KNOW YOUR RIGHTS.

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody! Including fourth wall visitors.
WHAT? Time to kiss the spiders goodbye and strike out for greener pastures.
WHEN? 10 XI, Year 6 of Sanaliel's reign (as of arrival in Lemuria).
ANYTHING ELSE? Please warn for anything besides physical violence and move to a personal journal if it's beyond PG-13.

this is a public service announcement;

with guitar

ESCAPE TACTICS

READ THE JHASHCH INFOPAGE.

The departure from Jhashch has none of the ceremony of arrival. A few hours after the last of the mission teams report in, a bulletin goes out. It's the only forewarning for the time-step.

@SCOUT | @ALL

emergency time-step approved
expect it within the hour

you won't be returning to base; we'll port in supplies after arrival
if you have your standard cost clothing, change into it now
cover your face and hide the cost patch

It's hurried and without embellishment, and for good reason. While the teams have deterred and distracted the Regency and burned House Shaiy's residence, it hasn't stemmed the chaos. If anything, it encourages it.

Princess Chch still lives, but Queen Thsh is viewed as the Aranean ideal of a tyrant, confidence only bolstered by surviving the Regency's assassination attempts. COST has her blessing — and that of the Twin Generals and Prince Shch. Aranean soldiers throw themselves into brutal confrontation at their generals' behest, dragging Ythaway further into bloodshed; the male Araneans decline direct involvement, but they're skilled saboteurs. And the public watches; while the media teams couldn't completely convince them of the cause and House Oujh still maintains its influence, they spare the Regency no love.

This is the fate of the weak.

Young has already sent Serket ahead with the mines' valuable deposits of Ymir. And, with the queen's position assured amidst all the gore, COST wants to evacuate as quickly as possible.

» THE TIME-STEP

The transfer begins like a vibrating heat on the collar bone, just a hum of sensation.

But the vibration spreads. Veteran recruits often refer to this phenomenon as "the buzz". The feeling builds, not unlike standing near a great engine or the wind-rattled branches of a massive tree. There is a long moment of motion sickness and you can't be sure if the world is shaking you from the inside out or the outside in. It may be better to close your eyes against the growing nausea, as the world blurs out of focus.

A star shines in the distance. You may hear the faint rustling of leaves. Some swear they hear voices in this moment, indistinct words echoing off nothingness. Others say they feel a touch of the divine, that the eyes of the eternal look down upon you. Ancient bones rattle just out of earshot, cold and brittle and nothing more than the suggestion of sound. Or maybe it's only an illusion, brought on by the powerful technology grafted into your skin.

One thing is for sure: One moment you are here and the next you are not.


WELCOME, GHOSTS

A siren blares in the distance, accompanied by unintelligible shouting and the low rumble of engines. The air is chill, no matter where you arrive; the ground beneath your feet is like ice if the soles of your shoes have worn too thin. Closer, there's the crackle of an air quality alert and the creak of swaying metal. A nearby terminal declares the date to be 10 XI, 6 SNL.

The time-step has scattered the cell throughout the districts of Lemuria.

@SCOUT | @ALL

now that i have more time
if you weren't briefed by your commander already, this is an emergency time-step, possible through the efforts on jhashch
for those of you with my cell, the sergeant and i won't be present, at least not physically; we can't be
you can contact us, but the regency carefully monitors this time stream so excessive communication through time and space could be dangerous

you can ask the scouts available for more information
@ASHOLE @STARBOY the two of you are the most accessible

Almost immediately, a second bulletin pops up.

@STARBOY | @ALL

are you shitting me

[And that's it, until five minutes later:]

lets get this out of the way
read the 1st attachment
its not done but dwi

if youre new read that and the 2nd attachment
and if youre looking for us for some bullshit reason
x marks the spot on the 3rd attachment
we got clothes and weapons since no one sent you in w shit
(lmao ofc)

[ATTACHMENT: lemuria.html, beginnersguidetodumbfuckery.html, map.png]

The files are succinct, establishing COST's mission and role as opposed to that of the Regency. The beginner's guide even addresses the side effects of BCE glitches and wiped memories, for newbies who don't remember joining COST. These scouts want you up to speed as quickly as possible, because fucking up could have dire consequences. And they also really don't want to explain it to you; this shit is not in their purview.

The map indicates a cellar in one of the low districts, identified as the Skhan District. If you're missing an outfit of your own, the scouts have several bins of secondhand clothing and more than their fair share of weaponry. It's a mismatched collection and far from the height of fashion (unless scavenger chic is in), but be careful: while most of the patches have been torn off, some clothes still bear the insignia of COST. You'll want to get rid of that.

