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It is the eve of the new year and Hanzo is watching the snow drift lazily down from the blue-black sky onto his outstretched palm, thinking of nothing in particular, when a sparrow feather slips out of the air and lands in his hand.
He closes his eyes. Slowly inhales, exhales, opens his eyes again. The feather remains, real and solid. He closes it carefully in his fist. “I thought,” he says softly, “that I would see you again.” Which is true. But foresight has not left him feeling prepared for it. He feels insubstantial, like he could dissolve in the winter breeze.
“You thought correctly, then,” comes the reply, the voice metallic and grave. The body it emanates from is even to Hanzo’s sharp eyes little more discernable than the shadow of a shadow. But Hanzo would not have expected to see anything before Genji intended to be seen. In the light of holiday lanterns and far-off fireworks he can make out, now, the contours of steel and synthetic polymers that make up the humanoid limbs and torso, forming a perfectly aerodynamic body that seats itself casually on the bench beside him. “So,” Genji continues, “what have you been doing with yourself since we last spoke, brother?”
What have you done with the life I refused to take? Hanzo hears.
“I have …” The words die on his tongue, muted in the faint snowfall, while the green visor that masks his brother’s eyes regards him silently, steadily. “I have thought,” he manages, weighing each word carefully, “about a story our father told us. Because you were … willing to believe such things might be like real life, where I was not.” He pauses, and Genji nods, an implicit go on. “The words keep echoing in my mind – the line that says walk the Earth in humility.” Even to his ears it seems a flimsy explanation. An excuse. “That is what I have … endeavored to do.”
“And where on this Earth have you walked, Hanzo?”
“Siberia, mostly,” Hanzo replies. His fingers brush the strap that holds his quiver in place, lightly touching the pins there, the Japanese flag he carries. “It is not a pleasant place, and very soon it will be a hell. I have made some contacts in the region over the years –” The past ten years I’ve believed you dead¸ Hanzo thinks – “so I have been doing what I can to get civilians out of there. There are still a lot of children, innocents – people who should be out of the way of a showdown between Omnic armies and Svyatogors.”
“They are calling it the Second Omnic Crisis, are they not?” Genji asks neutrally. Not for the first time Hanzo wonders what it means to Genji, whose engineered body now is so close to Omnic in design. He’d claimed to have made peace with what he has become, and that will have to be enough for Hanzo for now. Possibly forever. The thought of being close enough to Genji to hear more about how he lived through the actions Hanzo believed had killed him outright, and more, how he endured his own survival, is not something that seems possible. But it would not be the first impossible thing to happen to him. And Hanzo can admit to himself that he would want it.
“It will be a true crisis soon if not already,” Hanzo says, returning his concentration to the question. “The humans who are more afraid of prejudice against Omnics than the return of an aggressive God Program will delay and obstruct action indefinitely, leaving hundreds of thousands to suffer or die. And those who see all Omnics as threats to humankind will try to bomb Siberia into another Australia.”
“A hell,” Genji echoes.
“Precisely.”
“So you are saying that the world needs a third option?” Genji asks.
“Anyone willing and able to take action that is not solely destructive could save thousands of lives at the very least. On my own I can rescue a bare handful at a time at most, and that takes hundreds of miles of dangerous transport arrangements, passports, forged documents where genuine ones cannot get their bearers out of Siberia or into a country that will take them –”
“Where do you bring your refugees?”
“Here mostly. I’ve taken some to Korea, but the Omnic threat they face there makes me wary. A few to the U.S., across the Bering Sea to Alaska. Once a couple of families to Canada. I bring Omnics too,” Hanzo adds; “there are thousands of civilian Omnics in Siberia who have no desire to take any part in war against humans. They have never been able to live securely and now they face the greatest threat from both sides of the conflict. The situation in Japan or the U.S. may not be perfect, but they are safe, at least. The rumors they tell – the God A.I. taking over independent Omnics like a virus from a distance and using their bodies as it will –”
“So much evil in this world,” Genji says. “So much yet to be done. And while we … while I have waited – too cautious, perhaps, preparing too long – you have been taking risks as you work alone.” The visor fixes on Hanzo’s face with a sharp glint of green light, and Hanzo shivers slightly. “And aside from all that, I see you’ve changed your style somewhat since I saw you last.”
