Axiro

The wind wades with invisible tides of breath, crashing upon the guarded walls of a man standing watch over a dark, moonless horizon. Where once there would be pure white pages of thought, there is nothing but absence upon their wooden decks. Masts creak in silence, naught but an echo to remind of the fact they once had direction. Perhaps even purpose. There is no warm, rotating glow to guide them, its lens tainted by fog too deep to pierce. Not that it even matters, as the bulb shattered long ago, becoming seemingly impossible to replace.

With both palms wrapped around the cold, wet metal of the barrier meant to prevent his fall, his heart is held by no such prison. Turned upside down, it spills its red agony down towards the earth's core like a raging river crashing over a mountain's edge to join with the sea.

He was wrong. About everything.

It did not matter what he did. What he said. How he felt. Whatever sanity he thought he had gained back is about as useful as a carcus left to drift after already being picked clean. Whatever control he figured he had of the wooden wheel instead carved into his flesh with splinters of betrayal. He did not see the storm itself, focused only on the light on the other side. Because that is simply how it's done. Set course for north. Keep to the wind. Map the stars. Use the sun.

Follow the light.

It's so easy to see. But no one speaks of how it is easier still for it to lie. To make you believe it won't move. That it awaits your arrival as if you're some kind of chosen, then, when you set foot upon its land, expects you to understand why you are still attached to your own fucking shadow. There is never nearly as much solace in grace as there is in unrest. For where one always comes with the uncertainty of its continued balance, the other holds to its truth. And that is that it will always remain the same.

One by one, days drag by. Slowly. Agonizingly. There is no telling where upon a calendar they land anymore.

The sun and moon hidden far out of sight, the only times Hanzo sees them at all is when he’s brought out into the hologram room for training, testing or monitored recreation.

But they aren’t even real.

Glowing simulations of space are his only exposure to any type of sky anymore. Rock, stone and glass keep him sealed off from the only real solace that lies beyond this lifeless construct that’s filled with nothing but litches and their cursed creations.

Sitting upon the edge of his bed, Hanzo faces the wall, blankly staring down at the ground. Upon his person, simple black sweatpants and a matching t-shirt he was provided. It’s one of the only sets of clothing he has. The other sets are gray and white, respectively. They leave the scaled dragon that's marked into his flesh upon his left arm visible where his attire before had kept it concealed.

His dreams are always nightmares. They tear him apart inside each time, leaving him a husk when he wakes. He has tried going as many days as possible without sleeping until he just collapses. The constant training and testing isn’t helping, either. Most of the weeks, whatever week or month it even is now, consist of nothing more than the repetition of these aspects. The serum he was injected with is still given to him, yet in more controlled doses so he remains under their control. He hasn’t even eaten at times. He abandoned his rations purposefully, yet, sometimes his cell neighbor has had a way of convincing him to at least try. Not without a good bit of lip from the archer, of course.

It’s always in Cassidy’s face and body language. Though he may say nothing at all, his expressions paint such a clear picture that Hanzo can’t help but find it intriguing. One such instance was when Hanzo was fighting tooth and nail, refusing to touch what food he’d been given.

“You’re lettin’ ‘em win.” Cole had said.

Even though he was being snapped at, he kept level and calm.

“They already have.” Hanzo hissed back.

“So you’re just gonna give up.” The cowboy added.

Not even looking at Cole, Hanzo continued to bite back with venom filled words.

“I should have ended you the day we met.”

“Yea. You should’ve.”

Cole had answered only a beat after, not even needing to think about his reply to that comment.

Hanzo growled in annoyance. This man surely was put here to torment him. In that moment, there was not a doubt in his mind that was true.

Some days, the heir has questioned just where his own drive had come from at the beginning of all this. What made him think he stood a chance? Him, of all people. The lost prince of the Shimada. What qualifies him to be anything but a tool? 

However, once he actually looked at Cole, he felt a pang of realization. The other man has seen this happen before. Hanzo could tell by the pure look of pity he was met with.

Hanzo, feeling more disrespected than anything, simply scoffed in disgust and pulled his gaze away again. He ignored the cowboy for the rest of the day, despite still being haunted by the other man’s face. Only after he determined the other man was fully asleep that night did he give in and quietly eat.

A few days have passed since that incident. He hasn’t skipped a meal from that point onwards, as long as it ensures he will not be looked upon in such a way again.

After a few minutes of silent sitting in solitude, the door to the hallway can be heard hissing, clicking and sliding open. A few guards enter, carrying out a routine Hanzo has become all too familiar with now. They stop between the cells, a singular pair of footsteps splitting off to enter Cassidy’s before the barrier hums to life. Seconds after, Hanzo’s barrier powers down. Silently, the archer rises from his seated position, rounding his bed to step down and out of his cell. 

He glances at Cole. Cole glances back, giving a tiny nod of his head as a greeting. Hanzo looks away, but returns the greeting with a small tilt of his chin down towards his shoulder before he begins getting escorted down the hall. He’s led up the gigantic spiraling walkway and into the large domed space lined with the glowing holographic stars.

The members of his team freely come and go from this room every now and then. However, it’s not uncommon for one in particular to spend more time here than the others.

As Hanzo enters, a gentle, classical piano melody can be heard. It fills the room, giving life to the stale air that’s done nothing but remind the archer how dead he feels. Accompanying the tune is a deep hum of vocals. Though low and some distance away, it’s noticeable, none-the-less. Looking up into the synthetic lights above, he follows the source of the humming, eyes landing on a being floating among them. The astrophysicist, Sigma, stands upon a floating rock in the center. He is dressed in casual attire rather than his bulky armor from before. In his hands, he holds a thick open book. The door seals shut, guards walking off to their respective positions by the other entries and exits.

The archer keeps to himself, making movements to fade off into a back corner when a voice calls down to him from above.

“Ah, Mr. Shimada! Did you sleep well?”

Attention averted from the book in his hands, Sigma now looks down to Hanzo with a smile as he begins gently floating down.

Hanzo slowly comes to a stop as he approaches closer to the middle of the room, stopping just short of it.

“I…” He starts.

He wasn’t expecting to be spoken to. He hasn’t talked to anyone besides Cassidy or Reyes for the past several weeks. The only time he has actually spoken to Sigma at all was when they first met. The day Hanzo gave his life away. When he sat opposite that table from Vialli, gazing through the hologram of Hanamura not knowing it was already out of his reach. Even just the thought of it begins to make him angry.

He takes a moment to center himself before finally offering an answer.

“Yes.”

A lie. Purely due to the fact of the matter being that he just cannot explain his reality. Not that he wants to, anyhow. It’s no one else’s business but his own.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sigma asks as he hovers close by, stepping off his rock only to continue floating on his own, his bare feet mere inches from touching the floor.

Hanzo hums in confusion, looking up at the other man. Even though Sigma is floating, he’s incredibly tall. If he were truly standing, there’s no doubt he’d be a good few feet over the archer in height.

“Nocturne in D-Flat Major. Un rêve.” The astrophysicist names the melody hovering around them.

Piano notes pluck in Hanzo’s ears, a voice of their own vibrating from the chords of strings vibrating in alternating tone, strength and grandeur. The sound feels as if the instrument itself is in the same room, practically right at their sides.

“I see.” Hanzo says. “Yes. It is.”

“A wonderful piece. One I often find myself returning to time and time again.” Sigma explains, his deep voice laced with a light and wistful tone. “I heard you recently returned from a mission! I do hope all went well.” He closes his book, setting it upon the rock he stepped off of, as it now floats leisurely at his side.

The archer goes deathly silent for a long moment, images of the fight with Reaper flashing through his mind.

“I am sorry, mister…” He pauses, trying to remember the man’s name, “Sigma, was it? I… I do not wish to discuss it.”

So please. Leave me be.

He begins turning to continue his walk.

“Doctor Siebren de Kuiper, if you please. We are to be working together, yes? My name shall be known to you as yours is to me, Mr. Shimada.” Sigma says, gently.

Hanzo comes to yet another stop, his brows creasing up in realization. 

He knows this name. Just like how he knew Reyes once his face was revealed.

It is one he had read about, just the same as the others. A man whose orbital experiment went wrong, forever altering his psyche and trapping him in a constant cycle of mental turmoil. Perhaps even insanity. Yet, with how he holds himself, that description would not be the first that comes to mind. 

He went missing from his ward several months ago.

The heir turns and looks back over at the floating man, a soft exhale releasing through his nose. Just how many people is he going to end up knowing about in this organization? Reyes, O’Deorain, Cassidy, now de Kuiper.

“I did not mean to cause discomfort in asking, I do apologize.” Siebren says, eyebrows creased up in worry. “I imagine it is no simple task, being in your father’s stead.”

Hanzo tenses. The other man clearly doesn’t know how to read the room. No fault of his, of course. He means well, but he’s being lied to, just like the rest of them. It simply must have been something Talon told him, that Hanzo is here in place of his father simply because…

“My father is dead.” Hanzo says, quietly.

“Yes, so I heard. I am terribly sorry.” Sigma says, his rumbling tone gentle as can be. “Loss of such an important figure in one’s life is a terrible event to experience.”

The archer’s eyes shift off to the side, staring blankly past Siebren.

It was made even worse in the way it happened. Sojiro’s life ended before the eyes of the enemy. Before the eyes of his sons through a visual portal, separating them from him. His father had always been distant, yet in that moment, he was truly, utterly out of reach. And for the first time in Hanzo’s life, he found himself out of control. A mixture of fear, anger and sadness all colliding in the form of screams asking why. Pleas to fight back. Even to run.

Yet, there his father stood. 

And there he fell.

Willingly.

It was not long after they found out that by the time they had seen that… he had already been dead.

He was a fool.

And that’s not the only important figure Hanzo lost. It was only after he had caused said loss that he realized how important they really were to him. 

He finds his mind drifting from the memory of his father to his brother.

Genji.

Hanzo inhales, softly.

It should have been me.

Silently sighing through his nose, he lightly nods his head in agreement with the other man.

“It is.”

But I still feel its weight upon my shoulders. 

“It has been several years.”

Sigma hums.

“It matters not how much time has passed, Mr. Shimada. It matters only what it means to you now.” He pauses. “Tell me. When you look amongst the stars, what do you see?”

Hanzo blinks, face twitching in confusion before finally taking a moment to tilt his head to gaze up at the overhead glimmers. He takes a long, honest gander at the tiny buds of light and the constellations that connect them.

There were times he’d lie in a clearing of the surrounding forest of his makeshift home in the ruins to do just this. He’d think about what his father and brother would be thinking of him if they were in fact watching him from up there. If that’s even where they ended up.

“Forgive me, doctor, but… I do not understand.”

Siebren offers a small, airy chuckle.

“It is and always has been difficult to explain, my friend. I, alone, could not tell you what it means”.

He seems unbothered that such knowledge eludes him. He’s even enchanted by it. His life and even his mind have become so weaved within its fibers that he has become truly inseparable from such an unidentifiable force as space itself. Forever bound to it, destined to ebb and flow just as it does for the rest of his days.

The astrophysicist’s calm eyes join in observation of the galaxies spinning leisurely overhead.

“To me, it is both everything and nothing.” He explains. “Such is the beauty of continuous destruction. Yet also of continuous growth and rebirth.”

He directs his hand with palm facing up, arm leisurely bent at his side. From a table against the wall next to a whiteboard with marked equations Hanzo can’t even begin to understand, some large rocks lift and hover upwards. They split up, following their conductor below, placing themselves within the transparent planets and following their predetermined courses.

“Its nature is without question. Yet, we find ourselves asking questions of it in unlimited quantities.”

The rocks gently spin for several long moments as they are contemplated. Then, Siebren gently curls his fingers in towards his palm, pulling them down to hover in and lazily rotate around him and the archer.

“Is that not curious?”

Hanzo’s amber hues follow the peaceful pieces of earth, gaze hovering from one to the next before shifting to Sigma.

An enigma, this man is. A kind, gentle enigma.

“Why ask them at all?” The heir inquires, quietly.

What worth is there to something that does not have an answer?

“Why not?” Siebren chuckles. “I do believe it is of more satisfactory value to ask. For if we do not ask…” He tilts his head to look at Hanzo, “then what is there to learn?”

Hanzo’s expression grows sad again. As if he didn’t have enough to think about already. He spends a busy minute in his mind, perception of his surroundings muting while he contemplates the inquiry. It’s not until Siebren speaks again that he’s brought out of it.

“Oh, Mr. Shimada!”

The heir’s attention is back on the other man, an eyebrow cocked in confusion. The astrophysicist continues.

“Welcome back!”

Hanzo’s expression falls.

Sibren is repeating himself as if the past several minutes didn’t happen. His face is alight like it’s the first time he’s seen an old friend in months.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” He inquires. “It’s…” he pauses, listening intently to the different musical piece that now flutters about the room, “well, now, what is this melody? I do not recall…”

He begins to slowly float away, his back turning to face the archer while his attention becomes absorbed by the holograms of his work all around them. The rocks break away from where they’ve been positioned to follow Siebren, placing themselves instead in front of him in sequence to create a makeshift, ever altering stairway back up into the center space.

Hanzo is left alone underneath it all.

Drawing in another long, deep breath, there’s a silent thank you reflecting in his eyes before he also turns away, resuming his walk to the other side of the area. He stops himself when he comes just feet away from where he usually takes a seat and does fuck all each time he’s in this god forsaken room. He stares at his spot, now feeling a sense of aversion to it.

Sigma’s words come back to him.

The circling planets above are like clockwork. Their nature is known. Yet, humanity asks unlimited questions in spite of this fact. 

There is still so much Hanzo doesn’t know.

But he need only ask.

Can't go back.

Don't belong.

Undeserving.

Unworthy.

Fear. Sadness. Agony.

All these emotions throb within Hanzo's head and chest in the swimming darkness of him slowly returning to his own mind. The same emotions he felt the day he committed fratricide, abandoning the Shimada birthright and home because of it. He sentenced himself to live as an outcast for the rest of his life, even still, never feeling this punishment alone is enough.

Now, perhaps he is finally getting what he deserves.

Retribution.

Justice for the harm he has caused.

For the life he broke.

A light bites the void of blackness in the form of a flash through shut eyelids, like the glint of a lantern on the opposite side of a sliding paper door.

His body is limp, incredibly sore and draped over something.

Over someone.

An arm is secured around his waist and over his back, holding on so he will not slip. Heavy footsteps crunch below, grass shifting with each step. There's a sickly smell of iron mixed with leather and rain.

Vision opens clearly, staring down the coat tail of the wraith, who's carrying the archer over his shoulder. Moisture slicks off the coat, the cause being the shattered sky above as well as Hanzo's own dark hair that drips from the saturation. His quiver dangles next to him upon Reyes's opposite shoulder. There's a tickle of water drops as they slide down Hanzo's face, paired with the rather uncomfortable feeling of wet clothing.

Another flash, this time, followed by the cracking whip of thunder some distance away. The building they held their battle in is nowhere to be seen, the heavy rainfall and forest surrounding them acting as a barrier to the past.

He lost.

He relied on the unknown to help him. To save him. It led him right back into the clutch of the enemy. Yet, despite the uncertainties, the familiarity of the presence he finally experienced in full sparks a new flame of understanding within him.

His fathers stories... Hanzo's brother was right to believe them.

Stories they may be, yet now it's clear. They are direct histories of the Shimada line. Of its guardians.