POST-APOCALYPTIC WEAR IS IN THIS SEASON

Blasters load six to fifteen rounds, depending on model; none are larger than a shotgun. And, because of the dangers of porting in and out of Lemuria, the bolthole has its own revivicator installed. Which means if you die in Lemuria, you revive in Lemuria. It isn't as refined as BASE's rundown tech; chances are, when you wake up, you'll feel echoes of whatever killed you.

READ THE LEMURIA INFOPAGE.

» NEW RECRUITS.

New arrivals, here by virtue of the fourth wall, can arrive in one of two ways.

The first is as a fresh recruit, in COST-issued athletic underwear and holding whatever item you chose to bring. Hopefully your clothes and circumstances don't embarrass you too much, because you're stuck with them until you can rendezvous with a scout or steal your own.

The second way for fourth wall characters to arrive is as a seasoned member of another COST cell. Their assumed missions can be to your tastes, as fantastical or historical as you like. Need ideas? Feel free to read back through the game's logs and infopages for inspiration.


HIDE YOUR SHIT

Welcome to COST's little bolthole in Lemuria. It's a cramped space, a basement's basement in an abandoned factory overrun by squatters. The community doesn't make much notice of anyone moving through as a rule, so it's easy to weave by the masses huddled together in rags and find the long, dingy staircase, leading down, down, down to a padlocked door.

The padlock will twist and open as soon as you tap the corresponding app on your BCE. It automatically loaded when you got to Lemuria and reads FUCKINGPADLOCK.IO.

And then there's the bolthole. Dug into the ground, it's not unlike being in a submarine; it's certainly cramped enough. It could hold maybe four people, very uncomfortably.

It has a selection of security cameras and terminals on one end and the rest of the walls are decked with cabinets and drawers, all locked by various means. Some are traditional and some ask for eye scans or fingerprints or "identity samples", whatever that means.

There is a not insignificant number of empty takeout containers in one corner.

And, thanks to the staircase, you can at least hear whenever someone's coming.


GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER

You can't hide in the bolthole forever — the scouts, for one, will kick you out — and Lemuria is a restless city. Many of the low districts are overflowing, too many people packed in too small spaces. And everywhere is an air of discontent, evident from disgruntled muttering.

It's often hard to tell what's news and what's rumor, even surrounded by terminals with easy access to the Lemurian network. Fafnir is causing a ruckus at the city limits; maybe someone will ask Jörmungandr to "deal" with him. Terrapin Labs is dumping genetic waste in the sewers. The Crosslands are already drained dry and the war is a coverup. A red dragon ate someone near the upper districts. Sanaliel's advisor is a shape-shifter. The list goes on.

For now, your orders are to keep an ear to the ground and maintain a low profile. In general, the scouts would really like you not to make their lives any harder.

» THE ANTS GO MARCHING.

If you manage to find your way into the Pyramid District, the Lemurian upper class is having a military parade and even the lower rungs of society have dragged themselves to see it. The crowd is mixed, though it naturally segregates itself, with the richer moving away from the poorer. Myths fit themselves in where they can; faeries flit through the crowd and a few kappa saunter through, promising eternal blessings for a few spare cucumbers.

The parade itself is a magnificent thing to behold, if you like gaudy splendor and overzealous displays of wealth. Each regiment walks in unified steps, their battalion announced. At various points, the parade stops and the soldiers perform demonstrations of will and might, shooting rockets into the polluted fog of the sky, shredding dummies with advanced weaponry, and sparring with one another.

Occasionally, radicals break through the crowd, throwing smoke bombs that bleed colored mist and sting the eye. They shout slogans like "Freedom for the Crosslands!" and "Justice for Lemuria!" and "Food for the poor!" Sometimes they cause a riot. Sometimes they escape back into the crowd. Sometimes they get shot in the head.

The bodies are dragged away without much comment, like it's a common occurrence.

The parade continues.

» I PREDICT A RIOT.

If you wander into the low districts, you'll find something else entire. Some would argue it's a coincidence that there are bread riots the same day as a military parade. Some wouldn't.

Basic sustenance — rice, bread, beans, and lentils — have skyrocketed in price. Fueled by tax increases and missing supply vans, what it means is the poor are poorer. People slink back to their hovels to beg or barter. And the rest, well...

The rioters come prepared, stomping boots and guns fired into the sky. The majority are teenagers and young adults, commandeering food shops and carts, scaring away (or killing) the owners and giving out food for free (or at a lowered price). Other people try to stop them and the scuffle quickly becomes untenable, escalating into bloodier violence.

What do you do?

» THIS IS SO ILLEGAL.

Maybe you got involved in a riot. Maybe your fingers were a little sticky. Or maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time; the police force is largely apathetic to crime in the low districts and reacts all too readily with violence in the upper districts.

