over at that moment.
He didn’t have a family anymore. His growing and evolving hatred of Overwatch made sure of that. His only good memories of there involve Freja, that was something it couldn't get rid of entirely.
He wasn’t an idiot.
Oh yes you are.
Freja was turning herself into a pawn. Someone he didn’t want to hurt, and he knew in th programs control, It was near impossible. She still hadn’t told him the entirety of how their encounter went. Only asking about his eyes, and if that was the only indicator.
If they were real or also another piece of metal running through his body. They were more red than brown now. He didn’t know that.
Oh don’t lament, you’ve done so well. After all these years, and all your training. I’ve had to assume control less and less. I didn’t have to take over until the mission's later portion.
You broke in and killed them initially. No hesitation. No response to their screams and their begs. The information just wasn’t meant for you to see, or I’d have let you keep going.
Where’s your guilt-
“Emre!” Freja pulled him out of it. She scanned his entire body, but especially made sure his eyes were still red. They were red now. “We’ll adapt.”
“Adapt to my slaughter of our former…allies.” He spoke, realizing how wrong it felt to call them friends. It was humanizing. It was easier to remove that aspect.
“Emre, it's not you.”
“For your safety, It should be. If it isn’t…I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Your…benefactor, boss…whatever it is. It’s listening isn’t it?” She watched his hands, clearly expecting a reaction from being questioned. Emre waited, and felt the approval. She didn’t want to acknowledge that he was still committing the slaughter.
“Yes.”
“Then I promise not to interfere with your little collections. I’ll make sure you break in, get out, be your guard. Just...leave him intact.”
Oh child, we are already the same.
“It agrees, supposedly.” Emre went ahead and covered it, not wanting to acknowledge its words. He had to believe part of him still existed after all.
They’d be together, and they’d destroy Overwatch in the name of Talon. That part was so embedded in him by now, he couldn’t deny his support. Freja saw that.
But she was convinced that somehow, she’d pull him back before he became a Reyes.