Too weak to fight back, the heir just dangles, a weak groan of pain passing his lips. It feels like he died and had his soul slammed back into his body, not unlike his nightmares, though this occurrence was much more intense.

A hiss of hydraulics signals the door of a dropship opening its mouth for the two men. The patting rain and shuffle of grass become replaced with the dull thud of steps upon artificial ground. Once inside, the door closes behind them. Reyes comes to a stop, kneeling down before rolling Hanzo off his shoulder and lowering him to the floor upon his back.

In his other hand, he holds Hanzo's bow, but does not give it nor the quiver back. He heaves a sigh, pulling his masked gaze away. Rather than standing back up like its assumed he would, he continues lowering, sitting down next to the archer instead. Even though his attention is distant, there's a heavy aura of thought surrounding him. A melancholy Hanzo has never felt before other than from himself.

Amber hues track across the hooded individual with guarded suspision. There's so much about this man that confuses him. His entire being is literally shrouded in mystery.

He's supposed to be dead.

Though, the same can be said about Hanzo.

Reyes had said there's still much the heir doesn't know. Given how far back the connection goes, he's absolutely right. The roots of reality are embedded in the wraith and they won't be pulled up so easily.

Hanzo's mind is finally beginning to clear, albeit slowly as he lie upon the metal floor. He was found too quickly to get any further in his investigation. He only has been able to deduce the fact Talon had control of it all from the start. Plus the reality of how Cassidy had saved him only to get dragged away as well. To where, however, the assassin isn't certain.

Yet, knowing what he does now... things will be different.

He's already been playing the part of the loose canon others seek to control without knowing where it's mouth is aimed. Though, having come to the realization there's nothing left to save, the least he can do is keep to part of his original plan. To be the ticking time bomb they swallowed by mistake.

The ship lands after about a half hour has passed. Following the same process as before, the archer is escorted back inside the base, this time by force, his wrists shackled behind him. There's two more guards by his side opposed to the usual duo he's used to. His importance is on full display, just as much as his threat level.

Reaper leads, walking with purpose through the halls. They pass by the meeting room, entering under a large archway and stepping onto an equally large circular disk in the center of the open, barren room. Once all individuals are positioned, there's a heavy click. The disk begins to decend, mechanisms rumbling as the white hallway lights are cut off, becoming replaced by an ambient red glow from circular engravings in the metal they stand upon.

Reaper is facing Hanzo with his arms crossed. He's silent, that oh so familiar emotionless mask locked onto him, the only bit of face visible being through the cracked off piece by his cheek. Knowing who's underneath it now, Hanzo's mind fills in the shielded features as he stares back, coldly.

The elevator comes to a stop, a heavy metal thud echoing throughout the new space. Hanzo is pushed forwards, eliciting a grunt of displeasure from him as he stumbles a few steps. The guards grab his arms, continuing to force him to walk. The area is dark, only ambient red light from the sides of the stone halls and glowing bits of armor upon the guards beats away the shadows.

Reaper comes back to the front, passing by with a heavy sway of leather. Hanzo's eyes fall upon his bow and quiver which the wraith still carries. It makes him angry seeing them in anyone else's hands but his own. Next time he possesses them, death will follow.

This, he promises.

They exit into a larger area, one that almost puts the cathedral their battle was held in to shame. It's gigantic domed ceiling possesses a large projection of constellations, giving the area a haunting blue glow to pair with the red ambiance. Holograms of glaxies and planets gleam, seeming to swirl and shift in real time. In the center, a man stands in wait, one hand encircling the wrist of the other behind his back.

Hanzo is practically dragged to this individual, then forced to his knees. He jerks his shoulder with a growl in protest. Glancing up from under his brows, he meets the downcast gaze upon him from the other man.

It's Vialli.

The glowing artificial rendering of space above them gives a backlight of color that reaches around him, folding around his perimeter. He looks terribly smug, obviously proud of something he shouldn't even get any true credit for.

Sniveling cockroach.

"Hm." He hums, tilting his head to the side a little, examining Hanzo. "Still in one piece. Marvelous. What a shame it would have been if such an important asset was damaged."

His attention drags to Reaper, his smile widening upon noticing the missing chunk of the mask.

"I suppose his functionality is exceeding expectations?" He adds in a mocking tone.

Reaper clenches a fist in response to the backhanded comment.

Given it seems to be obvious they know that Hanzo has uncovered their true intent and stance, they now no longer are hiding it from him. The façade has been dropped, revealing the monsters behind its veil.

Hanzo curses through gritted teeth in his mother tongue at Vialli, pulling the bastards attention back to him.

Vialli scoffs, then laughs, amused.

"Now now, Hanzo, show some respect."

He gestures to the guards. One of them hooks a punch into Hanzo's gut, pulling a stifled grunt from him before the other guard grips the back of his shirt, shoving him down to where his forehead touches the ground.

"That's better." Vialli praises, then clicks his tongue, "you bow to your superiors, do you not?"

Hanzo's gut boils from the sting of the punch paired with his lividity, breathing hard through his nose against the polished ground.

"I could go into excessive detail about this little mishap, but I believe you're already aware that what you've done has cost us valuable time." The suited man says, stepping a little closer until his pristine dress shoes are mere inches from Hanzo's head.

The archer has an image flash in his mind of that shining leather stained red.

"However, there was no need to stop you, per say, from your little adventure." Vialli scoffs. "Either way, you'd end up coming back to us. You belong to Talon. You'd do best to remember that next time you want to try one of your tricks."

Tricks.

Hanzo scoffs.

This guy seriously has no clue what he's talking about yet he's in charge of this kind of organization. Hanzo has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. A sharp pain follows as his hair is grabbed by one of the guards, eliciting a sharp hiss paired with a grimace as he's pulled back to sit up straight, his head force tilted to look up at his superior.

"I expect better acknowledgement than that, Scion. I'm disappointed in you. Really." Vialli sighs.

Scion.

No one has called Hanzo that in years.

The name in and of itself means heir. It was his code name in his family. Now that the Shimada are all but wiped out, the usage of this title is an insult to injury. Talon is using it as a chain. A brand, burning into his prideful heritage to make sure their claim to him is painfully singed into the very fibers of his existence.

"Remove him." Vialli orders.

Hanzo is forced to his feet, hair released yet arms still strongly restrained. Luckily for the hand that recedes from his head, it remains attached to its wrist. In any other circumstance it would have been long severed.

He's made to turn and head for another branching hallway with his escorts. As the distance increases between him and Talon's council head, he overhears an exchange.

"Is there an issue, Reaper?" Vialli asks in a rather dangerous tone.

"No." Reaper answers, somewhat aggressively.

Vialli looks the wraith up and down, being blatantly obvious about his distrust for the answer he received. Yet, he nods, accepting it anyways. He then gestures with his hand for the other to continue on.

Reaper growls, turning and stomping away to catch up with his subordinate's transport. He replaces himself in front, leading the march to a large metal door. He comes to a stop, craning his head to look at a security camera up by its left corner. He just stares at it for a few long seconds before sighing.

"Sombra." He says in a harsh tone.

A moment of silence.

Then, there's a heavy click from the door.

And another.

And another.

A final click and it begins to rumble, dragging to the side, steam hissing out of its edges. It slowly cracks open to reveal the domain within. The wraith enters, guards continuing to drag the archer along closely behind.

Hanzo looks around, yet again baffled by his surroundings.

Like the inside of a hollowed out volcano, there's no ceiling in sight. Just a vast open pit stretching from the black heavens above to an unknown void below. There's no semblance of where it begins, nor where it ends.

They continue to decend, following the twisting stone pathway into its depths.

Several minutes pass, the sound of their footsteps being swallowed by the throat of darkness at their side. Eventually, they come to yet another large doorway. The same unlocking process as the previous takes place, spitting open an entry to a long, much more narrow hallway with cut outs spaced along both walls. Within them, there are simple amenities. One a few spaces down has a barrier that glows softly among all the other empty cells. Hanzo is led to the open one just across from it.

He is dragged over, cuffs roughly removed from his wrists before he’s pushed further inside. The guards step back, force field humming to life once they are all out of its range of concealment. They depart, footsteps echoing down further and further until they are out of earshot, leaving only Reaper behind. The glow from both shields glows upon his form from where he stands in the center of the walkway.

Hanzo keeps his back to the wraith, not even gracing him with the sound of his voice in protest.

The storm has passed. For now.

It seems Reaper has nothing further, either, as he is deathly quiet. Though they do not observe each other, they are knowingly regarding one another in their silence. No words are needed to understand what is being commanded, as well as what is being defied.

After a long moment, Reyes finally turns to take his leave. With his first few steps, his head slightly turns to look through the barrier of the other cell. Though, he does not stop his heavy gait, only glancing with intent to keep the broken part of his mask out of direct sight before he disappears, Hanzo’s weaponry still in his grasp and upon his body. Once the door can be heard hissing and sealing shut, Hanzo’s mind goes blank.

Numb.

Part of him doesn’t want to fight anymore. Wanting to just lie down and allow himself to be carried out to sea, letting the waves decide his fate.

He does not fear drowning. He’s been doing so all his life. He is already familiar with the feeling of his throat closing up, lungs filling with pressure as they threaten to burst. Watching the bubbles slip from his lips to float away to the surface while he only sinks deeper into the cold.

No light reaches for him. No warmth radiates from his body.

Nothing.

A strip of chill slips from the edge of his eye, dragging down his face in a slow crawl towards his chin. The escaped tear dangles for only a second before it plucks away, falling to the ground with a silent collision.

A long few minutes pass, all of which the heir is but a statue, continuing to fight back the rainfall that’s flooding inside him.

Then, a voice.

“Been a while.”

Hanzo snaps back to offensive, quickly wiping his face of the wetness before glaring over his shoulder at the source of the voice.

They’re sat down in the corner of their cell. Short brown hair. Brown eyes. An outfit that is definitely not the same as what would strike familiar for this particular individual, especially as the man’s head is void of a rather identifiable cowboy hat. Regardless, the voice all but named him on its own.

Cassidy.

Seeing him here is not entirely unexpected, however, there is something strange about it. It's so deep underground. So secure. It's obvious this area is meant for high level threats like Hanzo… but Cassidy?

That makes no sense.

He may be a damn good mercenary but he's not the one with a vengeful spiritual possession problem.

Perhaps this is a trick. Or a way of purposeful continued torment, grinding more salt into the fresh wound of Hanzo's failure by placing his target so close, yet making it impossible to take him out. However, the assassin feels different about it, now. After both accounts of this man attempting to save his life at the cost of his own… the venom he holds within him isn't aimed at the other anymore.

Perhaps it never truly was.

I know my situation. I don't think you know yours.

The cowboy’s words from the day they met replay in Hanzo's mind. Annoyingly enough, it seems he was right, after all.

The archer is still staring at the cowboy through the energy field, a rather blank expression painting his features.

"Usually when people stare at me, it's cause they want me dead,” Cassidy pauses, "or, they can't take their eyes off my pretty face."

Though his body remains completely still, his eyes dance all over Hanzo, scanning him.

"Which one are you right now, Shimada?"

Hanzo's face breaks into a displeased scowl joined with a disgusted scoff.

"Preposterous." He spits.

Turning to face Cassidy, he curls his fingers into fists, stepping closer to the barrier of his containment.

“I am neither.”

Cole looks almost slightly disappointed, though for which aspect specifically is unclear. All he offers is a small, rather charming smirk. Hanzo doesn’t know what to make of that, simply looking his target up and down before speaking again to change the subject.

"Why?" He cuts right to the question that's been bouncing around his head the past several days.

Cole tilts his head a little in slight confusion.

"Why..." he starts, raising a hand with its palm facing up in a small questioning shrug, "...why what?"

His fingers curl into a relaxed position as he slowly lowers his arm back down, placing it on his knee.

"The train." Hanzo adds, his tone slightly more agitated.

"You're as rough as you are vague, aren't you?"

"The riverside." Hanzo cuts in almost instantly on the tail end of the cowboy's words, now clearly annoyed at needing to have given specifics at all.

Once again, silence takes hold of Cassidy's tongue. Though his pause only truly lasts a few seconds, it feels like it drags on for much longer before he answers.

"Looks like we’ve both got our own collection of secrets.”

The answer is unsatisfactory. But what else could the heir expect? It was foolish to even ask. Why would someone he tried to kill truly have any intent to help him? Unless it was for one’s own benefit, of course.

Hanzo sighs, turning his head away, blankly staring at the glistening edge of the barrier of his cell. He begins to slowly pace, clasping his hands behind him as he sinks into his own world. Cole looks the opposite way, returning his attention to the rest of his desolate cell. The hum of the energy fields between them is all that can be heard alongside the soft, nearly silent footsteps of the archer.

Quiet envelops both men for a while before Cassidy decides to break it again.

“Ain’t quite fair t’ ask someone a question without allowin’ the same in return, don’t you think?” He says, his eyes following Hanzo.

Hypocritical, he is. Staring. Unable to keep his sights off the dark haired man as he continues to pace with his hands behind his back. It’s almost like he can’t believe he’s real. A strange sense of melancholy dances behind his gaze, silently developing in the confines of his own mind.

Hanzo huffs at the rather bold statement, his brows still scrunched, the rest of him held tall and strong despite his circumstances.

He takes a moment to consider.

He is likely to be stuck here with this man for quite some time, meaning if he is this inquisitive now, he is likely to remain as such. It’s an annoying thought, but… there are worse things than obliging a question here and there when it cannot be escaped anyhow. Within reason, of course.

“Fine.” He sighs, continuing to pace with his eyes to the floor.

He can hear Cassidy adjust a little in his cell, shifting against the floor.

“Alright, then. Tell me…” Cole starts. “Why’d you join this organization?”

Should have seen that coming.

Hanzo ceases his steady repetitive footsteps, slowly turning his head to glare at Cole. He cannot blame him for asking that, as he just asked why Cole saved his life. Given there was no real answer, though, the heir never agreed to having to give a full truthful answer of his own to anything that’s inquired, either.

Two can play at this little avoidance game.

“I had no choice.” The archer answers, simply.

No further details are given. He simply keeps his hard gaze upon the cowboy, mouth sealed shut.

Cole lifts his chin a little, eyes narrowing. He then gives a small huff before nodding lightly in understanding.

Kindred spirits of distrust.

Pulling his gaze away once more, Cole returns into himself, unable to beat away the soundless void that takes over them again.

Hanzo’s gaze remains on the gunslinger a little longer, taking in his features not unlike what was done to him by the other just earlier.

Is Cassidy perhaps part of Talon’s plan? If so, why? How? Has he possibly known about all this all along?

His mind dances with questions now that it has a moment of silence to do so. Ironic, really. When he could only beg for such an opportunity, the second he obtains it, his consciousness will have none of it. Just like everything else, it tries to suffocate him. Reminding him he will never truly be free of it. Not until a different entity comes to take hold. To bring him peace in the form of absolute stillness, offering its hand to lead him to where he truly wishes to be. Somewhere no one has ever been able to take him, even though he’s tried letting them.

Finally, he cuts off his vision by closing his eyes, silently lowering to sit upon his knees on the cold ground, fists balled on the surface of his legs. He inhales deeply, holding his breath for a second before releasing it.

There’s no telling how long his mind will belong to him, nor how much of him will be left at all once it slips away again. He can feel the harsh clicking arms of the clock within him with each beat of his heart.