Whatever the case, you've gotten yourself on the wrong side of the Lemurian law and you're handcuffed to (or sharing a cell with) a comrade-in-arms. Maybe it's fortunate that Lemuria has only just begun to distribute power nullification tech to deal with the influx of myths; most officers don't carry it and even fewer would think to use it on someone who looks human.

The guards make no comment, if asked how long they'll hold you. Other prisoners, filthy and dressed in rags, remark they've gone months without knowing.

Escape is really the only feasible option.

» SPECIAL DELIVERY.

If you left items behind at BASE, you can handwave filing a request and COST will deliver them to the bolthole. The scouts will send an alert if necessary and you can pick it up at any time. Just preferably sooner than later, because there isn't exactly a lot of space in that cellar.

Alternatively, if you're a veteran recruit, maybe you just received an unexpected delivery.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

Comments

hanzo shimada | overwatch ( fourth wall )

[eruit]

» HIDE YOUR SHIT.

Hanzo is not the kind of person who spends a great deal of time outside and around people if he can help it; if there is a means for him to hide in a corner, preparing arrows or taking care of his bow, then that is what he will do. Nothing will distract him from it. It is what is necessary for the upkeep of his profession and a means of keeping other people at bay. Who wants to approach a man who is holding a bow in his lap and aiming arrows, especially when he's burrowed as far below and away from everyone else as he can.

For the most part, he doesn't react when anyone else comes in and messes with any of the drawers, cabinets or other locked up, safeguarded things in the room. He's tucked away in the quietest place he can find, practically squashed into a small space to avoid detection by anyone as much as he can. What's obvious, should anyone take notice of him or approach him, is that he ignores practically everyone that comes near him, even if they're having to lean around him to get to their space. He's a little more twitchy, but not inclined to move.

Eventually, of course, the scouts come and kick him out, and Hanzo can be seen climbing the staircases hurriedly, his shoes making a quiet click, click as he climbs, face practically thunderous as he's forced back out into society.

» GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.

Exploring Lemuria, once he's been kicked out, is at least something that is some level of interesting. With Storm Bow strapped to his back and a quiver in place, Hanzo walks around, heedless of any looks or attention he might get. He has no desire to abandon his weapon, no matter what anyone might think, and his attention is solely on learning as much as he can as quickly as he can - then he can come back, away from the swarming people, and make himself more comfortable.

The urge to scramble up walls and listen from the tops of buildings is more than a little bit appealing, and sometimes he can be found hovering near a wall, head tilted, as if judging whether or not it would be a good vantage point before he moves on to somewhere else, head bowed and eyes intent as they flick here and there.

Above all else, the rumour that most gets his attention is the whisper of dragons, and no matter how false it might turn out to be it seems worth investigating. A red dragon ate someone near the upper districts. Hanzo is quick to begin to move, pushing through people, and start to see if he can head towards that direction, intent on learning more about this 'dragon'. After what he has seen over the last few weeks it seems... Worthwhile, as much as anything else in this strange new place.

» THE ANTS GO MARCHING.

Walking through the crowd is easy enough, at least at first - most people seem to not want to get in Hanzo's way, and those of richer blood recognise his stride and seem to allow it, for now. The strange, mythical beasts give him pause and that's what he pays attention to for a long space of time; he follows after the fae and kappa, interested in their movements, what they do, offering them little things from his pockets in trade for their time. It's not the most interesting thing he's done, but it passes the time until he learns more of worth.

When the parade itself starts, Hanzo moves out of the way of the crowd and back to stand somewhere where there's a little more breathing room, watching from afar. It reminds him a little bit of training at home, the regimented style, the military weight of it, and for a moment he's caught in a kind of painful nostalgia that makes his teeth clench and his hands tense at his sides before he forces himself to calm down. It's not worth getting upset over and he's well aware of that - his family is behind him. The Clan is behind him.

That's what he keeps telling himself.

Eventually, he has to leave, ignoring the shouts of radicals behind him, moving to creep back to see if he can hide in the depths of the bolthole once again.

» WILDCARD.

( Hit him up somewhere else or ping me at aziraphale and we can figure something out! )

hanzo! get ur shit together!!!

[doublejumps]

Of course Genji is also curious when he hears talk of a dragon. Now that he has his katana, it would be possible for him to summon his own dragon if necessary, but he knows that this red one that people are whispering about is probably something else entirely. Not simply a spiritual being, but something corporeal; something that could spit fire, and take to the skies. He's curious, especially after speaking with Daenerys of her dragons, but he also knows that seeking the beast out could drag him into yet more danger. After the injuries (and death) that he's endured lately, he knows he should take some more caution.