“Oh. This.” Hanzo gestures vaguely at his face, the hair and piercings. “I thought it might help me refocus. Take seriously what I needed to and leave the rest aside.” Like pride, perfectionism. Something had to give.
Genji laughs. “Well, I think the hipster-punk look suits you,” he says lightly. Hanzo can almost imagine that he’s smiling, if he’s even capable of such a thing behind his face-plate. “While you were at it you should have dyed your hair green, too.”
There’s a strangled sound as Hanzo’s breath catches in his throat and suddenly he is sobbing.
“I’m sorry –” Genji starts.
“Don’t,” Hanzo says fiercely. Then, barely able to breathe for crying, in a harsh whisper, “Don’t apologize to me.”
Genji nods and is silent a few moments as Hanzo sobs harder. How long ago was it that Genji would do such harmless things as dye his hair green only for Hanzo to take it as a provocation? How long ago that Genji even had a body intact with hair to dye green? How worthless is everything Hanzo has ever done, how utterly impossible would it be to make up even a fraction of what he has taken?
“I did not intend to cause you distress,” Genji says softly.
“I know,” Hanzo tries to say, but the words he struggles so hard to form are swallowed in his tears. And yet Genji seems to understand. He places a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and Hanzo wills himself to resist the impulse to shake it away, trying desperately to find composure and failing. In the distance, faint at first, comes the diamond-clear chiming of the bells being rung. The notes hang in the icy air like the mist that forms with each breath, resonant and echoing, echoing. Will this be the tenth New Year since he struck down his younger brother? The tenth time knowing that he is alone and always will be, that there is no change to come and no redemption for him because the blood cannot ever be put back?
And yet he feels his brother’s hand squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, though the hand is not made of flesh. And yet he feels the cold wind brushing starkly at his bare temples where the hair has been shaved off. And yet he feels a nudge at his knee and hears several small excitable voices start chattering at him in Russian all at once, startling him out of his thoughts.
“We found him!”
“Here you are!”
“Why are you crying?”
Hanzo draws a shaky breath and smiles. “Yes, I’m right here,” he replies in Russian, wiping the tears away, his cheeks stinging with cold.
“Crying,” says a girl, as if she’s proving a point.
“Yes. Everyone cries, Nadya. It is normal.”
“Who’s the Omnic you’re with?” one of the boys asks.
“This is my brother,” Hanzo says, finding the words come quite naturally. “He’s not exactly an Omnic. But I guess he looks a lot that way.”
“Oh,” the boy replies, sounding slightly disappointed.
“And,” Hanzo adds, “unless I’m very much mistaken, he does not understand Russian. So all of you should greet him respectfully for New Year’s Eve in Japanese, is that not so?” And with general assent the children, oldest to youngest, wish Genji a happy New Year’s Eve using the phrase Hanzo has taught them. The youngest is the most enthusiastic, repeating it a full three times while beaming up directly at Genji’s blank faceplate, until one of the older boys gets impatient and pulls her back.
“Anyway, look what we got you!” He fumbles in his coat pocket and pulls out an only slightly crumpled card, which he shoves into Hanzo’s hands. On it are a stock New Year’s greeting in kanji, several illustrations of flowers and old cartoon characters, and, written variously in emphatic Russian block print and somewhat more mature cursive hands, the names Kira and Nadezhda and Dmitrii and Yevgeniya and Aleksei.
“This is very kind,” Hanzo says, feeling his own smile widen. “Thank you, Dima, everyone. Here, I must have something for you as well …” He pulls out a handful of wrapped candies from inside his jacket and passes one to each. They grab them greedily, as children should. “You should stop wasting your time here with me. Go enjoy the fireworks and the music up close – though you’re already up far too late for your own good.”
“Of course we are, and will be a while yet,” Nadya says imperiously, “but that can’t be helped. It’s New Year’s Eve!”
“No, it can’t be helped,” Hanzo agrees. “Now go have fun, yes?”
“Yes!” And with that the children take off up the hill, leaving Hanzo smoothing down the card in his hands. Genji leans over his shoulder to take a look at it.
“Are those some of your refugee orphans?”