His time has always been running out.

Clouds begin to move in, cutting in front of the moonlight. Rain seems to threaten, yet the air is bone dry.

Hanzo's fatigue is finally beginning to get the better of him. He leans against a tree, placing a hand upon it as the unknown within him sends pulsating wave after wave of strong nausea and dizziness. Whatever it is, it’s fighting tooth and nail to make him pass out. To make him give in. And he's fighting twice as hard to resist it. 

His balance shifts, world spinning, not unlike how it did when the train had thrown him around just before it fell. Once again, his body reaches its limit. He keels over and ejects whatever is in his gut into the grass.

In the haze of this illness, he has been wandering again. Like a trapped spirit. Not fully aware, nor fully unconscious. 

Aimless.

Lost.

Where was he going, again?

He takes a moment of pause, searching his thoughts for answers.

It’s no use. 

He can’t remember.

He rises, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and changing direction, continuing to drag his feet while feeling as if days are passing him by in the blink of an eye with no true knowledge of reality. No more is the churn of water or the chirp of birds to ground him. No comfort of warm candlelight to guide him out of the darkness. There is just the silent, unforgiving night.

Soon enough, a disheveled building comes into his narrowed vision, sticking out of the foliage in the distance. A stone bell tower overlooks the consumed area surrounding it, a large chipped cross upon its face.

Stumbling down the hill to slowly path his way towards it, Hanzo finally comes to a stop at its large, heavy wooden doors. Up close, it’s much more foreboding than he initially perceived. But it’s better than nothing. Looking up at the bell tower, the clouds break, moon enveloping the building in its glow during its moment of freedom.

He places his palms upon each door, slowly sliding them up against the wood, feeling the cracks and crevices against his skin. Then, he inhales softly, using what strength he can to push.

The doors creak deeply, cracking open to reveal the inside. He keeps pushing until it’s just enough to slip inside, then turns back around to push them closed again. The sound of their closure echoes throughout the stone and marble interior before fading away back into the aura of frozen time.

Within, there is a large part of the upper left high vaulted ceiling that has collapsed, allowing the night sky to reach inside with a soft ray of light. The debris from the collapse rests on what's left of a section of an upper floor that stretches the perimeter of the large room, like a long balcony overseeing the area below.

The colors of the elaborate tile floor are visible despite all the rubble and dust trying to conceal it. On the back wall, a large, equally colorful stained glass window displays the depiction of a king dressed in red robes holding his hand up, a golden crown upon his head. There’s stone basins along the walls where holy water would be, now only filled with leaves and moss. The wooden pews are all pushed aside against the walls or scattered throughout, several displaying their age and disrepair due to the elements. Tall, metal standing candle holders are paired at some of their sides. Dormant. Rusting.

The wind sighs, blowing leaves across the floor at Hanzo's feet as he steps forward. Coming to a stop just short of the room’s center, he stands at the border of the moonlight’s ray. 

The calm lasts only a minute before it’s broken.

“Look at you.”

A deep, familiar voice intrudes upon the silence, words bouncing off the walls in seemingly every direction. Hanzo looks to his sides. In front. Behind. Nothing but the abandoned furnishings and rubble grace his gaze.

“Still looking for a way out.” The voice adds, tone condescending .

Hanzo unsteadily grabs and prepares his bow before going still, leaving senses open to anything that can direct to the source. A few dragging seconds later, the air shifts, giving way to a swirling mass of shadow across the room next to a wooden altar under the overseeing stained glass figure. He raises his bow, aiming towards the top of the thick cloud.

A humanoid form steps out from its center, the dense black breath caressing past a white mask as it pushes through, the rest of the leather and metal clad body following suit.

Reaper.

The wraith comes to a stop as the rest of the shadows slink back from whence they came.

Hanzo glares over the shaft of his arrow, creaking the string back a little further as he adjusts his aim over the other's head. He wavers due to his body fighting to hold onto the energy it has left, trying to prevent itself from succumbing to the thing inside of him.

Reaper is deathly silent for a long moment, simply tilting his head to the side a little with a leather creak as he takes it all in. A deep inhale sucks into his chest before it is released in an equally long exhale. He looks the Shimada heir straight on.

“That’s a strange way to thank me.” He says.

His voice is shockingly level, given the circumstances.

“Thank?” Hanzo snaps back. “And what, exactly, do you believe I owe you thanks for?”

Reaper begins to slowly approach, not gracing him with an answer.

Hanzo holds his ground, a cold sweat starting to bead on his skin.

“You knew.” He spits. “About the bridge." A pause, words becoming tinged with a deeper growl than is natural. "About what was being done to me.”

“No.” Reaper replies, "I didn’t. I don’t lie unless it benefits me to do so. You best learn that about me damn quickly, agent.”

Hanzo twitches and he begins to pace backwards as his range is pushed.

“I… I do not understand.” He replies.

“You will.” Reaper says, his next addition laced with slight sadness, "Eventually.”

He begins reaching into his coat, grabbing hold of something unseen.

“You don’t have a choice.”

The archer's breaths increase in intensity. He's in no position to fight this man and walk away from it. He can barely think let alone keep himself standing upright.

Voices begin to intrude into his mind. He groans in discomfort as dissonant whispers in his mother tongue collide with each other, fighting to be heard. To be obeyed.

Out.

Now.

Let. Us.

Control.

Hanzo whimpers, breath catching in his throat, bow beginning to shake as his body runs cold. Heart rate increases, beating so hard it feels as though it will stop at any moment.

“E-Enough!” He stutters. “Do not do this!”

Please.

“I warned you.” The wraith says, lowly, his slow gait continuing. “I told you, that if you left, nothing would remain to protect you.”

His tone is now laced with anger.

"I gave you a chance."

Hanzo forces himself to stop his backwards retreat as he is pushing too close to the door. Instead, he holds as tall and strong as his shaking body will allow, eyes filled with unidentifiable emotions.

“And I informed you, ” he breathes, stubbornly deciding to finish his reply in a hiss through gritted teeth, “that I do not need protecting.”

The wraith pauses his advance, letting go of whatever he had grabbed initially, hand receding from his coat. Even still, the tension radiating from his being is suffocating. Like a tightrope just waiting to snap.

He looks off to the side for a moment, seemingly defeated. 

But not for long.

“You did... Didn’t you?” He sighs.

He returns his attention to the broken man before him as he reaches both arms across his own body, metal clad hands slipping past his sides. From within the dark depths of his coat, two large shotguns emerge in his grasp, shadows slipping off of their forms like a waterfall of black mist as they're revealed. He holds them out to his sides, barrels pointed down.

The dark recesses of his mask bore into Hanzo, this time, something gleaming from the void within.

“Prove it.”

Hanzo growls, finally releasing his arrow. 

It whistles towards Reaper.

He just barely ducks it, the metal head of the projectile making a heavy echoing thunk into the wooden altar across the room. He shoots up from his lowered position, reengaging in his approach with speed, raising his right shotgun. A heavy blast echoes through the room as he pulls the trigger. Hanzo rolls out of the way, looking back up just as the assailant vaults into a propelled leap, his body emanating a trail of dark ash.

Another arrow is knocked and fired at Reaper as he enters his downward arc. He shields himself by holding his guns up in an X formation, breaking it only once his feet meet the ground just in front of the archer.

He swings the shotgun at him in a heavy backhanded strike. Hanzo bends backwards to avoid it, the charcoal colored metal breaking the air above his chest. Swinging back up straight, he counters by diagonally swiping his bow up at Reaper. The strike is dodged by the man simply turning his torso to the side, raising his second gun and positioning it right next to Hanzo's head. 

BLAM.

The shot erupts in the heir's right ear, causing him to exclaim out of shock and pain. The massive amount of ringing sends his already swimming mind into overdrive and he staggers backwards, disoriented. A standing candle holder clatters down due to him stumbling into it as he falls against one of the benches next to the front door. Crashing to the floor, the bow slips from his grip.

The large wooden door now possesses a rather sizable hole from the shotgun pellets, a flash from the growing lightning storm outside intruding through its center, clawing its fingers around the splinters like a trapped demon seeking release.

Hanzo can hear nothing but the ringing. 

And the voices. 

The fucking voices. 

Begging him to listen. 

Asking him to trust.

Reaper's feet enter Hanzo's frame of vision, stepping right in front of his face.

He had mentioned how Hanzo doesn't have a choice.

And it’s true.

This whole time... it’s been true.

No choice, but to have been born the eldest son of a criminal empire. 

No choice, but to observe, follow and obey his superiors.

No choice, but to accept the path that was designed for him.

Glancing past the legs of the assailant, the Yakuza prince looks up to the glass king. The dragon mural seeps in from his memory. Mental and physical images combine, serpentine bodies entwining around the static figure defensively.

Trust us.

Let us out.

Give us control.

He does have a choice.

And he just fucking made it.

Eyes roll back into his head, eyelids fluttering shut as Hanzo's body goes limp. His consciousness fades within a matter of seconds, feeling as if his soul is being dragged away, placed behind a veil that feels like a dream.

Senses go completely numb.

An uncomfortable, long few moments of silence pass.

Reaper kneels down, observing in slight confusion.

Then, Hanzo's eyes snap open , vision as if a sheer white sheet has been tied over his face.

The wraith hums in questioning. But he's too late.

Not a second after, Hanzo's body retaliates, a rumbling tsunami of pale blue energy erupting from him in an unfurling curl. Reaper grunts loudly as he's forced off the ground and sent flying across the room. The nearest candle holders and pews are splintered against walls or sent scraping across the tile as they, too, are violently forced away from him.

The wraith's flight gets cut short by his back slamming into one of the stone support beams that hold part of the upper balcony, his guns flinging out of his hands. A puff of dust emits between him and the point of contact before gravity grabs hold, yanking him down into the ground. The pure force of the disturbance has caused the support beams surface to flake and fissure, snowing stone upon the man now groveling beneath it.

The tattooed arm of the archer reaches out to the bow that lies in wait just a foot away. The sickly blue glow creeps along the scales of the inked dragon embedded in his skin. Spreading. Growing. Wafting off the surface like steam. Fingers lace around the bow, dragging it close. The other hand plants its palm down firmly, pushing the rest of Hanzo's body to its knees. Head hangs, hair flowing like a pitch black waterfall concealing his face beyond the void.

His right arm pulls up with the elbow bent, digits curling in tightly before the newly formed fist drives itself into the floor with bone shattering force. The tile shatters and chips, cracks bolting away from the cause like the lightning strikes that split the sky. A visible breath hisses out through a soft exhale. Like exhaust from a machine, it clouds past his lips before dissipating into the rapidly declining temperatures surrounding him. Crimson begins to seep from beneath his fist, climbing along the fresh fissures in the tile.

Reaper attempts to recover, fighting the heavy wobble the collision has caused him. He temporarily staggers down onto his knees in the process, his breath heavy.

Hanzo's head slowly rises, hair parting. White haze slips free, seeping from his eyes as tears turn to mist. His skin is pale as a ghost. His body no longer shakes. He begins to stand, the pitter patter of blood slapping down next to him as his right fist drips the result of his rage.

Blue haze licks at his wounds, searing them shut in mere moments.

Finally, the dark assailant rises to his feet, matching in tandem with the prince rising to his own. He heaves a scratchy chuckle.

"That's what I'm looking for." He says.

Though it can't be seen, a smile can practically be heard in the tone of his voice.

An airy, spectral hiss like that of a basilisk siphons from deep within Hanzo, barred teeth paired with an unsettling wide-eyed expression. No vocal response is given to the other.

Just the threat.

Reaper casually brushes some of the stone dust off his shoulders before pulling a new set of shotguns out from his coat, speaking in a low, threatening tone.

"Come on, Shimada."

He begins stalking towards the other once more, lightning flashing through the collapsed ceiling, highlighting him from behind and stretching a dark outline of his figure across the ground between them.

"Show me who you really are."

Hanzo's body launches forwards, an inhuman growl ripping past his throat. Reaper pushes off into a dash, coat billowing behind him.

An arrow is slated in the bow.

A shotgun is raised.

Reaper fires.

Hanzo's reflexes responded before the trigger even clicked. He's sliding off to the side out of the direct sight line of the other, keeping behind one of the stone pillars that's just barely wide enough to conceal him. He peeks around its border, releasing the arrow at Reaper. The steel head slices through the fabric of Reaper's coat just above his shoulder, causing him to quickly spin around and respond with heavy blasts from both shotguns at the source.

He's unrelenting. The pellets bite at the support beam, taking out large chunks of the stone. Hanzo ducks, faded vision darting around, noting every surface with advantage as well as places for cover. During a break in the barrage of fire, he rolls out, the glow from his arm chaining around his bow. With a hiss, he draws and fires two arrows at Reaper's feet. The blue arrows formed seemingly entirely of energy slam against the silver shin guards with heavy force, causing the other man to grunt as his balance is almost taken out from underneath him.

Then, three more spectral arrows hurl his direction back to back. His body becomes mist to avoid them, sinking into the floor as if a black portal opened up at his feet. The arrows tear past, bouncing off the wall across the room instead before dissipating.

A spectral sigh of displeasure escapes Hanzo before he quickly disappears out of sight again with a short trail of his own haze, fading away before it's seen which direction he took, his blue glow sinking into the surrounding darkness.

The wraith materializes again several feet from where he was previously, head darting side to side, sweeping the room for his opponent.

"Still running!" He yells, voice echoing through the space. "Just like you always have!"

Another arrow. Yet this time, not aimed directly at the dark assailant, but at a wall off to his side. It bounces. Cutting through the air, it seeks to embed itself in its real target.

Reaper huffs, snapping his gaze to where he heard the weapon make contact, swiping one of his guns at it to deflect. The arrow clashes against metal, spinning in the air away from him before it clatters to the tile.

More arrows follow, seemingly from every direction. Glittering in the dim light of the room, the arrowheads zip around, bouncing off the walls, each one converging upon Reaper in the center of their separate trajectories. With laser focus, the wraith is able to deflect most of them with his guns or by turning certain directions so they meet the metal of his armor.

There's a pause in the barrage for several seconds.

Then, a quick, sharp pain pierces through his upper back.

With a loud exclamation, his attention drops down. Red drips from the glaring silver now protruding through his shoulder from behind. The projectile hit him with such force it pierced mostly through him, the shaft holding firm within his body.

Telling by the slight diagonal the arrow is positioned, it came from above.

Rage tears through Reaper's throat in an angry yell as he pushes off into a run towards the nearest support beam. He unloads a few heavy shots into it, chipping away at the old, brittle form until it begins to crack. He rushes the next one, just as quickly unloading into it. Then the next. And the next. And the next. All while he fends off more incoming fire at different angles from overhead as if he's a trapped rat in a cage.

Hanzo sneers, creaking back an arrow as far as his strength and bow will allow.

He releases.

The arrow slams itself through Reaper's waist, opposite the existing one in his shoulder. Another pained howl escapes him. A glimpse of blue light accompanied by a low, monstrous growl drags from one place upon the balcony to another. The entire area has now succumbed to the chill of this new presence, matching the haunting nature of their battleground.

Hanzo isn't going to allow the other man to go down quickly. He's drawing it out, aiming for certain places on purpose, ensuring the wraith suffers.

Reaper has had enough.

Time to level the playing field.