So he's making his way toward the upper districts, not purely to find this dragon, but also to get a better sense of how this city is laid out. He's wearing a dark cloak that hides most of his metal body as he moves through the crowds, ducking down alleys or crossing over rooftops when they offer an easier path.

It's while he's on the ground that someone brushes past him, shoving him to the side in their urgency, and Genji frowns, ready to be annoyed by the rudeness of the maneuver as he watches the person continue onward.

It's the bow that he sees first, the yellow ribbon next, and Genji's heart stutters in his chest. First Zenyatta, now this? After getting that photo in his delivery package, he almost thinks that he's seeing things. But the longer he stares, the more clear it is that Hanzo is here as well, and he's quickly moving away from him.

"Hanzo!" Genji calls out, running after him through the crowd. Get back here!

seems fake!!!

[eruit]

There's no reason for Hanzo to dwell too long, he thinks, not when whatever is happening holds so little interest to him. He's not concerned with the people or the rioting any more than he's concerned for the classes or the parade; the nostalgia it has inspired is more painful than anything else. While he is no stranger to self-hatred and denial he has no interest in prolonging his own pain, not today, so he decides the best option is to put as much distance between himself and the other people as he can.

He doesn't expect to hear his name, especially not in a tone that is far, far too familiar.

Tension coils through him immediately and he doesn't turn, stuck still with one foot almost moving in front of the other. His first thought is that he ought to turn and run, that he should flee, that he should do something to get away from the very obvious presence chasing after him, but that would be cowardly. He might hide and he might drink himself to oblivion more often than not, but he will not allow Genji - or the shadow of Genji - to see him acting with such great dishonour and cowardice.

Not again. Not after the night in Hanamura, a blade against his neck, tension in his body and his hands shaking, his eyes closing, waiting for the death that never came -

Breathing out, Hanzo turns, back a straight edge, gaze intent, hard, almost dangerous.

"Yes."

[doublejumps]

This time, Genji has no intention of drawing his blade to make his point to Hanzo, not unless he has to for some reason. His voice alone should have made his identity clear, and yet Hanzo pauses and turns toward him like he may as well be a stranger. There's no recognition in his eyes, no sense of relief flooding through his body language. Most anyone would be glad to see a familiar face given their situation, and yet...

Hanzo still doesn't know what to do with him, it seems.

Genji skids to a stop once he catches up to his brother, with little concern for the scene he's made by yelling his name and chasing after him. It's not as if anyone else seems to care. People in this city are distracted with their own problems, consumed by the tension that's eating Lemuria like a plague.

"So it is you." Genji takes a few more seconds to look Hanzo over, but there's really no mistaking him. Everything from that sour expression to the stiff stance makes it crystal clear. "Have you been here long?"

It seems that far more people from their home were recruited into COST than Genji could have guessed. This means that, one way or another, they're working together. Genji can't help but feel warmed by that fact.

[eruit]

Hanzo is tense, fingers flexing as the temptation to reach for his bow flickers over him and makes him even more tense and on edge, a burst of anger and uncertainty resting around his shoulders. There's a level of tension that coils through him that he cannot even begin to shrug off, but he does his best to swallow it down, does his best to act as though this doesn't bother him as much as it does, as much as it is; he could break apart just from looking at Genji.

He doesn't know how to treat him. Doesn't know how to handle the fact that Genji is even here in the first place.

For a long moment he doesn't even want to give Genji the benefit of a reply. He wants to turn around and walk in the other direction, to turn away and act as though this meeting never took place, but he can't. There's a weight to it that makes him hurt - because he needs to earn his redemption. He needs to regain his honour.

He has to prove himself to Genji. But he doesn't know if he can trust this version of the man he had known once.

"No. I have not." What should he do? He looks lost, glancing around as though he can somehow dart away and make himself scarce, but he doesn't. "Have... Have you?"

[doublejumps]

The awkwardness of this unexpected meeting is palpable, and Genji doesn't know if there's anything he can do to lessen it. That being said, letting Hanzo leave isn't an option either, not when Genji needs to learn how he came to be here and what he's been doing in the time since they last saw each other. He didn't expect their second reunion to be anything like this, but he isn't going to squander it.

Standing in the middle of a crowded street isn't going to help matters, though, and so Genji waves Hanzo along so that they can move off to the side of the street, where they won't have to dodge Lemurians as they go about their day. He doesn't remove his gaze from Hanzo the entire time, even though his hood and faceplate keep his own face hidden.

"Not here, no," he responds with a shake of his head, "but I have been with COST for a few months now. That is how you got here, right? COST brought you?"

There's no other way it would be possible, and so Genji can only hope that Hanzo knows what he's talking about. They wouldn't have thrown him in here completely blind, would they? If that's the case, then it's Genji's job to get him up to speed, whether Hanzo is comfortable with that or not.