“Only one of that group is an orphan,” Hanzo says, “though some have been separated from their parents in the course of getting them out of Siberia.”
“And your pockets are overflowing with sweets.”
“The Japanese sort seem to fascinate them. Helps distract them from what they’ve lost, and the difficulty of starting anew in strange surroundings …”
“So you’re clever about it as well as generous.”
Hanzo finds nothing to say in response. But the silence that hangs between the two of them is more comfortable. Companionable, almost. The snow sweeps along the ground, backlit blue and red and purple by the fireworks that fill the sky, and the sensation of calm after weeping fills Hanzo’s chest.
“I have thought too, brother,” Genji says finally. “About what I said when I saw you last. I wanted to give you time to understand what I said. To process what had happened, to respond without me standing over you. Perhaps it was not the wisest course. Perhaps I should not have left you without offering more guidance. So you did not have to wonder where I was, how I lived, when you might see me again.”
“You were right when you said that I needed to act.”
“And these are the actions you have taken to honor me?”
Hanzo bows his head, gripping the card and the feather he hold together in his hands more tightly. “I have tried,” he says in a low voice.
“I could not ask more, Hanzo.” For the first time Genji’s voice is unsteady. “Thank you for proving me right when I believed there was still hope for you.” Hanzo hears the words and wonders what to do with them. How he can accept them. The last time he spoke with his brother he tried to throw Genji’s words back in his face. But now – his fingers trace the signatures on the card the children gave him and he realizes, slowly, that he doesn’t feel shame for having tried. He has known that nothing he can do will balance any scales for what he has done to Genji, will change nothing about the past, will bring back nothing that was lost. Trying to do anything just felt like another denial, another one of the lies to himself that he had lived with too many years. But there is another side to the matter, he sees now, and that is that whatever he has done or has been in the past also cannot erase whatever good he does now. If he has saved or bettered any lives over the last few months, that is something real and immutable. He will not always only be the person who tried to murder his younger brother. That will remain. But he can be other things as well. And it is not wrong or false to attempt it.
“Your actions have been productive, whether my choices were right or wrong. They have achieved good in this world. And as I said – whether or not we have waited too long, I and my side are finally ready to act. We may not be enough to stop a second Omnic Crisis. But as you have, we will try.”
“Will you …” Hanzo’s voice trails off.
“Will I what?” Genji responds evenly. Challenging Hanzo to find the courage to ask the question himself.
“I was lost for a long time. I do not know what the future holds, but if you and your friends will have me, if you think I can contribute in any way, I want to join your cause.”
“I believe you have already begun to right your course,” Genji says. “But I was hoping you would ask this. That you would follow me. I do not know what the future holds any more than you do, but I would rather find out together.”
“It will take me a few days to finish getting the affairs of the group I’m helping now settled completely.”
“Meaning you will keep me here for the remainder of the holiday as well.”
“If you choose to wait here with me,” Hanzo says, “then I guess I will.”
“I have no objection to that. I have missed you too, Hanzo. And it would shock me if you’re the one Overwatch finds hardest to pull away from their good deeds and into its orbit.”
“Overwatch,” Hanzo repeats. “That explains a lot.”
“Let’s leave that aside for now,” Genji says, rising to his feet. “My friends will wait. Let’s go meet up with yours for now. They’ve done better than me, anyway. I don’t even have a card for you.”
Hanzo stands, faces Genji, inclines his head slightly. “Happy New Year’s Eve, brother.”
“Happy New Year’s Eve to you too, brother. Though the time is short now. We should hurry. It’ll be midnight in a couple of minutes.” He’s right. The bells are ringing. The year turns afresh. The past – some of it is irretrievable. The younger brother with green hair Hanzo struggled to drag away from the arcade cannot somehow be recovered. But some lost things are found again, some broken things made anew. His brother lives. Bringing Genji to enjoy the company of his young friends – that is something new in the world. Something that gives him a sense of peace.
“I wonder if there is something else you were right about,” Hanzo adds as the two of them start up the hill.
“And what would that be?”
“Perhaps after all I should dye my hair green. The children would undoubtedly find it amusing.” Genji’s laughter in response, almost drowned out in the thunder of the fireworks, is answer enough. The world is wide and changing still. And Hanzo is too, impossible though it seems.