Dashing back to the middle of the room, Reaper's footsteps plume with small storm clouds of shadow, his breath visibly escaping the narrow mouth of his mask. Once centered, the darkness swirls up around him, consuming and swallowing the air several feet out in every direction.

No longer able to see his target, Hanzo watches in dead silence from the floor above, still remaining in dark concealment of his own. He holds ready to fire, glazed eyes locked onto where he last saw the other.

The air picks up, swirling and becoming harsher. The black cloud becomes a tornado, its source still nowhere to be seen. What sounds like rolling thunder rumbles from within, the light of the real growing storm outside flashing upon the cloud’s surface through the broken ceiling.

Hanzo's expression falls, unimpressed. Almost... insulted. And the hooded man is claiming the heir is the one that's running.

The hypocrisy.

The disrespect.

What an unworthy enemy.

A false wraith.

Suddenly, the rumbling ceases, replaced by an erratic burst of gunfire. Through the shadow, blood red beams slice their way through, embedding themselves into the supports like battering rams.

Hanzo's lips curl into an unsettling grin. Then, a deep laugh.

Adorable. This inferior being truly thinks robbing the archer of the high ground will give an advantage.

Each support receives at least two blasts.

That's all that was needed.

Before the sporadic shots even come to an end, the supports crack, snap, and finally, come thunderously crumbling down. Stone dust adds to the already low visibility as each area becomes its own avalanche. The entire balcony begins to snap and shatter, wooden flooring and banisters splintering, spiking up dangerously as its own weight begins dragging it down.

Hanzo is forced to action. Running along its surface, he evades the growing fissures and exploding matter at his heels, eventually coming to a space positioned over the entry doors. He is so high up, jumping isn't an option. He's cornered, both ends of the cracking balcony rushing their way towards him like talons from hell.

Before he has any more time to think, a familiar sense of weightlessness hits. He is sucked down into the tumbling of rock and wood, disappearing entirely beneath its flow.

The dark cloud veiling the area slows, beginning to dissipate. Reaper is revealed, still standing in the eye of the calming air. Rumbling comes to silence, the space finally clearing of all but the dust and debris from the fall.

Hanzo can't be seen anywhere.

Both shotguns are tossed to the side, Reaper's clawed right hand rising to grip at the arrow shaft protruding from his waist. With a hiss, he strains, trying to bend. He stabilizes it with both hands, trying once more before finally being able to snap the shaft, effectively removing the silver head. Throwing the splintered piece to the ground, he reaches for the end sticking out the other side.

Blood drips on his foot as he grabs hold, quickly yanking it out of his body with a guttural grunt, splashing the red liquid onto the tile as he discards the rest of the broken object. The wound almost instantly begins to seep black mist, starting to sear itself shut. He then grips at the one in his shoulder.

The debris begins to stir.

The mask raises, staring at the mass of rubble.

This isn't over.

From within, planks of shattered wood and earth are pushed apart by budding movement. Through the cracks, blue light seeps out, seeking to be free of the suffocating grave burying it alive.

Exploding from beneath, pieces of the destroyed platform shoot off like a volcano that just blasted its top, an arm throwing itself up. The hand slams down, fingers clawing for a stable surface to grip. Grabbing hold of a stone edge, it pulls, dragging the rest of what it's connected to out from the crushing weight of the destruction.

The entire form unearthing itself is almost completely swallowed by a light blue blaze. The prince's raven hair dusted with stone emerges into view, followed by the rest of his upper body. A good sized shrapnel of wood pierces through his back, emerging through the flesh of the upper right pectoral. Blood heavily pours from the wound, rolling down the shrapnel's edge and pooling beneath.

His head rises.

More of the crimson liquid drowns the lower half of his face, the reason as to just why becoming horrifyingly clear. His jaw is detached, the skin of his cheeks torn almost ear to ear, weeping red. Tears pour from his glazed eyes, yet there are no screams. His other arm throws itself up, pulling the rest of his body out, life still seeping from his mortal wounds, splashing and painting the ground as he crawls.

Reaper simply watches this unfold before him. If there is fear, it's unknown, hidden behind his mask. Though, with how he rises to stand straight and ready to face whatever may come his way, he seems relatively unfazed. As Hanzo staggers to his feet, Reaper snaps and removes the arrow in his own shoulder, wound sealing shut the same as the previous. 

It's all too obvious now what the dark assailant is up against.

It isn't the Shimada anymore. And all he did, was piss them off.

Hanzo grips the wooden shrapnel, his expression like that of a stone angel whose empty gaze pierces the fabric between the living and the dead. With a single harsh pull, the wood rips out with a sick sound before its cast to the ground, saturated in crimson. The wound begins to steam, cauterizing itself, beginning to mend and rebuild.

His ripped face does the same, puffing out the sides like the breath of a dragon. Slowly rising a hand to his jaw, he grips it, lifting and shoving it back into place with a disgusting, fleshy crunch. His skin melds together, face now containing only fissures where his teeth can be seen through. He dares to turn his back on the other man, forcing rubble aside to reveal part of his bow. He bends down, scraping it up off the ground before turning back around, his cheeks finishing their mending.

Reaper pulls another set of his shotguns from the shadows. No words are spoken to taunt. No stalking towards his opponent in threat. He just stands in wait.

And he doesn't need to wait long.

The archer dashes for him with a monstrous roar, a trail of haze dragging behind him like smoke from a heavy flame. The wraith pushes off into a run to meet him, black ash of his own pluming from his coat, cold air clouding from his mask with each heaving breath.

Hanzo's bow is engulfed, the blue glow serpentining around it just before he launches into a leap, bringing it down upon Reaper like a hammer. It's parried with a shotgun, the second one rising to fire. The bow is spun using both hands, meeting it and swirling the firearm to point down, causing the shot to bite into tile.

Both men lock into the fight, exchanging blow after blow. Parry after parry. Reaper's fighting style is harsh and relentless, his hits heavy and hard. Hanzo is more nimble, offensive and opportunistic. Given there are no longer surfaces for him to take advantage of now, he relies on his bow, deflecting and striking where possible.

The hits and gunfire echo throughout the large, empty room, the blank eyes of the glass king acting as the battle's observer.

In a quick action, Reaper nails Hanzo in the face with his elbow, pulling an exclamation from him. Hanzo retaliates by hooking the bow over the wraith's head to press into the back of his neck, throwing his leg into a hook behind Reaper's right knee and yanking out his balance, throwing him over harshly down in front of him with a loud grunt. Reaper attempts to take out Hanzo's stance while he's down, swiping with his own leg accompanied by an angry growl.

Hanzo steps back to avoid it, wiping the blood now dripping from his nose.

"You can't fight death and expect to win, Shimada!" The wraith snaps as he quickly rises to his feet.

Hanzo yells angrily and with a harsh swing of his bow, the right shotgun is dislodged from Reaper’s grasp, sending it flying to the side. A mirroring strike too fast for him to react to swipes up, connecting to his face with a crack. A loud grunt escapes the dark assailant and he staggers, mask clattering to the floor and hood slipping down. An inhumanly powerful kick is launched into his gut, sending him flying. His leather coat flaps in the air before he crashes into the ground, bouncing and rolling over his sides until his body slams against the altar in the back of the room. His second shotgun is knocked from his hand by the impact, bouncing down in front of him.

The prince’s body forces itself to approach. Creeping forwards, a twitch of the neck pulls his head to the side with a grimace of pain sparking behind his wet eyes. He kicks the gun to the side, sliding it out of reach.

“Who are you..." Hanzo's voice hisses with an inhuman, ghost-like echo, his stride coming to a stop as he gives a chilling stare down to the wraith. The bow string creaks as an arrow is aimed at his opponent's head almost point blank, just like what had been done to him in the alleyway the day this man came for him, "To  define death? ”

Reaper utters a deep, scratchy laugh as he pushes himself to sit up with his back against the altar, metal claws scraping against the tile as he does so.

“I’m afraid you’ve got it backwards.”

Looking up, he faces the prince straight on.

A human face. Tanned skin. Short dark brown hair buzzed on the sides with facial hair to match. Strong, piercing red irises with black sclera cut through the mist seeping from a bleeding scrape on his cheek, lips curling into a smirk.

“Death tried to define me.” He bites back, tone sharp and dripping with malice.

Though Hanzo's body doesn't react, deep within, something siezes in recognition.

He's seen this face before.

Scanning his memory, his suspicion searches for the matching hook. It takes a good several seconds, then clicks.

The reports of the existence of Overwatch's underground organization, Blackwatch, were revealed to the public after Antonio Giordani was killed. The members were, respectively, O'Deorain, Cassidy, an unnamed cyborg and Gabriel Reyes.

Their commander.

Both organizations fell apart soon after, becoming outlawed and leaving its agents scattered. With them having been already dispersed or reported dead, Hanzo hadn't seen them as an issue nor a threat to his goals. They may have weakened the Shimada but they hadn't ended them entirely until...

Hanzo's expression twitches.

The recent development of Talon taking over his home.

It all makes sense.

Everything.

This all stems back to when Overwatch was still operating. When their eye was fixed on Hanamura among other locations for monitoring. Overwatch is the reason the Shimada operations were shut down in the first place. The reason they fell prey to so many others with predatory interest in the pillar of power Hanzo's family's empire holds.

Meaning, Blackwatch was sent to finish the job where Overwatch couldn't. Where they wouldn't. They set the stage for Talon and God knows how long this has truly been going on while Hanzo has been blinded by his own fucking denial.

The connection sparks anger and grief within the heir. Another, stronger twitch pulls at his neck, brows creasing up in hurt. A rumbling, beast-like growl can be heard, evolving into what is more of a ghostly, almost distant wail.

There is nothing left to protect. Nothing left to go back to or rebuild.

Everything was for naught.

Reyes scoffs at the sight, shaking his head lightly.

"Figured me out, have you?"

Before Hanzo has time to fully recover, Reyes's form dissipates into ribbons of shadow, leaving an afterglow of his red gaze in the mist.

"NO!" Hanzo yells, the spiritual distortion of his voice bouncing off the stone walls.

He shoots the arrow in an attempt to end the other man before he can get away. The arrow crashes into the wooden altar, splintering out the other side having failed to catch Reaper's physical form. He takes a few quick steps away, reaching for another arrow when his back slams into a form. A strong metal hand grips around his head from behind, restraining him while the other plunges the needle of a syringe into his neck.

A gasp just barely escapes him, the contents of the syringe burning from the injection point out into his veins. His breath catches in his throat as he tries to claw at Reaper's face and fight against the hold. Whatever the serum is, it's working fast, depleting the strength from him and causing the blue fire to fade. In seconds, his body returns to the state it was in before he allowed it to be taken over. He lets out a sudden agonizing scream due to new aches and pains from the mutilation he went through sprouting to life as his nervous system returns to his comprehension.

The voices are silenced. His bow slips from his fingers as his legs give out, having only been supporting him through the power of what had held the reins only moments prior. His fall is stopped by the same hands that restrained him. Ensuring he does not hit the floor, Reyes keeps hold of him, firmly supporting.

Hanzo's hazed over eyes begin to close, a soft, spectral exhale passing his lips. Reyes speaks again, his voice being the last thing Hanzo hears before he blacks out.

The large city surrounding him offers no comfort. Its layout unfamiliar, Hanzo pinpoints the horizon. Continuing in that direction, he stays out of sight where the architecture allows, keeping away from the general public as well as evading the eyes of possible seeking parties. Soon enough, the entire day has passed him by. Daylight begins to fade, streets still and silent. Taking rest in an alleyway between buildings near the shore, he presses his back against the wall behind a dumpster, bow clenched tightly in hand. Arrows shift softly in his quiver as he slides down, sitting on the stone cold ground.

He knows what to expect in a lot of cases.

But this…

This is beyond what’s sane to comprehend, let alone be prepared for. He went into this fully resolved to do what needed to be done to save his home. To return to the place he abandoned. Re-obtain his honor by doing away with the ones who took it from him. Now… 

He's not so sure. 

Talon has sunken their sharp edges into his body, mind, and even soul. Every part of him has been made into a weapon, it’s edge aimed right back at itself.

Hanzo lets his head fall back against the wall with a soft thunk. His energy is depleted from spending the entire day to carefully make sure he won’t be easy to trace or follow. The adrenaline is finally dying down. As much as he would like to close his eyes and drift away... he fears he'll drift too far. Too deep. Whatever has been awakened within him takes his conscious for its own and he's unsure just how or when it will tear him away from himself. He can’t risk sleep right now. So, he just sits until enough time passes for him to be uncomfortable. Which is not long at all.

Standing, he adjusts his bow over his torso, hauling himself into a wall climb to grip onto one of the metal fire exits above. Reaching the buildings roof, he perches on it's edge, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

Initially, his thought was to just get out. To put distance between him and Talons base. To get ahold of himself and his thoughts before he began debating how to approach the situation.

He needs to gather evidence. Things he can use to pull the rug out from under them. Just as with any organization, it has to have it's own flaws. For one, it's leader. Agusto Vialli. Hanzo is unsure just how that man got that position or how he's upheld it, but he intends to find out. Then, put a stop to it. To him. If he must go through every member of Talon to accomplish this, so be it. 

His eyes scan over the edge of the city where the sinking sunlight allows, searching for landmarks. The direction he chose was not uneducated. There's at least one surefire place to check prior to anywhere else, before it is cleaned up and all possible clues are washed away or destroyed.

The crash site. 

It's likely it would not be expected of him to return to somewhere he was nearly killed. Yet, if they do not suspect that... they really don't know him at all.

He was only about another half hour away from the cliffside where it happened. Going around it a little, he finds himself a way safely down into the large fissure of the earth. Water churns loudly and grass shifts under his steps as he quietly, cautiously makes his way to the area, hiding under tree cover. Reaper said drones would be sent out to investigate the area but he does not know if they have done so yet. Now that night is approaching, it's possible they will not be present at all.

He comes to a small clearing in the forested area. Not too far upstream, he can see the remains of the train sticking out from within at a bit of a diagonal, orange light glistening off it's surface. Stopping for a long moment, he listens and observes. There's no hum of drones. No sounds of unwanted company. Just the sounds of nature.

He'll be quick. Before the light will sink, no longer able to offer it's assistance.

Keeping to the edge of the clearing, he stalks by, reaching the border of the river's rolling waters across from the train. The back exit door is still open, hanging on by a singular hinge. The very same door he had gazed through a mere day or so ago, looking for an escape. It creaks with the slight breeze, it's orifice a good few feet away. Taking a few large steps back, he pushes off into a run, vaulting himself over the water and landing on the door's edge with a deep metal thud. He grips the frame to stabilize himself. Stepping inside, boots crunch upon broken glass and debris. Given the car is at a bit of an angle, it offers little assistance for balance upon the wet floor.

He uses the rows of seats to grip onto as his gaze shifts all around, looking for any signs to give a clue as to why this happened. The memory of the fight plays back in his mind. How they both ran to the back of this car, barricading their bodies between metal and upholstery just to survive. Most of the car is submerged, liquid forcing through the broken windows upon both it's sides, swallowing any hopes of passing through. 

Then, something catches his eye. Something wrapped around the head of one of the seats, fighting to not be pulled away by the current. Letting himself slide a little, he catches himself on the chairs, using his foot to hook onto the flowing object. Pulling it up, he switches it to his grip and climbs back up into the light that seeps through the upper windows of the car to examine it.

It's his sash.