[eruit]

It's clear in Hanzo's posture and movements that he is ready to turn and run as soon as he feels as though he is allowed - as if he can twist and turn his back on the thing that claims to be his brother and walk elsewhere. He expects, even now, for Genji to lift his blade, to come at him, to give the punishment that honour and duty dictates is his; Hanzo had failed him, and for that he should be culled. That is how it was in the clan, and the tension that bleeds into Hanzo is in part his own mixed expectations.

It's awkward as he moves away from the crowd, clearly on edge, clearly expecting the worst. Despite the fact that he knows that Genji has promised him forgiveness, has offered him a path to redemption, he has no reason to trust it, no reason to imagine that it might be true. It feels more likely, at least to him, that he might suffer punishment before true forgiveness. After ten years of living as he has... Genji has likely earned that if nothing else.

"Yes," the words are clipped, to the point, low and uncertain. The awkwardness of Hanzo being here, feeling trapped and caged, is obvious, and the tension makes him appear as he had when he was a child - back straight, attention forward, as though their father was present with a stick to correct his posture.

He hesitates, eyes flicking over the form of Genji, unsure and uncertain. What does he say? What does he do? The tension catches in his throat.

"A few months?"

[doublejumps]

There's nothing about this that isn't agonizing, on Hanzo's end, and that makes it difficult for Genji in turn. He can see in every line of Hanzo's posture that he wants nothing more than to turn and run away from this situation at breakneck speed. Despite the fact that they're in an unfamiliar place and surrounded by strangers, he still wants nothing to do with Genji.

It's not an easy thing to realize, or to accept, and Genji already knows that he'll need to talk with Zenyatta about this. He can feel his heart pattering in his metal chest like a nervous sparrow.

"A few months," Genji confirms once Hanzo is able to get the question out. "Has it been more or less time for you?" It seems like each new step in the conversation takes so much more effort than it should, and yet Genji doesn't know how to ease up on all of Hanzo's tension. Likely there's nothing to be done for it, and it's only time and exposure that will allow it to happen.

How are either of them supposed to endure this? It's only been a few seconds and it already feels intolerable, all of his initial relief replaced with an exhausting dread.

[eruit]

It's impossible to look at Genji and pretend as though that this is fine, that there is nothing about this that is bothering him. He is still barely able to rationalise the fact that Genji has, somehow, returned from the dead; he had lived a decade certain that his life had been taken and he had to pay the price for it. For Genji to show up, to tell him that all he had done in penance hadn't been worth the time and effort he had been doing... It had broken his heart.

He doesn't know what to do, or what he ought to say. He thinks he hands might be shaking, but he doesn't want to look at himself, either. He fears that he might fall apart. He thinks that Genji might best him.

"Less. Far less." Hanzo has barely been here days, he thinks, but... He cannot think that Genji has been here for that long. He doesn't know what to do with the knowledge, the information, and he takes a deep breath. Slowly, he forces himself to stand taller, to adopt the mantle of the Shimada heir, to become what he had been trained to be before Genji once more.

"... You must know what you are doing." His voice is clipped, tight. "I will not take you from it."

[doublejumps]

There's no missing the way that Hanzo's hands tremor. It's subtle, but for someone like Genji who had grown up watching his brother, there's no mistaking it. Much as he would like to grip Hanzo's hands with his own and still the shaking, he knows that won't be taken well now -- or maybe ever. It's been long, far too long, since they were close enough for something like that.

That doesn't mean that they shouldn't rely on each other in these strange, impossible circumstances. That's what Genji believes, at least, and all he can do is try to get Hanzo onto his side. He may have failed at that before, but this is a different time.

It is a bit surprising for Hanzo to claim that Genji must know what he's doing, as that's not something he would have ever said about him when they were younger. Really, it's an excuse so that Hanzo can get away from him, and Genji sees right through it.

"Not exactly," he says with a quick shake of his head. "I have not been in this city for much longer than you. You seemed like you were going somewhere." Hanzo had been walking with purpose when Genji had first seen him. "Where were you headed?" he asks with a slight tilt of his head.

the dragants go marching

[tekhartha]

The parade had presented Zenyatta with a quandary: whether to go in disguise and slink among the lower classes, knowing full well that he could not pass for the upper echelons... or to risk showing himself as he truly is, knowing the dangers to which he would be exposing himself. And in the end, in his own little ways, hasn't Zenyatta always liked to live on the edge?

Though his body is for the most part swathed in scarves and hoods, his face-plate little more than a glint of silver and blue in their shadows, he still feels exposed as he plots a path between the class lines that have been drawn haphazardly through the crowd. He's already made himself comfortable in the low districts; the men and women here are only just distinguishable as residents of the upper districts instead, given away only by fewer fraying edges, more delicate detailing and neater tailoring. Little details.

