Chapter Text
Zenyatta watched the ground approach, his shoulder leaning against the side of the plane, a perfect view to watch their descent into the small, little of nowhere airport. The sun had gone down hours ago. The inky black of night stretched on for forever before them, an eternity without an end. They were further outside of the effect of light pollution, so the stars gleamed brilliantly above them. Zenyatta could just make them out from his seat, staring up at them with a deep, soul shattering grief that he could not get rid of.
Zenyatta had gotten used to traveling over his years, and not always by foot. The chaotic peace that came from people scrambling to their destinations, wrangling kids, managing luggage, speaking fast, it was grounding for him. He had, long ago, found the peace of traveling, rather than the anxiety of the destination, and found the observation of other people to be fascinating. Any other trip would have been relaxing, and joyous, a reason to move and see the world once again.
Not this time.
There had been something in the back of his mind. A pinging, almost pain, as much as omnics could experience pain. It had persisted for months, starting off as a small, ineffectual thing but had grown to inordinate strength and intensity. At first Zenyatta thought it was nothing more than emotional strife, something he could work through with meditation, and finding his center. The more it persisted the more he realized it was more of a distress signal. Something he, and only he was picking up on. How, he had no idea, but it did not make his mental state any better. Iris knew that the last few years had been… difficult let’s say, on the omnic.
Null Sector attacks had gotten more frequent, violent, unpredictable, and destructive. Zenyatta had watched destruction from the news castings, seeing the wanted image of his brother, and ached for a time that they would never get back. He had joined Overwatch not long after his meeting with Ramattra. Not a full member, but as an ambassador, helping out where he could. Genji had been ecstatic, the ninja had an affinity to keeping the people he loved close, and Zenyatta wished he could have returned a fraction of the enthusiasm.
It was difficult. Zenyatta had enough to admit that when he arrived on the battlefields, long after the fights were done, with the destroyed buildings and land all around them. People, both human and omnic, lay harmed and broken all around him. More humans died in the attacks than omnics, but the number was still not zero.
There was a grief that Zenyatta carried with him now. No matter how much he tried to shake it, come to terms with it, accept it, it stuck in his cords and circuits. When he was at meetings, and heard the debriefs about Ramattra, he felt that grief. When he looked at the posters, or saw the destruction, it was there. Always there.
This was not the Ramattra that he knew. Of course, Zenyatta knew that everyone was capable of such things, his brother was no different. But to hear people speak about him in such a way. To not fully understand what had brought the Ravager to such a course of action, it stuck him deep into the mud of his mind, and Zenyatta found it very difficult to get out.
Ramattra would die. This was something that the monk had come to terms with a long time ago. Some Overwatch agent would get lucky, Ramattra would get desperate, backed into a corner, overconfident, something. Something would happen, and he would be dead. He would be dead, and Zenyatta would mourn Ramattra for what felt like the thousandth time. But at least this time it would be final. There would be an end.
And then the attacks stopped. Almost a year ago Null Sector had just seemed to fall off the face of the Earth, and all operations just stopped completely. No more manifestos, no more posts, no more threats, attacks, trails of resources, anything. It just stopped.
There had been a lot of meetings since then. Discussions on what was to be done, what happened, how they were to prepare for another attack, where all of the Null Sector could have gone. Zenyatta attended every single one, and they all boiled down to the same words: We don’t know. And there was no way to prepare for something they did not know about.
After three months, the meetings were lessened. After six other things took priority. After a year, Null Sector had been labeled a closed case, and attention was moved fully to all of the other problems that the illegal organization was dealing with.
Zenyatta had stayed with Overwatch through it, on the chance that Ramattra would show up again. It had been a year, and he hadn’t.
After his errand, Zenyatta would be returning to the Monastery, and trying to find his center again. It had been too long, and Zenyatta felt himself slipping into a constant feeling of dread, uncertainty, and anxiety. The feelings tormented him, and the hours he could steal for meditation were not enough anymore. He needed to return to his god and home. The chapter of his life where Ramattra was in it was closing, and he needed to make peace with that. Mourn. Again. And he could not do that here, with the active war zone that Overwatch always seemed to find itself in. Genji’s downturn eyes, and slumped shoulders had almost been enough for Zenyatta to change his mind, but no. This was something that had to be done. There was nothing more for him here.
Genji pulled himself awake from where he was slumped against the airplane seat. The younger Shimada had insisted that he come along, a sort of last trip before the two would be separated for the time being. Zenyatta agreed. He was not sure when they would be back together. Any moments that they could have together would be cherished in the future.
That, and Genji needed a break. His elder brother had recently joined Overwatch, and it had been putting a strain on the ninja’s mental state. While overjoyed that Hanzo had finally come out of the deep hiding he had squirled himself away in, the man was not social. Barely cordial. Distantly polite, but that was the extent of it. Zenyatta had found himself on the receiving end of Hanzo’s scathing words more than one time, due to his “damned meddling in things he did not understand.” It was a stark contrast to their first meeting, which consisted of Hanzo falling to his knees, bowing before the monk, and profusely thanking him for everything that he had done for Genji.
Hanzo was a complicated man. And as much as Genji’s ideal world would be one where all of his loved ones were within arms reach, there was a limit to the amount of conflict resolution he could deal with. So the break was needed.
The plane landed with a slight jolt, and the passengers started to scramble to gather their things. Genji took his carry on in hand, swinging the cross body bag around him, and the two waited patiently for their turn to shuffle off into the airport. This was the third one. Jumping from plane to plane until they had finally made it to this small, middle of nowhere, sheet metal type building. It was a far cry from the sleek, modern design of the larger airports. But it was charming.
The twenty passengers shuffled off, most of them daunting some sort of extreme winter gear, and skis or snowboards. Not for the faint of heart.