The soaked silver ribbon cries cold tears, hanging limply over his palm. Looking back to where it was stuck, Hanzo tries to discern if there's anything else.

There isn't.

There's also no sign of his target, either, nor anything that belongs to them.

Making his way back to the doorway, he situates himself back upon it's edge, glancing side to side. While his vision is parallel with the current's direction, he spots something else out of place. Part of a fallen tree cuts into the surface of the water. It has a significant section at it's tip that's been snapped, wood splintering out of it's fracture. That's a forced breakage. The rapids must have dragged something into it. This might not mean what he thinks it does, however, it's his only lead.

He places his back against one side of the frame, feet against the other to keep him stable while he squeezes the water out from his sash, wrapping it around his wrist and tying it so it won't get lost again. Then, he repositions, heaving himself back towards the shore. He splashes down, trudging back to land and quickly makes his way to the fallen timber. He follows the current past it, soon enough, making it back to the familiar clearing he passed by just minutes ago.

From where he was prior, the fallen tree was not easily seen. Only once he saw it from the train's perspective did it begin to create a pathway. He cautiously approaches, pebbles lightly crunching under his steps as he examines the shore at the area's edge. He notices that the rocks are disturbed in a peculiar way. The soft gravel has the imprint of something having been dragged out of the water. Next to it, a similar trail, yet more broken up. Like something or, someone, was... crawling. 

Hanzo lowers next to it to discern more detail. There's streaks and drops of discoloration along both tracks. Despite it having been mostly soaked in by now, he can tell it was blood. The subject that was being dragged was outputting more than the other. 

Was this...

He raises his hand to where the gunshot wound was, fingertips grazing against the rather coarse synthetic fabric of his uniform. 

For the crawling tracks, it seems every other print holds the discoloration.

He remembers how Cassidy's hand gripped his blade, blood seeping from between his fingers.

It clicks.

He did more than try to catch Hanzo when he fell. Cassidy somehow got the archer out of the wreckage, fought the current and hit through the tree on his way down before he was finally able to drag them both to safety. Supposedly.

Hanzo keeps following the crawling. It leads a few feet further up. Then, a new source of disturbances show themselves. Footprints. Several sets of them.

Now, he can imagine the scene in full.

One, injured, the other, unconscious. Making it to shore, the cowboy dragged Hanzo to where the current could not reach him before crawling further up, himself. He came to a stop. And that's where the soldiers footprints move in. His crawl became a drag of his own, pathed between the footprints as they turn and lead back into the clearing.

Hanzo wasn't the only one retrieved. They took Cassidy, too.

The assassin exhales sharply, features contorting in confusion.

If they took him, why the hell did Reaper make it such a big deal that Hanzo supposedly lost him? Plus, how he claims he knew nothing about the archer being used as a fucking lab rat. Did he lie to him?

Regardless, now there's proof Talon was behind this. If they were this quick to obtain their assets, they had to have been planning this from the very beginning. From the moment he was cornered in that damn alleyway. They set that bomb to ensure they would hold all the cards in the end, his life be damned.

The deal was null from the start.

Hanzo seethes as he stalks along the tracks. He must have been picked up, as a set of footprints lead from where he had been lain, all sources then meeting in the center of the grass in the clearing. He looks up into the sky, mind simulating the sound of the aircraft engines hovering above like a large metal vulture.

Standing back up straight, his gaze levels. Expression falls neutral. Breathing goes even. A dangerous calm envelops him, almost as if this discovery lifted a weight from upon his chest. He gave them a chance to prove they could play by the rules of this world. The world Hanzo has spent all his life learning how to navigate and control.

They tripped the wire.

With an almost spectral sounding breath passing between his lips, he walks back into the forest.

Surprisingly, Hanzo was left alone for the rest of the day. Moira seemed mostly engaged with notes and other tests, all while remaining in the same room or being just a wall away in her office, passing occasional, unblinking glances to him through the glass window. He is allowed to move around, but was instructed not to touch anything. She made that painfully clear.

Not that there's much to mess with, anyhow. All documentation is locked in her office, tools put away and tables rolled against the back wall, all of which she had moved around and organized throughout the first few hours after Reaper left. All that remains is Hanzo's bed, him, and the other beds with curtains drawn despite their vacancy.

Since he has nothing to keep him occupied, he has subconsciously taken to pacing with his arms crossed. He isn't allowed to leave, either. The plain white room, the locked door and removal of all other items within makes him feel like he's in a psych ward. Like he's a threat outside of his normal levels.

The clock upon the wall above the door ticks on, each second passing with a click or clack. He decides to lie down in bed on his back with one leg off the side for a while.

Finally, once the hour has slipped past eight and the minute closes in on the halfway mark, Moira emerges from her office and walks over.

"I will assess your wound again." She says.

She didn't even ask permission, yet she's standing there expecting Hanzo to obey. He silently sits up, carefully eyeing her with his brows drawn as he slides the sleeves of his top off his shoulders, exposing his upper torso. She raises her eyebrows with a satisfied hum. The scarring is almost entirely gone now.

"Splendid." She says.

She then looks the rest of him over for a long few moments before turning and heading back into her office. She re-emerges with a folder of documents before closing and locking it with a code. As she begins to walk back to the entry door, she doesn't even look at him as she speaks.

"You'll stay here for monitoring until morning. Good night, agent."

Hanzo quickly stands as she begins to exit.

"Wait-!"

His voice hits the door as it closes and the lock clicks behind her. He growls in annoyance. Monitor him? She just left. What kind of medical monitoring requires there to be no one with him?

With how he's been treated, he can easily concur that she knows something he doesn't. She's kept him isolated ever since the crash. She wouldn't explain what that IV was. It's obvious she's up to something. She speaks straightforwardly yet so blank, acting like she isn't hiding anything from anyone.

Sliding his shirt back up, he doesn't bother folding it shut. He sits back on his bed, removing his boots and belt, sitting with his legs crossed, back against the wall, meditating for a while before just deciding to lie down. Closing his eyes, he tries to let sleep take over.

He hopes once he awakes, this will all be over.

----------

His vision opens to darkness.

The lights must've turned off not long after he had faded, save for one, its dim glow highlighting the door in a foreboding spotlight. He tiredly pushes himself onto one elbow, looking around the room.

He's still alone.

He slides out of bed, shuffling across the linoleum floor to the door. It's still locked. Fatigue weighs heavy, beckoning him to return to unconsciousness. But he can't.

Something feels... unfinished.

He slowly makes his way over to Moira's office. That door greets him the same as the other. Stagnant. He taps the code screen, it's soft red interface fading to life.

He hovers his hand over the numericals for a few seconds before fingers curl in hesitation. His mind quickly discards the idea.

It's not what he's looking for.

Continuing to shuffle through the dark room, he passes the single active light, it's ambience catching his perimeter as he glides by.

His mind a haze, everything seems unreal. As if he's floating around like a ghost. Trapped.

Lost.

He feels suddenly ill, bile rising from the gut and burning the throat. Air becomes trapped by the intrusion and his hand flies to his mouth, a muffled grunt of disgust filling the room. Breaths become irregular and purely through his nose as he fights the urge to be sick.

Breaking into a speeding stumble, he crashes into the ward's bathroom and throws himself against the sink. A light within flicks on due to the motion. His head feels two times its weight and size, like it'll burst with the slightest touch. Keeling over the ceramic, his body evacuates its contents. After a grueling several minutes, he finds himself an empty, shaking mess with his right hand grasping the sinks edge, left palm to the mirror above.

Reaching to the side, he unsteadily rips some paper towels from the dispenser, wiping his mouth clean, also squeaking the handle to the faucet on to wash away the results of his illness. Once finished, the towels are dropped into the garbage before he returns to his previous positioning to catch his breath, water still running.

He takes in air shakily and slowly.

In. And out. In. And out. In...

On the third exhale, something catches in the vignette of his vision.

A cloud.

Confused, he presses his eyes shut. He's simply seeing things, obviously dazed from being sick. Composing himself, he resumes taking deep breaths, eyelids fluttering back open.

In.

Out.

Cloud.

He pauses.

Not believing what he saw, he stops breathing. Slowly, he rises his head to look into his reflection. His skin has gone pale as death, shirt disheveled to where one shoulder is exposed. The temperature is not noticeably different, yet the body has been numb besides the internal discomfort, his sense of touch absent.

He's dreaming again. He has to be.

He takes a long inhale through his nose.

And releases once more out the mouth.

A warbling whimper laces into the exhale. The air is seen creating a visible veil that rolls up in front of his face before dissipating. Unblinking, sight latches onto something that blurs into focus behind his reflection.

Something big.

He freezes, heart plummeting.

It's harrowing silhouette could swallow him whole. The boundaries of the room don't apply to it, as if the mirror is a window to a different plane. A giant serpentine creature, its long body trailing beyond what can be seen with its long head craned down, its top facing Hanzo's back. It's shaking almost as much as he is. Convulsing.

The light above the mirror can only catch so much of it, leaving the rest to shadow. Flowing ropes cut through the glow on either side of him as they undulate freely, their origin seemingly from the muzzle of the beast. Two protruding cones of ivory rut from the creatures skull, the length not able to be captured by the limitations of the mirrors border.

A deep rumbling rattles Hanzo's being, sending a large shiver up his spine and raising his hair to peaks. Another shaking whimper escapes from his throat as he stands, paralyzed. The lightbulb above flickers, its struggle noted by the audible electrical static as it fights to stay alive. In his glass image, amber hues begin to fade, vision decreasing little by little, yet not quite blinding. Tears stream down his cheeks. Haze starts to seep from behind his eyelids, just like the cold breath that left his parted lips less than a minute ago.

Behind him, the giant form begins to shift.

The shaking still apparent and parallel to his, the head raises while turning to the side. Details of its sickly blue scales and sharp features come into view along with an eye. Blank and white, as if its rolled up in the back of its head. It looks like its decaying, flesh and fur alike. Its grimacing, gigantic teeth like that of a predator are clenched together. The sharp forms begin to part, an airy hiss being dragged in between the stretching space that only remains connected by a few viscous strings of saliva.

There's a second of silence.

Then a guttural, piercing roar.

The light burns out and Hanzo's body snaps unlocked. Hands fly up to his head as a scream blinds his thoughts in tandem with the monster's wail. He can't tell if it's his own, or if it's being pulled from a place he cannot comprehend. Taking several steps backwards, he slams against the wall before sliding down, his body hitting the floor. He can do nothing but writhe in pain as a thousand voices cry out in agony.

Time is of no concept to this suffering. Minutes. Hours. Days. Years. It all feels like it's passing him by in the span of just seconds. All he feels is death.

Wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up.

...

Finally. 

Nothing .

Just darkness.

Silence.

Rest.

----------

Consciousness buds.

There's a voice again. Though not a whisper. Its raised and very clearly unhappy. That's the only one that can be heard through the wall between Hanzo and whatever interaction it's part of. It's a familiar, rough male voice. He picks out very few words.

Found him. Told you. Disaster.

It wasn't a dream, was it?

His body lie cold upon what he knows is his bed, a heart rate monitor beeping softly beside him. He'll admit, he's surprised he woke at all. He's also shocked at the fact he does not feel significantly abnormal despite his mind still being unable to fully extract itself from the belief that the experience had just been one of his nightmares. But it's undeniable. How purely visceral it was, the fact he is not where he last remained in the bathroom, plus his commander yelling in the next room solidifies the truth.

It was real.

Vision creaks open, light assaulting his pupils. He takes his time sitting up and adjusting. He's groggy, but nothing terrible. Attention tiredly shifts over to the window of Moira's office. Reaper is in there with the geneticist herself. She looks rather annoyed and telling by the body language of the wraith, he's bordering livid. Hanzo's position change catches on and they both look through the window at him, meeting his stare.

Reaper gives one more quick look to Moira before he turns and they both exit the office to approach the freshly woken man. Sneering at them both, Hanzo leans just a little more forwards.

"What have you done?" He asks, darkly.

Reaper looks past him, clearly unable to give an easy answer to the inquiry.

"There was a complication with the healing serum." Moira answers.

"A complication..." Hanzo echoes. "You call the hell I just went through a simple complication."

He says that as more of a statement than a question. Of course she'd see it that way.

"Yes. Your specific reaction was rather unforeseen given the data, however, it is nothing that can't be remedied, I assure you." She states.

Her confidence is of no comfort to the man. The glare is shifted to Reaper.

"You knew of this. Did you not?" Hanzo asks.

The wraith returns his attention to him.

"I in fact did not." He growls. "Acting of ones own volition is against protocol. Your experience is a direct result of said protocol being broken."

"I already informed you," Moira cuts in, turning towards Reaper, "that is not the case. Miscalculations unfortunately are part of the process. You should know-"

"Enough!" Hanzo abruptly cuts them off.

His heart rate spikes on the monitor. That's enough to piss him off even more. Ripping the pads off of his chest, he stands as the machine drones to a flatline. Seething between the two of them, he heads for the door. Luckily, this time it's open and he storms out, no further breath wasted on their account. He finds his way back to his room. The sheets are still tacked up over the windows, keeping the room dark. He then shuts the door and quickly begins to collect his things. He's wasted enough time as it is trying to play this game. There's always a back door, somewhere. He just has to find it.

He changes clothing into the armor he was given, yet discards the extra pieces that dawn the Talon symbol, just using its base which is rather unidentifiable in its own. It's not preferable, but it's better than the set he's had for several days now that's been through just as much turmoil as himself throughout that time. He grabs his bow and quiver from their hidden places and pulls aside the sheet and curtain in front of one of the windows, pushing the panes open. The telltale sign of swirling air pulls his attention, followed by the familiar sway of leather.

"Don't."

His grip on the curtain clenches tighter, glove squeaking from the pressure. He doesn't even turn his head to acknowledge the other at first, nor the command they just spoke.

"You will be found. And when you are, the deal will be nullified. There will be nothing left to protect you."

Hanzo scoffs.

"I do not need protecting, wraith." He replies, tone deep and sharp.

The sunlight from the partially open curtain cuts down the left half of Reaper's mask. Due to the rest of him blending in with the void of the room, this is all that's really seen in detail. He remains still, staring at Hanzo in silence. It seems he's testing him. Testing the Shimada heir's resolve. The archer parries Reaper's gaze with his own. Words need not be spoken for Reaper to seemingly understand which path has been chosen. Hanzo does not intend to back down, nor is he abandoning his goal. He is simply taking control. 

Hanzo wakes to a chill against his back, and rumbling surroundings. Vision remaining dark, body staying still, he listens. There's whispering not far from him. Trying to make out what's being said is difficult, especially as pain begins to try and drag his attention away. His head reels, making him feel as if his body is going to sink into the surface beneath. A pained groan passes his lips. The whispering stops.

Footsteps approach, stopping on his right. He can feel their presence, yet they're uncomfortably silent. Breathing through the nausea his spinning mind is causing, he weakly opens his eyes. Glancing over, it takes a moment for his sight to remedy of any blur, revealing who is standing prim at his side. Her gaunt features study his own, seemingly uncaring about the discomfort he's in. Her two toned gaze drags away with the rest of her as she walks off. Moments later, the metal table he's laid upon begins to fold upwards, rising him to a more sitting position.

"Took quite a fall, did you, Shimada?" She asks, her tone almost mocking.