For that reason Zenyatta cannot explain why he is so drawn to the man ahead of him as he drifts. Technically speaking he does not know him at all, and yet there is something indefinable about him, something that keeps him as close to in step as he can safely manage, and that alone is reason enough for him to keep going. He is not a local. Probably just another agent. And yet...

But for all the attention Zenyatta has turned upon this familiar stranger, he has failed to miss the obvious. As his target stills at arm's reach, watching the parade, he feels a hand close upon his shoulder and turn him forcefully on the spot.

"The hell is this supposed to be?" A Lemurian, peering at him with the kind of acquisitional interest that has the omnic on full alert in an instant. "Some sort of fancy puppet?"

Zenyatta does not think. He moves forward- Right, in fact, into his target's side. Without skipping a beat, he attaches himself firmly to the man's side.

"I am Z3N-1," Zenyatta recites, loudly and (he hopes) pointedly, in as flat and atonal a voice as he can remember, "Model: personal security. Please maintain a distance of one metre."

Unseen beneath the folds of their cloaks, he jabs his elbow into the man's side, and adds, quickly: "Requesting directive, sir."

[eruit]

The rioters and the anger does not do much for Hanzo's perception of the place; he's generally content to ignore them, to judge them for their outward displays of emotions, to consider them unworthy of his attention, and that is what he does. He has no time for these people, for the parades, for the way that all of it makes him feel, tied and wrapped up in a perfect image, an illusion of perfection that he recognises. It stuns him; he had not imagined that he would be so hurt, so pained by it, so desperately unsure and on edge, and he feels it like a lead weight on his shoulders, sinking into his chest.

For the most part, at least, the people avoid him, leaving him to his own little world, venturing here and there and considering fleeing up a building. He's about to make his mind up and disappear when he feels a body against his own, attaching to himself, and he goes tense, instinct having him reaching for the dagger at his side, to slice and cut deep into the waistline of whoever dares -

But, no. There's a voice, and it's talking, and it's obviously a charade, though Hanzo's can't imagine why. It takes him a moment to register what's happening and when it does he tenses, eyes narrowing for a moment. He's not one to care outright for the problems of stranger or their suffering - he has no reason to, especially in a place like this - but now that he has been cornered and pressed he sees no reason why he ought to let someone suffer.

Attacking another simply because of their existence is dishonourable, and finding his honour once more... That is what would lead him to the path of redemption. Hanzo is certain of that, even if he is certain of nothing else.

"Stand down, Z3N-1. They are no threat." Hanzo shifts and stands to his full height and stature - not much, of course, but he looks intimidating with his muscle, his tattoos, his bow. He tilts his head and stares down the other men with an intensity that betrays just how dangerous he is, shifting to step forward so that he and the... Robot? Are more aligned. "They pose no threat to me and would not attack my personal security. It would be very foolish for them."

Hanzo is, above all else, clearly professional. More than that, he is deadly, and his fingers flex a little. "Move to surveillance protocol."

[tekhartha]

Zenyatta has thrown himself at his feet, yes, but he knows that there is no reason for this perfect stranger to show him any grace; in fact, if he is being entirely realistic, the best he can likely hope for is a window of confusion in which to make a quick escape. But the face that turns to meet his address is proud and stern and, after a moment, so effortlessly confident that it pins Zenyatta where he stands, staring in faint, head-tilting wonder at eyes into which he is absolutely certain he has looked before.

Something about that certainty holds him steady, even before his fears are assuaged. Evidently the Iris has been kind enough to bring him to a fellow recruit, and a clever one at that. Everything about the way he holds himself has been beautifully, subtly constructed to threaten without making threats: the square of his shoulders, the flint in that voice. There is almost no difference in height between him and Zenyatta's interloper but they shrink even so, a mongrel before a wolf.

It is fascinating- so much so that Zenyatta almost forgets to respond with a brief, "Surveillance protocol: activated," but by then the Lemurian is slinking back from them, mumbling about misunderstandings.

He waits. Then he turns to the man with a decidedly more natural bearings, one hand touching to his jaw-piece in thought.

"A masterclass in intimidation." In spite of his close shave he sounds almost chipper. "I owe you my thanks."

[eruit]

Hanzo knows how to use his bulk and his stature to intimidate - it wouldn't be the first time he had done it. He had been raised to be the dangerous, violent leader of a yakuza gang; he had been trained to scare, to make people unsure, to destroy their confidence from the inside out. He wears it like a mantle, his eyes narrowing as he glares at the people in front of him, more insulted that they thought they could take him on than he is by their treatment of the omnic.

