Post by Junkrat on Dec 17, 2016 0:16:21 GMT
Genji should have been happy, thankful for the second chance at life that he'd been given and thankful to Overwatch for bringing him back. But he wasn't, at least not as happy as he could be, there was a lingering cloud of turmoil hanging over him as he floundered to get back the person who'd died the day his brother struck him down. But that was just it, Genji was dead, and he didn't know who this new person was.
It might not have been so bad if everyone around the base wasn't constantly telling him how lucky he was, what a marvel he was for the technology Angela had used to bring him back, she was brilliant, he was a marvel of science and medicine, like he wasn't an 18 year old who lost everything, his family, his home, and his body. It was hard not to be a little bitter when all anyone seemed to be seeing was the outside, the shell he was wearing, instead of the young man struggling to even look at himself in the mirror without feeling an intense sick.
He was a tool to Overwatch now, nothing more, a machine for killing his own family.
He sighed as he ran a hand over his scarred and torn face, shaking his head before attaching the cover over his face again. He didn't like people seeing his face, and he supposed that was why no one could see him hurting, but he was a torn, ugly mess now, who would want to see that?
He pressed the button that slid open the door to the room he'd been given, sick of being trapped in his room wallowing, he needed some fresh air.
It might not have been so bad if everyone around the base wasn't constantly telling him how lucky he was, what a marvel he was for the technology Angela had used to bring him back, she was brilliant, he was a marvel of science and medicine, like he wasn't an 18 year old who lost everything, his family, his home, and his body. It was hard not to be a little bitter when all anyone seemed to be seeing was the outside, the shell he was wearing, instead of the young man struggling to even look at himself in the mirror without feeling an intense sick.
He was a tool to Overwatch now, nothing more, a machine for killing his own family.
He sighed as he ran a hand over his scarred and torn face, shaking his head before attaching the cover over his face again. He didn't like people seeing his face, and he supposed that was why no one could see him hurting, but he was a torn, ugly mess now, who would want to see that?
He pressed the button that slid open the door to the room he'd been given, sick of being trapped in his room wallowing, he needed some fresh air.