Hanzo doesn't reply, just turning his head to face straight and continuing to breathe as the nausea slowly begins to fade. In his right arm is an IV, leading up to a bag that's hanging off the hook of a larger medical apparatus on wheels by the table. It seems rather primitive compared to what he knows this medic is capable of. Why hasn't she just patched him up completely already, he wonders. Moira. What could she be thinking? What could she be doing? Knowing her history, he feels he has every right to question anything she does, no matter how little.

He's unsure how long it's been since he was knocked out, nor how long he's been in transit before he awoke. He wants so greatly to get away from the current situation due to the discomfort of the other's presence. Plus, he doesn't want her to take care of something he knows how to deal with himself. This is ridiculous. It's wasting his time.

Beginning to turn to face his back to the geneticist, he slides his legs off the side, feet touching the floor. Bare skin presses against cold steel, causing a shiver. The chill paired with the refrigerated contents of the liquid drip tethered directly into his vein is an unpleasant feeling.

"I would not recommend that." Moira says.

He ignores her. Gently pushing his weak body off the table's edge, he goes to stand. The dizziness returns tenfold and gravity shifts. He stumbles, tumbling down onto his knees with one hand hitting the table to try to catch himself on the way down, causing the IV apparatus to clang against the other side as it wheels along with his fall.

This surprises him.

Sure, he took quite a bit of damage, yet he's walked away from things like this with at least some, if not most of his strength left before. Now, he feels as if it's been drained from him. Muscles like that of a newborn, he's unable to lift himself back up onto the table, simply sitting on the ground with his hand still gripping the tables edge, confusion and frustration constricting his features.

"If you wish to be stupid, so be it. Just know that will delay the process." Moira sighs, walking around the table to stand in front of him.

Bending down to assess the bandage on his chest, she begins to remove it, pushing aside his opened shirt for easier access. Without the strength to lift his arm to keep hers away, he can do nothing but wait for her to finish. Once the bandage is removed, she hums to herself.

"Fascinating." She mumbles.

That's... worrying.

Straightening back up, she walks back around to where she was before. The scribble of a pen can be heard behind him. Once again, he remains stagnant, still upon his knees on the cold metal floor. There's several minutes of scribbling, button beeping, pacing and more, yet he pays it no mind, simply staring at the ground with exhaustion.

His head finally stills of the spinning, the silence being broken not long after.

"You will remain under my care until you are functional." Moira says as her footsteps leave the room, door sliding open and subsequently shut with her departure.

Fascinating. Functional. Those words she used are a strange way to refer to him. It's obvious she in fact truly does not see him as a patient, but perhaps more of a machine. A tool. He has been just that for Talon. He knew this would be the reality going into it, just like he has every intention of using that to his advantage to get out of it.

Suddenly, he remembers. With a small inhale, his memory begins to remind him of what happened. The job. That was it. The last thing he needed to do before he could start tearing them apart from the inside. However, the crash...

The crash.

He doesn't know if the cowboy survived. If the job is truly done. They both hung there, looking at one-another in mutual understanding of their situation. They both fell. Cassidy... tried to catch him.

Why?

Why didn't he just watch as Hanzo fell to his life's end instead of making an attempt at saving it?

Too many questions. Too little energy. Hanzo doubts he'll ever be able to know the answers, anyways. His head hangs as he slides his hand off the table, letting it drop to his side before he carefully, slowly adjusts to just lie on the floor entirely. Knees pointed to the side and right arm over his torso, he rests through the remainder of the journey back to the hell-scape that awaits him.

If only it could hold a candle to the one in his mind.

----------

Hanzo feels the ship land. The engine begins to whir slower, it's deep whine fading in volume. He sits up, luckily this time without any unpleasant responses from his body. In fact, he feels good. Looking down at his torso he notices the gunshot wound is gone. Not completely, but it's sealed up as if it's already been healing for weeks. All that's left is what looks like a scar.

It's wrong.

Standing up, he claws at the tube that's patched to the vein in his arm, quickly gripping, pulling and disconnecting it from his system, the sound of ripping tape bouncing off the metal surroundings. Throwing it down, he turns away, clasping his left palm down on the insertion site as he rounds the table to search the counters for something to wrap it with. Spotting some gauze and bandaging, he grabs it, ready to do what needs done. Removing his hand, he observes the spot.

There isn't one. Not even the tiniest needle dot.

He drops the supplies, running his left thumb over the area. It doesn't even ache.

Turning around, he takes a few quick steps towards the table he was on earlier, grabbing the IV bag that's still hanging from it's hook. It's clear. Nothing is written on it. Just completely blank. The door to the room slides open. Moira enters with a few guards tailing behind.

"You'd do well not to mess with things that do not belong to you, agent." She says.

God, it's hard to read her. He hates that.

He removes his hand from the bag, eyeing her.

"I expect you will explain your methods, then." He says through gritted teeth.

Moira smirks, rotating her head ever so slightly to the side.

"You are responding well. I am very pleased." She pauses. "An explanation will do very little. The most I can offer you in form of words is that I healed you."

She walks forwards, the guards still tailing her as if she holds an invisible leash to each.

"As per my responsibility. I am your medic. Now, please dress yourself, we're to speak with the commander at once."

What exactly it is she's done, Hanzo isn't sure. It's unnatural, whatever it was, and he does not like the way its going. For now, he locates his boots on the floor by the door, putting them on and adjusting his clothing back to normal. He has no band or ribbon to put his hair back up, as seemingly those items have been lost sometime between now and the train.

Once he's made himself as presentable as possible, he re-approaches Moira. Walking off the vessel as a group, he once again crosses the surface of the large helipad he touched down upon when he first arrived. Back down the same path. Back to the same damn meeting room.

In the conference area, he sees Reaper standing in wait, arms crossed, his brooding aura practically steaming off his person. Once Hanzo's group enters, the wraith releases his arms, letting them hang by his sides as he approaches, heavy footsteps apparent.

"Well?" He asks, an expectant tone slathered with his signature growl as he looks to Hanzo.

Hanzo exhales lightly. He's stood in front of the clan elders and his father in such a manner when he's fucked up before. Yet, this is different. He didn't fuck up. He holds his ground, knowing his following explanation is truthful.

"There was an interference." Hanzo states, straightforwardly.

"No shit." Reaper replies.

There's a bitter few seconds of silence between the two of them before Hanzo continues.

"An explosion. It must have been pre-set. The train de-railed with us both upon it."

Reaper approaches a little closer.

"Did you lose him?" He asks, lowly.

"For reasons outside of my immediate control, I-"

Reaper hums in deep irritation, cutting the assassin off before just as quickly becoming terribly close, his face mere inches from Hanzo's. There's a chill surrounding him like that of a ghost.

"I do not know what became of him." Hanzo finishes.

Reaper scans the other's face for a few long moments, his very presence feeling like a drain on the archer's soul.

"You. Don't. Know." He echoes.

With an airy hiss of a sigh, he backs off. Then, he looks to Moira.

"We need to talk. Alone." He growls. "And you," he points to Hanzo, "I will discuss this with you later. Leave."

With an abrupt end to the meeting, Hanzo takes a few steps backwards before departing without another word, the guards escorting him to a new area he hasn't yet seen. The medical ward. He's practically just pushed inside before they shut and lock the door behind him.

He glares at the door before shaking it off, instead choosing to look about the room. It's rather empty, save for a few typical rolling beds, a wheelchair in the back corner and meticulously organized equipment among the counter tops and rolling metal operation tables. He sits on the edge of one of the beds, attention shifting to his chest.

Reaching his hand into the fold of his top, he feels at the gunshot wound. It's a little bumpy but nothing abnormal from what a mostly healed wound like this would be expected to be like. However, the strange feeling of an abnormal strength remains. He experienced both sides of the spectrum mere hours apart, neither even touching any semblance of normal in between.

It's a miracle he survived in the first place. He fell with an entire train car into a river, somehow didn't drown during his black-out and ended up back, well... here. The whole thing is fishy. If he didn't know any better, he'd assume Talon in fact directly had something to do with the bomb. A failsafe with no room for him in its thoughts. He's not about to vocalize that, of course.

He needs proof. As confident as he is about this conclusion, he can't act without knowing how many cards they're holding.

His thoughts are pulled back to the present a few minutes later as the door unlocks. Reaper enters with Moira in tail. The wraith is silent. Seems whatever they spoke of once he left is very much on his mind.

He walks up to Hanzo.

"Details. Now." He demands.

Just like before, Hanzo explains everything. The fight. The bomb. The fall. He leaves out the mention of Cassidy seemingly trying to catch him. Reaper listens, still as a statue through the whole thing. Once Hanzo finishes, he sighs.

"I'll have Sombra send out drones to investigate the site. If we don't find a body," he pauses, "we're back to square one."

And Hanzo is still stuck in the deal.

Hanzo curses to himself in a whisper. Starting over in this type of situation is less than desirable. He finds himself hoping his target did in fact perish. That the body will be found somewhere downstream. Another part of him is disgusted with that desire. He lightly shakes his head, exhaling through his nose in displeasure.

"I see." Hanzo replies, monotonously.

"You're going to remain here until you're fully healed. A day or two, maximum." Reaper says, his glare shifting to Moira for those last few words.

Silence.

Darkness.

That's all the night was. It was somewhat blissful as Hanzo's mind was not assaulted by the nightmare that's been haunting him. Now, since he's had a moments rest from it, he can't help but think about it. Why it has repeated. What it could mean. He can't be so sure that it's over. One night does not guarantee it won't return. Regardless, at least he obtained a few hours of sleep.

He lie staring at the ceiling. It is rather ornate with old, faded paintings. Cherubs, clouds and a few other angels staring blankly into space, their eyes void of color. Small cracks are visible across their faces and bodies, other areas look as though the paint is nearly gone altogether, whatever life it had before sucked into the darkness now calling it home. 

The daylight fights to reach into the room, crawling out from the borders of the drawn curtains plus a layer of tacked up sheets. Ever since he returned from his mission to track down and make contact with Cole Cassidy a few days ago, he's had nothing but more questions bouncing around his head. Even the sunlight distracted him from his thoughts. 

His mind wanders back to his return. Reaper had called him in for a report that night, where he found himself once again sitting across from the dark figure at the large conference table, his foreboding glare piercing right into Hanzo as he recounted the events for him.

"As I expected." He said. "So be it."

He had been tapping his metal claws upon the tabletop, each tap prodding further and further under Hanzo's skin. It came to a stop only once he rose from his chair by the end of it.

"Sombra is tracking him as we speak. We will update you once we know where he is headed. You are to intercept him. If he leaves the country, we no longer have any ability to go after him. At least, not legally. If you fuck this up, there's no telling how much time we will lose. Is that understood?"

Hanzo nodded. Reaper walked over to him slowly, arms at his side yet the tension obvious and suffocating.

"I need vocal confirmation, Shimada. Do. You. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Hanzo replied, monotonously, once again meeting a gaze that looked down upon him.

"Good." Reaper replied. "Wait for my call."

Then, without another word, he left the room.

Hanzo is due to engage within the next day or so, yet this time, it'll be with lethal intent. Sombra already has Cassidy's location. It was easy for her to track him through cameras and transport itinerary, despite Cassidy not even using his real name. In fact, Hanzo doesn't doubt she's the reason why they knew who he is and were the ones to finally come after him.

Never mind that now. He must focus for the next task, as it will be his last before he's done here.

Shifting to sit up, he positions himself on his knees upon the bed, closing his eyes. Once again, he goes through the plan in his head just as he's done before. Tracking him won't be much of an issue this time. He'll stay hidden. Wait for the opportune moment. One strike is all that's necessary. One strike and he gets back what's rightfully his.

-----

A loud train horn cuts through the air, though muted through the walls where Hanzo hides. Electronic whirring signals the hovering vehicle's ascent on its track, the rumble hardly noticeable. It's a very early train, so there's barely anyone aboard at this hour. He was dropped off once the wraith gave the word. He sits in darkness, the hooded cloak Reaper gave to him before his first mission concealing his form within the small storage area of his choosing. He has about an hour and a half to finish the job before the train docks at its destination. A port at the other side of the country.

He waits, keeping an eye on his watch now and then to see how much time has passed, listening closely to the trains announcements for the stops in between. Before long, only one stop remains.

His time starts now.

Per Sombra, Cassidy is the only one that should be left on board, given he's the only one headed to the last point on the map for the train. Car four. Row D. Cautiously, he exits his hiding spot. There's no longer a need to keep to the dark. He knows Cassidy expects him. 

Hanzo silently walks to the double doorway between his car and car four, lacing his fingers around the edge of his hood, pulling it down before undoing the clasp and shrugging the whole piece of clothing off his shoulders, tossing it to the side. Looking through the small window, he pinpoints the cowboy. He's facing his direction but is looking out the side window by his seat, his bag secured on his back. Given Hanzo cannot see his hands, he assumes he is ready for him. He will need to be quick. He knows he is the knife brought to this gunfight and he must have his wits about him. Any opening he leaves will be taken.

He inhales deeply through his nose, pulling out a kunai in each hand. He approaches close to the first door. It hisses open and he ducks, knowing that will have drawn attention. Positioning himself against the wall next to the second and final door, he waits for the first door to close. Once it does, he activates the remaining one.

Before the hiss of the door is even finished, staying low, Hanzo throws his left kunai at where he knows he saw the target.

Before he can blink, a loud bullet ricochet hits the wall just behind him, mere inches from his head. In the alley, Cassidy stands a few rows further back with his pistol in hand, barrel aiming Hanzo's direction. Hanzo's kunai lodged itself a little low, hitting the chairs shoulder. Seems they both timed their respective offenses parallel to one another. Hanzo launches himself into a roll behind the seats as another bullet whizzes his way.

"Hanzo!" Cassidy speaks up, his voice almost scolding.

"I'll give you one chance. One. You hear me?"

Hanzo burns the memory of how Cassidy is standing into his mind and how to throw to impede him.

"Give it up. I don't want to do this!"

Hanzo stays silent, ignoring what was said. Like hell he's going to give up when he's this close. He shoots up, lobbing his second weapon at Cassidy's arm. It slices across the top, eliciting a loud hiss of pain from him. He temporarily drops his arm a little low from the blow but still pulls the trigger. 

The bullet cracks against Hanzo's right shoulder. He yells out as it bites through tissue. Despite the burning building up in the new wound, he pulls another knife out from the harness upon his leg, hurdling over the chairs and closing the distance. Cassidy throws out his metal arm in a swing, fingers enclosed. Hanzo steps back just out of range, the air from the attack grazing his face. He recovers, taking a swipe of his own.

Cassidy's right wrist parries, the gun still held in his grip. He throws his skull against Hanzo's, sending a massive wave from impact point all the way through to the back of their heads. This causes Hanzo to stagger back, reeling. Putting his left arm out, he grips one of the chairs to steady himself, glaring darkly through his hair at him. Cassidy holsters his gun to deal with the other close range. Hanzo's glove squeaks with the increased pressure around the dagger hilt. With a growl, he reengages. Through a flurry of hand to hand, Cassidy keeps up extremely well, keeping him from landing anything lethal. His eyes burn with focus and he's able to land a few good hits of his own. 

Before long, they both push back towards the doors between the cars. The doors slide open as they approach, the fight transferring over. They both traverse through the third car quickly, soon enough reaching the second. 