Eventually, they realise what a mistake they've made and they seem to fall apart in front of him. Hanzo relaxes, though the tension in his shoulders doesn't quite disappear. He's still out of his element, still a little on edge, and he feels the burn of it even as he rubs a hand over his arm, eyes flicking to the omnic that he had been dragged into saving - or, at least, helping escape a dangerous situation. It's a good thing he's aware enough of omnics to know how best to speak to them.

"It is not necessary." Hanzo frowns, looking around at the crowds around them, feeling an edge of something tense climbing onto his shoulders again. He feels under pressure, somehow, and he can't place why.

"You are free to go."

[tekhartha]

Tacitly, at least, he has admitted to being another recruit. Yet beneath the cold haughtiness Zenyatta can sense the man's unease crackling like the static in a drifting storm-cloud, uncertain of when or even if to strike. They have diffused the confrontation, yes, but he seems no happier for it. Tense. Polite he may be, but when the omnic listens he hears what he means, and it is less you may go and more just plain go.

Zenyatta does not move.

"Without learning the name of my defender? Unthinkable." There's a wry twist to his voice as he speaks, shaking his head. He's already moving closer and dropping his voice to match their new, more private proximity. "It is good to make contact with comrades here. I am Zenyatta- although I suppose Z3N-1 is more believable here. More... Hollywood, if you will."

If Lemuria has not yet surpassed the technological singularity, he's decided, it is probably a little much to expect them to accept a name from him rather than a designation. Better to play into expectations than make waves, for now.

[eruit]

Hanzo doesn't want gratitude or thanks from a random being he just happened to aid - he had likely been the first the omnic had seen, the first person who might offer help, and so he had been chosen. He expects nothing from it and feels awkward and uncomfortable with the idea of being praised for something that had taken little energy nor skill. He was a man, not a hero, and he feels the edge of discomfort prickle over his skin like needles to his senses.

The omnic does not move. Frustrating.

Slowly, carefully, Hanzo turns to look at him properly, taking him in. Zenyatta, he says, and he thinks he ought to do or say something, that it should mean something more to him, even if the jokes of hollywood make his nose wrinkle. It's easy enough, at least, to turn his body, to offer a proper, formal bow of greeting, to nod his head and act as though he was fine with the introductions even if there's an edge to him that makes him want to flee.

"Shimada Hanzo." He shakes his head. "I am no comrade. You are mistaken. I must now take my leave of you." Because he has no reason to stay, now that they have shared names and he has done his duty. He makes to turn and leave, back straight and tension colouring him completely.

[tekhartha]

As shallow and meaningless as first impressions often are in the grand scheme of things, Zenyatta is clearly not making a good one on this man. He's used to that, albeit for reasons that he doubts apply here; at home it is a rare blessing indeed to find someone willing to immediately trust an omnic.

Then, as begrudgingly as if he were held at gunpoint, the stranger introduces himself and those doubts go up in smoke right before his optics.

Already his processor is filling in the blanks, comparing those serious eyes with his student's, the clean, elegant line of his jaw, and suddenly it is so blindingly obvious that he could kick himself for missing it. He is the right age, the right build. If he could see his skin he is certain he would see the mark of the Shimada clan upon it, the Shimada clan.

By now, Zenyatta realises, he has been standing still for several seconds. Long enough for Hanzo to turn away from him, though not so long that his voice is lost between them.

"I have been waiting to meet you for some time now. To think that it would be here...!" His voice is carefully neutral, though he cannot entirely suppress his awe. To say too much too quickly could be disastrous- it was Genji's place to reveal himself, not his- and yet he cannot bring himself to turn back. "Tell me, Hanzo. Am I the first you have met from our world?"

[eruit]

As far as it goes, it is a better impression than most. Hanzo is simply not a man easily impressed or easily wrapped up in caring about others, either what he thinks of them or what they think of him. He doesn't have the time nor the emotional energy to care for strangers anymore; once, it had been his life's blood. Now? Now it is something meaningless, something he strives to forget even as the weight of expectation presses down on him like a jab to his spine.

It feels like fingers. A father's, perhaps, or a mother's, reminding him of posture, of formality, of politeness, pressing into the small of his back and leaving a bruise that carried deep into adulthood, one that stings even now.

When the omnic continues he considers walking away and ignoring him completely, but something catches his attention. There's something in his words, a whisper of their shared world, that makes him stop. He's not sure what it is, but Hanzo turns his head, almost glaring over his shoulder.

There are very few ways someone might know him, to know that Hanzo Shimada was from the same world as they themselves were. Either they had hired an assassin at some point, hired him, or they knew the Shimada family from Hanamura. He's not sure he is comfortable with either being in the hands of an omnic who seems unable to keep himself quiet, and he grits his teeth, hesitating for a moment, before he finally speaks.

"No. I have not. None save you." Apparently. "Who are you?"

