Chapter Text
Genji has been to the crystal shores of the Côte d’Azur. He has found his way to the leaning towers of Italy and the towering chapels of Vienna; the crumbling ruins of old civilizations and the sleek skyscrapers of the future that spiral towards blue skies.
Japan. Brazil. He has scraped ancient history with hands woven of metal.
He has never encountered this much fucking sand-- or this many omnic corpses. It’s a scrapyard desert, that’s what he’d been told. The bones have been long covered by sand, the meat picked away, but metal does not go so quickly. The bodies still rise above the waves, cut through with tracks from scavenger caravans.
It doesn’t matter when he compares that to the current issue: the sand. It sure as hell doesn’t matter that he wrapped himself in whatever cloth he could find. It definitely doesn’t matter that he’s made of the newest tech around-- that he’s so advanced that he can’t even find replacement parts unless he damned well goes back to Overwatch or scours the black market. Sand still finds a way to get into every crevice, every slide and fissure of his body and the bodies around him. It grits between him with every movement.
Fuck sand.
No matter, for Genji has fared worse. Surely a bit of sand can’t be on the same level as having your flesh pared off of your body by your dearest brother, right? Ha. Haha.
Ha.
He’d spit if he was able. Despite his mouth being covered by two separate layers of cloth, sand has still managed to find its way between his teeth; he feels it slide and wear away at them as he grinds in flaring agitation. His visor is tucked away in his pack, which helps. Less heat to trap. Still, the sun is too hot. The sand is not stiff enough, until he finds a spare part to trip himself over. He sinks and rises with every step and wonders why he’d thought a trial in this blistering heat would help him more than a quiet cliffside by an ocean. What solace would he find in his body here? What did he think seeing the bodies would make him feel?
If he were human, he wouldn’t have to deal with the sand anywhere but his asscrack and his eyelashes. Hell, if he were human, he wouldn’t be here at all! He’d be in the cool shades of Hanamura, deep in a bowl of hot ramen or a pretty girl. His vents rise upwards with a click, the steam that pours out immediately drying out in the sizzling air. The hiss reflects his thoughts well.
Before him? More goddamn sand. Bodies metallic and organic alike. There is at least one advantage to being an abomination, he figures: he does not hallucinate in the heat. He also stores water for cooling purposes, though it doesn’t last too long when the sun warms his carapace until it burns to the touch. He knows this because he had rested a hand on a cactus earlier and burned a mark into the pulpy flesh, the needles curling off and floating downwards.
Having enough of the gummy sensation in his mouth, he pauses his trek to lift the veil of cloth that covers his face and officially spit to the side. He doesn’t understand how saliva is still an issue, though he supposes he should be grateful. He can still shove food in his mouth if he’s so inclined. Saliva does help with that. He wipes whatever had stung his skin in its brief respite from the mask and replaces it carefully. Or carefully enough. He doesn’t really give too much of a shit, considering his GPS has pinged helpfully and told him that he should be able to see his destination coming up in front of him. A village. He can’t see it-- but that’s due to the waves of heat melting everything that isn’t directly below him.
No matter. He sinks another step forward and makes plans for when he finally gets to rest.
A hard reboot, for one. Like an extended nap of sorts. A gallon of water to wash out every one of these… goddamn… grains of SAND. He groans audibly as one of his legs genuinely stutter with all of the shit gunked into the smaller mechanisms, and continues his trek. He’s positive that he’s leaking hydraulic fluid in a place that hydraulic fluid should never leak. While he’s at it, oil to renew his springs. Maybe a replacement to the filters on his chest-- the ones that trap all of the remaining human gunk his lymphatic system (Angela had taught him that one) might’ve normally caught. A toothbrush to clean out the shit caught in his finer bits and pieces… and a sack of grain. Just to stab at and pretend that it’s Hanzo. Maybe a person to give the grain to when he’s done, so it’s not a waste. Another sack of grain afterwards.
The GPS pings again. Genji reaches his hand upwards to tilt the green slit-goggles slightly upwards and released the heat trapped above his nose, only to feel a bead of sweat drip downwards into his eyes instead. “Fuck.” He says conversationally. He squeezes his eyes shut and bends forward hoping to deter the bead of sweat from burning the hell of his eyes. Why did he think seeing a bunch of dead people would make him come to terms with being a cyborg? What type of stupid thought process is that, anyways? All it does is make him realize how disconnected he is from both of them-- how he isn’t human or omnic. “Fuck!”
In the distance, something rumbles vaguely. By vaguely: something is definitely rumbling. It’s very far away, and approaching quickly-- and he’d love to turn to see what it is, but he’s got SALT in his goddamn EYES. He opens them regardless with a huff of pain, dropping into a crouch to make himself a smaller target. Despite the burn, it’s hard to miss what he heard: a scavenger caravan, likely making its routine rounds through the desert to pick out omnic parts and sell them. He can see the dust kicking up from underneath it as it hovers, swirling through the air like glitter would, if glitter were made of rocks. The goggles (useful, though not as good as his visor) eagerly point out the various coils and capacitors that hook into the engine as a makeshift powersource.
The letters ‘EMP’ blip into the corner of his vision. ‘CHARGING’ blips in soon afterwards.
“Fuck!” Genji shouts helpfully. He hears only final, ominously friendly blip. His brain, in desperation, reminds him to change that fucking sound.
‘EMP - ACTIVE’
Then, nothing.