Taking an opportunity, Hanzo hops up over the side row of chairs to swerve behind Cole. He grips the seats on either side of him, raising both legs to plant the soles of his feet against the other's back, launching him against the door to the front cockpit. Cassidy grunts loudly from both impacts, falling through the doorway once it's open. The last door hisses to the side as he rolls in front of it, his hat flopping to the ground. The rising sun can be seen on the horizon through the pilotless cockpit's windshield.

Hanzo rushes him. Just as Cole gets back onto his feet, Hanzo has his back slammed against the side wall, kunai to his throat. Cole grips the kunai with his bare hand before he's stabbed, managing to pit his strength against the Hanzo's as blood beads between his fingers.

He throws his metal fist into Hanzo's shoulder where he was shot. Searing pain anew, a quick scream tears from Hanzo. He feels Cassidy's knee meet his gut, red beads flying from his split lip as he's pushed off him. Hanzo is used to fighting through this kind of pain. He hasn't given up in the slightest. 

A quick kick to Hanzo's torso has him staggering back a few steps until his back hits the windshield, a holographic interface lighting up in the glass due to the disturbance.

"I warned you, god damn it!" Cassidy says.

Pulling his gun back out, he keeps his distance as he sights the Shimada down the barrel.

He pauses.

"Do it then!" Hanzo yells at him, eyes wide, daring him to end this.

"Kill me!”

Cole pulls back the hammer with a click, angling his body.

Their eyes meet. The searing fire in his eyes has somewhat faded. There's determination, yet a bit of confusion laced with melancholy of an internal discussion.

In his moment of hesitation, Hanzo raises his arm, launching his kunai. During the movement, the train jerks forwards with a whirr, causing them both to fight to keep balance. The knife hits the wall and clatters to the ground, having been thrown off its trajectory. Hanzo follows Cassidy's gaze out the windshield. The train has picked up speed, headed towards a small stone bridge over a cut in the mountains that's part of the track.

They look back to each other. Cole meets Hanzo with an expression obvious he suspects this to be a piece of his supposed plan. Hanzo's expression back amends this misunderstanding rather quickly. Cole begins backing up, keeping the pistol aimed.

BOOM.

Hanzo gasps.

That wasn't the gun. 

They both turn their attention once again to the incoming track. Or, what's left of it. The bridge in the distance crumbles in a large cloud of smoke and debris, fire from the cause beneath licking for breath.

Fuck.

Cassidy uncocks and holsters his gun, strapping it down before swiping his hat from the ground and running to the emergency brake, yanking it.

It does nothing.

"Shit!" He says, quickly giving up on that idea as another look out the glass confirms the fast approaching issue. 

An idea strikes Hanzo. He runs to the doors between their current car and the next, pressing a button by each of them so they remain open. Returning to the cockpit, he scans the hologram for a latch release.

Given these trains are on autopilot, there's no dashboard, just the emergency brake and the holographic interface. Scrolling through, he can't determine what's what instantly. His mind tunnel visions, not even worried about the other man at the moment. Finally, he finds what he's looking for.

The hologram pulls up a 3D copy of the train itself. He pokes the front driving car and hits release. There's a loud click and he wastes no time dashing out the door, jumping the quickly growing gap between the two units. Not a second later, there's a thud behind him. Seems cowboy caught on and jumped after him. Holding his hat to his head, he looks back, the pulling car speeding off.

They're still going too fast.

With no other choice, Hanzo keeps running towards the very back car. The both of them reach the back and bust open the emergency door. Jumping is also not an option at this speed, they determine. Growling, Hanzo looks back through the alley of passageways, all open due to what is likely emergency protocol, or simply loss of power from the head of the train.

They have slowed down significantly from before but it still looks quite unfavorable. The pulling car that sped ahead launches off the ruined track, shooting into the rubble and disappearing into the grey plume. The crash reaches their ears, fear rising. Hanzo takes a long, deep breath, bracing himself between the seats of the back rows, looking over at Cassidy who's deducted the same course of action necessary.

Seconds drag like years.

All thoughts are almost instantly wiped blank from the impact. The domino that follows happens too fast to comprehend. They're thrown against the seats in front of them, luckily no further due to their positioning. The air is knocked from Hanzo's lungs and his head starts ringing loudly, followed by his entire body screaming in pain.

His awareness comes back slowly, enough to realize something. 

The car is tilting.

He fights to move, hearing the groaning of the man across from him in tandem with his own. Hanzo's fingers grip the fabric of the seats, eyes creaking open, looking to the doorway in the back just feet away. The land shifts through its frame a little too quickly for his liking, the rotation not aiding in his now splitting headache.

He starts to move towards it in a crawl, feeling as if he's going through a madhouse tunnel. A loud metallic creak accompanies a swift alteration in gravity, sending him sliding sideways. Throwing an arm out, he jumps and grips the door frame, holding on as the world shifts. There's a thud as Cassidy slides next to him, his arm catching over the door's edge. He inhales sharply with a grimace.

"Damn it!" He curses to himself. 

Hanzo throws his other hand up and glances to his target, noting the streak of red down the side of his head. Cassidy's eyes glaze right past Hanzo for a moment before scanning the archer's face. He sighs.

"This is gonna hurt like a bitch." He says through gritted teeth, seemingly resigned to what's about to happen.

Hanzo scoffs at his unhelpful words before looking down through the opposite open door beneath them. 

Now he understands.

There's a river. It's still a long way down, but there's hope.

Creak.

Snap.

Weightlessness.

Guts churn, air fluttering from Hanzo's throat in a soft exhale as they plunge downwards in the metal unit. Several long, agonizing seconds fly away as they grip on for life, Hanzo's eyes synched so hard he sees specks of white.

The rattle of the car cutting through the wind is suddenly silenced, the light feeling coming to an abrupt end as the waters surface is broken. Hanzo is thrown from the door due to the force, his hands being ripped from the frame. Cassidy throws his right arm out in an attempt to catch the other but Hanzo is torn away too quickly down the tunneling pathway.

Hanzo's back hits the metal wall.

The low rumble of engines surrounds him. Sitting as he had before upon his arrival in a similar craft just a little over a day ago, Hanzo awaits arrival to the drop point. Scanning through the mission files on the small hologram from his watch, he familiarizes himself with the content. A little over an hour later, he's standing at the door as the decent begins. He adjusts the dark grey hooded cloak that helps conceal his weaponry. Reaper advised he take it before he boarded the craft. 

"You'll need to cover your weapons." He had said. "Things don't operate the same here as they do in Hanamura."

Translation, the city people aren't used to seeing constant weaponry just on display like the gangs do back home. Most things are handled on the down low. Gangs exist, yet the approach is much more in the dark. A darkness everyone is aware of, but doesn't seek out unless they're looking for trouble. However, to Hanzo, it doesn't matter. No matter how it's dealt with, in this world, it will always end the same. On the opposite side of a weapon.

Speaking of weapons, his bow would be difficult to conceal, so he had to leave it behind in his room, settling for some kunai and a few smoke bombs. He hid his bow somewhere in the room only he can get to. Hopefully.

The doors slide open, revealing a bit of a space left between him and the rooftop below. Once he hops out, the small transport almost immediately pulls away. Now on his own, his mind bears its sharpened edges to the task at hand as he pulls up the hood of his coat and a black face mask over his mouth and nose. Given the rather chill weather, this wouldn't be considered abnormal.

It didn't take too long to find the signs he was looking for as he glides through the city market. The symbol of the bar matched the information and the cigar remains were found on the ground in the side alley where the footage displayed the man had stood merely about day ago. A click of his wrist watch signals a check in to Reaper. Phase one in effect. As he stands in the alleyway, he fetches a cigarette box out from his pouch. Within is three sticks alongside a small metal lighter. He slips his mask down, his back to the camera as he gently slides one of the sticks out with his lips before then slipping out the lighter, flicking it open and snapping the flame alight with his thumb.

The warmth licks at his face as he closes the distance between the lighter and the end of the cigarette, flipping the metal cap shut once he's sucked in a long, burning breath. Smoke coats his throat as he presses it up past his sinuses to puff out through his nostrils. He broods, taking note of any further signs of where his target may have gone next. In the gravel beneath his metal boots, impressions can be seen. There are few other prints, so it is easy to tell it was most likely him. In fact, too easy to tell. This only confirms your initial suspicion that the man in fact wants to be found. This could pose an issue. He has to instantly assume it's malicious. Regardless, he's ready.

Hanzo takes a few more minutes to finish his cigarette before snuffing out what little is left in the ashtray and replacing his mask as it was before. He follows the prints in the gravel back out into the bustle of the city.

What kind of person is this man, he wonders. One to stray as far away as possible from the wasp nest he just disturbed or stand right under it, poised and ready to take what he foolishly wrought upon himself. He continues back down that street for several minutes, glancing at anything that catches his interest as if he were a mere traveler.

Merchandise from local farms such as pelt, food and more all set up nicely at their displays line the rather narrow stone walkway. He observes the people, families, couples, all enjoying their time stocking up for the incoming season. All wear rather similar clothing to yourself, yet more stylish in some respects. Nice long coats, fluffy hand warmers, boots and berets. Then, something a little more abnormal pulls his eye. 

That's no beret. 

His eyes lock onto it. There's no mistaking it. That's a dark brown western hat, worn atop the head of the owner. A small red bag that matches their serape hangs over their shoulder.

Every alarm goes off in his head. The description matches. That's him.

Hanzo pulls to the side out of the flow, keeping his gaze upon the man's back and clicking his watch again. The cowboy nods with a thanks to the gentleman he's speaking to. A merchant at one of the stalls. Mere seconds later, he turns, gazes meeting. Lighter hues meet darker. He stops his motion and scoffs. Then a slight deep chuckle from the man, then a glance to the side momentarily to take a short inhale before letting it out in a sigh.

"Well," he begins, a drawl to his words befitting the overall image, "you're quick, huh?"

He pauses, looking back to Hanzo he takes a few steps forwards. Hanzo remains planted, his head having to adjust upwards a bit due to the height of the other as they approach. He's not that much taller than Hanzo but a noticeable few inches, at least, he supposes. Hanzo makes a slight motion with his head in curiosity.

"I figure I got time for one last smoke before I hitch my ride. Why don'tchya join me?" Cassidy asks.

Practically pushing past as he strides by, it takes a moment, yet Hanzo lets out a small huff before he begins to follow. 

The walk is silent. Tense. Words being saved for the incoming meeting. He doesn't let Cassidy out of his sight for even a second as he leads to a table outside a bar, way less active than the one Hanzo investigated earlier. Cassidy takes a seat on one of the two metal chairs, plopping his bag down on his knee and gesturing to the other seat with his left hand. With his movement, a small mechanical whir is heard. Hanzo notices the cowboy's arm is metal. 

Taking his seat, Hanzo's eyes shift to the red bag, which Cassidy is now rummaging around in. He pulls out a cigar with a protective plastic cover then looks up to the other in an inquisitive manner as if to ask if he'd like one, too. Hanzo remains silent, just shifting his sharp gaze to the cowboy's face as an answer.

Cassidy closes the bag, centering it on his lap as he pulls the wrapper off.

"Relax. I ain't gonna shoot the messenger." He states, plainly, before placing the cigar between his lips.

A click and puff, smoke rises in front of his face as he sucks in a breath, eyeing Hanzo expectantly.

"Then you know I've been sent here to do just the opposite." Hanzo finally speaks, the low tone to his voice purposeful to help escape any passing ears. "If certain conditions are not met."

"Hell'uva introduction, there, friend. I'm Cassidy, by the way. Cole Cassidy" Cole lets out a light laugh. "But you already knew that."

He leans back a little, looking Hanzo up and down as he grasps the cigar between his mechanical fingertips.

"Now enlighten me. Which organization you under, 'cause I've got a few of 'em on my ass."

"Shimada, Hanzo." Hanzo replies. "Talon sent me."

Cole pauses. His expression tells the other he doesn't believe him. Yet, about which aspect of the reply he doesn't believe is uncertain. Perhaps it's both parts. He slowly moves the cigar away from his face, narrowing his eyes as he tries to inspect Hanzo's deeper. A small scoff escapes him.

"Shimada, huh? Funny..." He looks down to the table, seemingly lost in his mind momentarily before he returns to the conversation. "I was under the impression that clan was-"

"Dead." Hanzo finishes for him. 

Cassidy leans back in, this time setting his elbows on the table.

"Yea. Yet you're tellin' me the heir to the Shimada, also supposed dead, is the one Talon sent to deliver this little love letter to me."

Hanzo is getting a little sick of his antics. He still doesn't believe him. If his word isn't enough, so be it. He rises his hand to his mask, dragging down the thin fabric to reveal the rest of his face under his hood. Cassidy's face slowly falls. His brows furrow and eyes darken.

"Holy shit." He mutters, almost under his breath. 

He takes a long pause, tearing his gaze away. Despite his rather stoic expression, Hanzo can see the cowboy's face slightly change here and there as he's once again lost in thought for a few moments. Shock as well as... sorrow? Perhaps regret? He can't place it. Cole takes a long draw from the cigar, then looks back to Hanzo, smoke emitting with his next words.

"Y'look just like your father."

Hanzo pulls the mask back up over his face. The amount of times he's heard that could almost make him sick. Cassidy taps off the ashen end into a small glass ashtray in the center of the table with a sigh.

"Alright. Lay it on me, then. The hell kind of conditions they tryin' to set?"

"They're encouraging you to join. If not, I’m sure you get the picture." Hanzo replies.

Cassidy nods lightly.

"Mhmm. I figured as much. Can't help but notice ya ain't really speakin' as if you're quite aligned with 'em."

He leans back in his chair, draping his left arm over it's top to dangle behind it.

"They struck a deal with you, I assume?"

"That is none of your concern." Hanzo replies.

Cassidy raises up a few of his mechanical fingers, keeping the cigar in between his pointer and thumb.

"I get it. I ain't trying to pry details, 'cause bein' gods honest, I don't care."

He takes another draw, exhaling the smoke after a moment. 

"Now, you can let your commander know I've got no interest in joinin' y'all. I've got other obligations."

Hanzo was certain it would end up going this way. Can't say he blames him, as initially his own response was the same before Talon wrung him in a place he couldn't escape from. At least, not yet.

Cassidy begins to stand.

"Figured I'd try to get lucky and avoid this little meeting altogether, despite breadcrumbin' ya with the little tricks and warnings I was throwin' in." He chuckles, slinging his bag over his shoulder as it was before.

"But glad we could hash this out, anyways."

Hanzo stands as well, crossing his arms.

"You are a fool. Why lead me right to you when you realize your situation?" He asks.

Cassidy reaches behind him to pull up his hat.

"It's just as you say. I know my situation. I don't think you know yours."

Hanzo gives a disgruntled huff.

Cole tips his hat to Hanzo as he walks backwards a few steps, holding the cigar between his lips.

"I'm sure I'll be seein' you again, won't I?"

"You will." Hanzo replies.

The corner of Cassidys mouth pulls into a small smirk.

"Till then, Shimada."

As he is led through the hall, Hanzo's eyes wander around the architecture. Whatever this place used to be is unknown, yet it seems to have been of much importance when it was built, obviously centuries ago. It's been modified since then to accommodate for the changing tides of a world swallowed by technology. The large marble pillars, shining tile floor and high vaulted ceilings make him feel incredibly small. His eyes return to front. There's only about another minute of walking before the soldiers stop outside a set of rather large double doors, stepping aside for him.