[tekhartha]

Hanzo postpones his escape. The look he receives over that broad shoulder is nothing short of wintery, but anything is an improvement over Hanzo's back. As for the question... a straightforward response would not answer the question Zenyatta knows is really being asked: how do you know who I am?

There are too many ways to answer that one, depending on how close a call one wanted to have with lying- depending on how much Hanzo knew already, whether he knew that his brother was alive, whether he would even believe him. In his own timeline Genji had already shattered the illusion of his death, but, once again, who was to say what this Hanzo knew of that?

Zenyatta braces himself, and, silently, hopes that Genji will forgive him for the misstep he may take on his behalf.

"A former Shambali monk," he says, and each word is chosen with absolute care as he continues, after a moment, "and master to your brother, Genji."

Though he's barely audible above the din the world seems to recede, a beam of moonlight lancing through a gap in the clouds that spotlights them where they stand. Zenyatta does not doubt that he will be heard.

[eruit]

There's tension that floods Hanzo, making him stand up straighter, his back straight like wood has been shoved down between his fabric and his skin. There's no way to deny how on edge he is and there's something dark and dangerous in his gaze as he stares Zenyatta down.

He doesn't know how to react to the fact that this omnic knows him, recognises him, seems to know more of him than Hanzo is capable of allowing. There are ten years between himself and the last time he had truly considered Genji or his home, and to have it come back to him like this, so sharply, is like a slap to the face or a punch to his gut. He's not sure how best to deal with it and the instinct to flee is upon him before he can do anything else.

Master to your brother, Genji. His heart stops.

"Then you will have no place speaking with me." Why would anyone who knew Genji want to be around him? They must know what he did to Genji, what happened to them in the past, and he feels his skin prickle as new anxiety rushes over him. He takes a deep breath, taking a step forward, turning his back again.

"If you are truly a monk," his voice is clipped, short, dangerous. "Then you will know there is no point wasting time on me."

[tekhartha]

Dark clouds gather in those eyes, all suspicion and hostility that flashes back at him whenever Zenyatta meets them as if he were a lightning rod in a field. Genji's name sends a ripple across his surface and he steadies himself- but the storm does not break. There is no thunder, no explosion. If he is surprised to hear that his brother is alive he does not let it show on his face in the brief moments he remains facing the omnic.

Zenyatta does not back down.

"For such an intelligent man you made a great many assumptions, Hanzo." His voice is even, undemanding. In truth the accusation rankles a little in its sheer audacity, as if Hanzo were the arbiter of his time and attention, but it is hardly unexpected- and as the initial shock passes them both he sees the lines of his fear come together in his body.

No wonder he will not show his face. If he were Genji, Zenyatta would reach out to touch his shoulder and ground him. As it is, he keeps his hands to himself and stays put.

"Do you think," Zenyatta continues, almost amused, "that I am here to save you?"

[eruit]

Hanzo does not assume that Zenyatta might want to save him, that he might offer him redemption - he is doing what he can to earn that himself, to show that he is worth whatever forgiveness it appears that Genji is attempting to offer. He is doing that in his own way, choosing his own path for the first time in his life, and he does not need some monk appearing, saying that he is well aware of Genji and offering him anything.

He scoffs, shaking his head, strict and stern.

"I do not think you are here to save me, but you approach me with too much cordiality." To be approached like this, to be spoken to as if Zenyatta knows him, as if they are aware of one another. Hanzo knows nothing about him, recognises nothing of him, does not even know how he and Genji are connected beyond anything else.

He shifts, tense and unsure, moving from one foot to another before he finally manages to look at Zenyatta again. He looks pained, as if being here is physically torturing him, and he doesn't know what to do. He cannot be rude to someone who is close with his brother, but he can't stand the intimacy either.

"I do not care why you are here. You will have nothing to do with me."

[tekhartha]

Too much cordiality? There is much to be said there, much to be asked- that a friendly greeting really so intimate to Hanzo, who looks like a stray dog cornered in an alleyway, for one thing, that his discomfort is so acutely palpable that Zenyatta could almost cringe with it, so poorly does he wear it.

The dangerous edge to his bearing is blunted. He could push, and doubtless Hanzo would sooner flee than push back as hard as he might have done before.

But that is not what Zenyatta wants. After a long, silent moment, staring back into that wavering gaze with absolute defiance, his shoulders relax and he shakes his head with a long, heartfelt sigh.

"I will not apologise for my introduction," he says, "but nor will I force my presence upon you. There will be time for us to speak on better terms, if we are fortunate enough to cross paths once more."

He should stop there, Zenyatta knows. He has said enough. But as he turns he finds himself stopping, glancing back: "You are so hunted, my friend. I sincerely hope we do meet again."