“Our hotel is not too far,” Genji commented, holding his duffle bag over his shoulder. “And we can start hiking tomorrow. It’s winter so not much daylight.”
“We will make the most of the time that we have,” Zenyatta said, following his pupil out into the darkness of the night.
Snow crunched under their feet. Most of it was shoved off to the side, creating large piles lining the streets. It was still snowing, but lightly. The lights made the precipitation glimmer.
The roads were cobble stones, and it was easy to walk through them. It was a tourist town, of sorts. Attracting those who came for the pretty atmosphere, and winter sports. Which, it was pretty, Zenyatta had to admit that. The buildings were created, such to emulate log cabins, with lights hanging off of every bow. It was November, and the decorations for Christmas were up, stringing lights across railings and street poles. If it was a bit earlier in the night, he suspected that there would be more activity. As it stood, it was as silent as a grave.
They got to their hotel, checked in, and got to their room. A quaint little room, styled also after a log cabin’s interior. The blankets were patterned with animals on them, thick and piled on. A simple chair off to the side and a TV on a stand. It was nice.
Zenyatta did not need sleep, per say. Not in the same way that humans did. Some opted to have a ‘sleep cycle’ in order to better fit in with humans, but Zenyatta had never adopted this cycle. His meditations were as close to sleeping as he had ever gotten. Genji was more complex. He did not really sleep, his brain was too mechanical for that. But it was still necessary that he spent some time also ‘shut down.’ The ninja described it as being aware of his surroundings, but being paralyzed to do anything about it. His eyes remained open, in a way that some humans described as ‘creepy’.
They had their route tomorrow. Snow shoes for the trip, warm clothes, Genji’s specialized food for him, everything that they needed.
The signal surged a moment. Zenyatta could feel it in his mind, pulsing incidentally at every part of him. It pulled, it scratched, it peeled at his mind, without care or worry about the damage that it did. Despite this, it did not feel malicious. It felt desperate.
Omnics had culture. It was developed fast, and violently, but it was there. Clothing choices, body modifications, ways of holding themselves, it was all a part of what it meant to be an omnic. One of these was the omnic dialect, Verium. It was a quick, almost telepathic connection between two omnics. The language was written, transmitted between two individuals, and processed all within its mind. There was no speaking tone that one could have, beyond the words that one would speak. It utilized the mind's eye, and was generally much faster than actually speaking words to one another. It was closely rated to sign language, a none-spoken language, communicated between two people. There was also a range, so the two did not have to be in the same room in order to communicate.
Some refused to use it, reminding them too much of the vice-like control of the God AI that had once overtaken their minds. Others found it freeing, to have a language that only they could use, and was wholly different from the people that considered them simple creations.
Genji was fluent in it. Years at the monastery had pushed that, and once the hardware had been installed in him, it was been just a learning curve to interpret the words. They appeared different to humans then to omnics. He was not as fast at it, but he was good, and Zenyatta appreciated the time that it took to learn the language that was so foreign to him.
Zenyatta hoped that he could connect what whatever was here. He had very little doubt that it was an omnic that had been trying to reach him. How, he had no idea. Even the most expansive ranges were a couple hundred feet, and not continents. The idea that it was another God AI had crossed his mind. But why try to communicate? And why was it in so much pain?
Another wave. Zenyatta put a hand to his head, holding what now felt like a heavy bowling ball. The nondescript words bounced around in his mind, echoing around his wires and circuits. It pulled at something in him. An ache. The wires of his life stretched out to make room for whatever was trying to tell him something.
“Two, almost back to back,” Genji said, moving about the room, keeping his hands busy.
“We’re close,” Zenyatta replied after a moment, and the cry subsided. “I suspect they will only get stronger the closer that we get.”
“Is it uncomfortable?”
“Yes,” Zenyatta reached back, pulling at some of the closer to surface wires to try and release some of the tension in his mind. It was getting worse. “But the sooner we are able to find them, the sooner we can help.”
Zenyatta did not give much mind to his next thought. So little that he deleted it from his memory with an exasperated whir of his fans. It was selfish and rude, and nowhere near what an enlightened monk should have been thinking. He still felt cradled within the Iris, at one with his god, close to her, and her wisdom. He would not have so much moral angst as to say he had fallen from his enlightenment.
Maybe it was simply exhaustion. Simple. But wrong.
It was grief. A time to mourn was in order. Again.
Fingers laced around his own. Zenyatta followed them up to where Genji was standing before him, having crossed the room at some point.
The ninja leaned down, pressing their foreheads against the others. A small respite of comfort that Zenyatta gratefully embraced into. When the signals first started, it had been strange to have Genji there for him to rely on so much. The roles had been reversed for so long, Zenyatta had almost imagined that it would stay like that forever. But the monk was now not sure he would have been able to get through the worst of it without the near constant support. It was a comfort, to be the one comforted, and Zenyatta had almost forgotten that.
“We’ll hike out tomorrow,” Genji’s thumbs rubbed the back of Zenyatta’s hands in a rhythmic motion, “help whoever is in need. And you’ll go back to the monastery, and find your peace again.”
Zenyatta hummed his voicebox, leaning a bit more against the cyborg. He would like that. Peace. And the time to mourn.
He would probably be back. There was something about being a part of Overwatch that Zenyatta did not think he was done with yet. There was still something more that he needed to do there. The decision to go back to the monastery was not one that he made lightly. There was a part of his mind that thought he was making the wrong decision. That he should stay and help more. That his place was still here.
But the grief. It was drowning him. It had been for months. And there was so little he could do about it.
A few months. A few months at the monastery, and he would be back. For now he stayed in Genji’s embrace for a while longer, just allowing himself the few comforts of the world that existed so far from the Iris. In a way, it felt like the Iris was right here with it. And he felt safe.