He glances to them momentarily before approaching the entry. The handles are flat, curved bars, the doors themselves being chiseled with ornate paneling with what looks like golden trim laced into the wooden designs. Slipping his palm over the right handle, he pushes down and in.

A light breeze greets him. The first thing to catch his eye is the soft flow of sheer white curtains hanging over two large open windows that look out onto the city. The paneled walls are a deep red, of all colors, white trim with installed lights evenly spaced throughout. The bed to the left wall is a good size, much larger than his futon and raised off the ground in a dark wooden frame. The sheets are white, four plump pillows upon the headboard. Just seeing it reminds him of his exhaustion. Next to the bed sits his bow and quiver. On it's surface, a folded set of clothing along with some armor plating.

In between the twin windows stands a dark wood desk to match the bed frame. Its an older style of writing desk, sliding drawers and a wooden chair with a cushion pushed into its edge. On the right wall of the rather long, rectangular room stands a dresser. Again, likely the same material if not very similar to the other pieces within the room. A curved top sweeping up into points at the edges, dangling hoops for handles. He finally steps inside. Once he does, the soldiers turn and begin marching off in an orderly fashion. He reaches behind himself and closes the door, standing with his back against it, hand still gripping the handle.

Despite the beautiful nature of the room, he can't help but know it's just to appeal to him. Special treatment, like pampering a victim before sacrifice.

Pushing off the door, he walks to the bed, scanning over the clothes with heavy half-lidded eyes. The armor possesses the Talon symbol on one of the shoulder pads. He scoffs, simply sliding all of it off the edge of the bed, the cloth flopping onto the tile floor alongside the armor clunking. Parading around in that junk like he's their property is insulting.

Fuck off.

He turns with his back facing the bed, letting his weight pull him down onto the sheets. He sinks into the comforter, the light linen scent puffing around him. Staring at the ceiling, his mind grows foggy. Anger from the meeting swirls in his gut as he clenches the sheets in tight fists at his side.

They’re giving the illusion of choice. There is no choice. That was made clear from the beginning. But it doesn't matter. Whatever this assignment is, he'll be in and out, truncating all ties in the process once he gets what's necessary.

Kicking off his boots and pulling his legs up onto the bed, he rolls to lie on his side facing the door, silently hoping one of them comes for him. Hoping they'll try their luck. Rid of him before the sun rises the next day to just solidify their claim as so many before have tried and failed to do.

Shutting his eyes, he allows his body to seep out of consciousness.

-

Again.

The nightmare. Yet now, on the third run, something alters.

He makes it to the other side without the ground shattering beneath him.

Hauling himself up, he races to open the door. Time pauses. Feeling like his mind is moving ten times faster than his body, he can only mentally beg for everything to unlock and let him go.

Silence.

His hand grips the door frame. He pulls.

Nothing.

It doesn't move.

Something else does.

His breath is knocked from his chest in a vocal exclamation as a force crashes through the door into his torso with a sharp pain. The paper tears, wooden frame cracking apart paired with the crude sound of twisting flesh.

A chill.

Then warmth.

An ache.

His heartbeat pounds, sending a heavy pulse through his veins. The wave hits a spot in his gut where the heat has collected, the ache increasing heavily. His hand flies down, palm hitting a hard, smooth surface.

He stutters out a shuddering gasp, eyes blown wide. A gurgle bubbles in his throat as the cause retracts from his body slicked in crimson, the form it ruts from remaining in darkness. He staggers back a few steps, his heel hitting the edge of the splintered floor. Looking down to his hand, the cold air caresses along the saturated palm and fingers, the newly made orifice in his torso crying red. His sight latches onto the long, cone shaped object disappearing from view, dripping with gore.

There's a low rumble that shakes his very soul. Despite not being able to see what it is, he can tell by the sound that it's large. He hears a soft shifting in the blackness. A stomp.

Eyes.

The only thing he can manage is a strained gasp as the blank white canvases bore into him. Strength syphons from his legs and he falls to his knees, bloodied hand slapping down to catch himself before the rest of his body follows suit. He holds his left arm across himself, drops of life rolling down the tattooed head of the dragon on his wrist.

He strains, looking back up to the entity before him.

Why?

There's a long snake-like hiss, followed by a deep, chuffing growl. No answer is given to his mental inquiry.

Passing out, everything goes black.

-

He wakes, feeling numb as if his body had died and somehow left him trapped within it. He's still on his side facing the door of his room, the light having slipped behind the horizon, wind gone still.

These nightmares have been consistent. They can't be normal at this rate. Developing in such vivid detail, altering to such a degree that just doesn't make sense.

Silently, slowly, he pushes himself to sit up. He has no idea what time it is, and no desire to check. He knows he's been out for several hours by now. He simply remains in the room the rest of the night.

Meditating.

Resting.

If his body and mind allowed, he'd drift off to sleep again, luckily undisturbed by any further uncomfortable imagery. Perhaps the few hour bouts of unconsciousness weren't enough to form anything.

Soon enough, sunlight creeps through the windows with birdsong.

He's up.

He puts his shoes back on and walks to the door, exiting into the large stone and tile hallway. It's such a dreary place. Befitting, considering the organization. If it weren't for the open nature of some of the areas, he'd forget what the sun looks and feels like just by being inside for a few minutes.

He finds himself in the meeting room again, lighting unchanged. A windowless pit. He hears rather heavy footsteps approaching, paired with swaying leather. Turning to investigate, Reaper walks through the archway.

"You're early." Says the wraith.

Hanzo glares at him, not giving an answer. The other man just scoffs.

"I'm assuming you're ready now, then. I'm the one handing you the assignment, anyways." He pauses, turning from Hanzo to walk towards the table.

Hanzo sees Reaper's fists clench, the leather of his gloves squeaking under the pressure.

"Let's get this over with." Reaper growls.

He seems upset. That does seem to be normal for him, Hanzo has found, however there's a hint of reluctance in his voice. His demeanor has changed from when they first met. He doesn't hold the pride he did that night.

Hanzo follows him a few paces behind. Reaper grabs the back of his chair and rolls it off to the side to clear space to stand before activating the hologram from the table's center. As it loads up, the images from the afternoon prior remain. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small cube. It's purple and looks almost like a gem. He then tosses it to the hologram. It's caught like an insect in a spiderweb, beginning to break apart into pixels that consume the current visuals, melding into the neutral blue color of the display.

The images are replaced. There's a photo of a large glowing cube, sitting off the side of train tracks next to video of the train where its currently docked. It's a hyper train. High class transportation. There's one back in Japan as well. It goes so fast, it only takes a few hours to get from one side of the island to the other on it.

"There was a sting op interrupted a few weeks ago. The cargo was ejected from the train in the process. We have since recovered it, but the culprit is still out there."

Reaper places his hand on the table, a holographic keyboard fizzing to life underneath. He taps the space bar, shifting the visuals to display images of varying security footage. There's a man in them. Some of the footage is not very good quality, seeming to just be a static mess of a silhouette. Only one of them can Hanzo get better look at him. An overhead cam seeming to be in the alleyway of a bar.

A serape over his torso that flows the length of his back. A cowboy hat. Metal chest plate. He's got a cigar and is puffing it, seemingly without a care in the world.

"He was last seen in Monaco. He's been interfering with our operations for months. So at this point, he either joins us, or needs to be out of the picture."

The archer's trained eye sears every detail it can into his mind. Regardless, someone dressed like that would be hard to miss. The man looks straight at the camera before flicking the last of his cigar in its direction, and he can swear he sees him smirk. The next set of images takes over, only helping solidify the image. Now there's identification. Very specific identification.

Name, Cole Cassidy. Age, 37. American bounty hunter. Mercenary.

Not unlike Hanzo, it seems he's hopping around the world to take care of various jobs. However, his are bigger than just local gang activities. He's gone after Talon. And they want him shut down.

The wraith taps on the holographic keyboard before swiping his hand across the larger display, paired with a whoosh sound effect in response from it. There's a small notification that emits from his coat. Reaching inside, he pulls something out.

A wrist watch.

He hands it over to Hanzo, who furrows his brow before accepting it and looking it over. It's a normal looking watch, though when he presses in the dial, it produces a small holographic screen for him, displaying the file notification.

"This has everything you need for the mission. Keep coms with us on progress." Reaper explains.

Hanzo places it on his left wrist, looking up to Reaper as he secures it.

"Do I have a time limit?" He asks.

"No. Just get it done." Reaper replies, holding his hand out to the cube as it snaps off from the hologram and plants itself back into his grasp.

"Helipad. The sooner the better." He growls, walking past him as the hologram fizzles away. Hanzo looks back down to the watch, tapping on the file notification. It loads up on the photo of his target.

A leader must be responsible. Or else, he is nothing more than a parasite.

His father's words echo in his head, his voice one the archer's very own mirrors. A leader, his father was. A leader Hanzo was meant to become. But plans don't always run along the path that's paved. For Hanzo, it's been skewed. Maybe it has been all along. He's not sure where it began, nor where it will end. All he knows is the fight ahead. And ahead of him are no leaders. He walks down a dimly lit tile hallway behind the woman who greeted him, her hands still clasped behind her back, guards bordering them both. Upon one of her hands, metal nails, quite long and sharp attached to her glove. The other hand seems normal, a twin glove upon it yet void of the rather uncomfortable looking weaponry. Speaking of weaponry, they had forced him to hand over his bow, quiver and bag. This was something he very much did not want to comply with, but it remained a requirement.

He knows who the woman escorting him is after catching more of her features. He's read about her and heard her name mentioned before, among others.

Antonio Giordani, the Italian bastard who made a living off of the suffering of others. Stepping on them, just as the Talon soldiers have been doing back in Hanamura. He ended up dead via an underground group called Blackwatch.

Moira O'Deorain, the woman walking a few paces in front of him. A geneticist with an unsavory moral code. It makes him sick.

Augusto Vialli, the supposed person in charge. Nothing much on him besides that, other than he had connections with Giordani.

Akande Ogundimu, the real leader of this group. Aka, Doomfist. Well known and highly trained heir to a large prosthetic-technology company. He formed Talon to forward his own visions, though he is currently incarcerated.

Then, unfortunately, a lot of information just went dark. The secrecy did not go unnoticed, leaving the only option now to be observance. Learning. Adapting. Then slipping back into the shadows to take them out from the inside or die trying. Death will be with Hanzo every step of the way, regardless of if it takes him or not. A trail of red haunts him, tied like a string of fate laced around his neck synching tighter with each day that passes, sinking into his flesh like the cutting edge of a blade. 

He is led through a large archway. To his right, the room expands. The circular walls contain marble pillars, highlighted by red light seeping from behind them. The room is mostly empty, save for a long, black counsel table, a large circular structure above containing bars of artificial light hitting the matte surface. Coming to a stop, the guards split from him and Moira, two remaining inside taking each end of the entry. The other two depart through a mirroring opening just across from him, one Hanzo would have just passed right through had he kept walking as if it were just another part of the hallway. Moira pauses as the guards depart, only resuming her stride once they've taken their place, her footsteps echoing throughout the stone and tile room.

This leaves Hanzo standing alone. 

Behind him upon the wall, a large, dimly lit stone symbol of the organization he's just signed his soul away to towers above, consuming his presence beneath it's harrowing form. It's accent lighting claws it's fingers over his shoulders, masking his face in darkness.

He examines the beings who all stare at him expectantly. Leaning against the back wall is a female, long dark hair in a high ponytail and a helmet with several red lenses upon it. She has her arms crossed, staring at him coldly. In their respective seats, he spots the wraith as well as others he does not recognize. Another female with short, dark bobbed hair, blowing bubblegum to a pop as she raises a brow. A man with abnormally large shoulder armor compared to the seemingly second skin of the rest of the attire and floating rocks in his palm, looking up to the Shimada heir with an expression that definitely seems much nicer than the others. Moira takes a seat next to this individual.

At the very end of the table sits a man in a light brown suit, red tie, short brown hair and a well kept beard and moustache combo that clashes with the scruff of Hanzo's.

"Ah." He breathes. "Mr. Shimada! Welcome to Rome. I hope you found the trip tolerable. Please," he gestures to the chair at the opposite end of the table closest to Hanzo, "have a seat."

Hanzo begins walking forwards. Reaching the chair, he pulls it out and sits straight, utilizing the armrests at his side for his elbows, keeping one hand folded over the other in front of him.

"Let's begin, shall we?" The man says.

With a small hand gesture to one of the soldiers, they turn and exit, returning a moment later with a platter of crystalline glasses, a decanter of whisky in it's center. They walk over to him, setting it down and he waves them off to return to their station. He looks back to Hanzo, a small head tilt paired with a smirk.

"Whiskey?" He asks.

Hanzo's eyes shift to the decanter, then back up to him.

"No. Thank you." He replies, simply.

The man chuckles a little before picking one of the glasses and pouring himself a serving before looking to everyone else around the table for their respective answers to the offer. The wraith simply cranes his head to glare at him through the rather unsettling mask, which he accepts as a refusal. The woman in the back doesn't even acknowledge him and Moira holds her hand up in refusal as well. The man with the hovering rocks hums in reply.

"I'll take some, if you do not mind, Mr. Vialli."

Augusto Vialli. Now you can put a name to a face. So, this is the whelp in charge in Ogundimu's place. 

"Of course, Sigma." Vialli replies, pouring him a glass before pushing it his way as far as he can. 

The glass then begins shifting on it's own, the rocks falling into the man's palm as his fingers close gently around them, using his free hand to meet the object sliding over to him as if it were being pulled by an invisible string. Hanzo watches, silently intrigued by this until his attention is once again drawn to Vialli.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Augusto Vialli, Talon's counsel-head, though I do hold the leader title as well, you could say."

He raises the whiskey to his mouth, taking a small sip. He licks his lips before gesturing to the raven haired man with the glass, pointer finger extended.

"And you, sir..."

Vialli leaves a pause in the air.

"Hanzo Shimada." Hanzo replies. 

Playing the part, he gives a bend of his upper body into a bow for a moment, rising as the other man can be heard chuckling once again.

"Yes, yes. Hanzo. What a pleasure. I've heard so much about you!"

Vialli leans forwards in his seat as if trying to get a better look at him from across the table like one would stare at an animal through a cage at the zoo.

"Glad to have you on board." He smiles widely before abruptly continuing on.

"Well! Let me introduce you to your team." He stands from his seat, gesturing his head to his left towards the wraith.

"I know you've met Reaper. Your strike commander."

Hanzo looks to Reaper, meeting the blank eye sockets of his mask. Of course he knows. He didn't have a name at the time, but he won't forget it now. Especially since he was just referred to as his strike commander. The archer mentally growls at the thought of this man being directly in charge of him.

Vialli then points to the woman sitting a seat apart from Reaper with the short hair.

"Sombra. Our lovely hacker. Any information you need, she can get it."

"If you ask nicely." She replies almost teasingly, a Spanish accent to her words. Her eyes meet Hanzo's and he could swear her eyes glowed back at him. He pulls his gaze away.

Vialli sweeps his indication across the table past Hanzo and rests on Moira.

"Moira O'Deorain. Your medic. Gifted geneticist."

Gifted isn't how Hanzo would put that. She gives a small smirk to him, eyes piercing right through his person as if she saw something more interesting. It sends a chill down his spine.

Finally, Vialli's finger rests in the direction of the man who seems to have telepathy.

"Sigma. Our newest. Brilliant astrophysicist."

Sigma gives a small friendly chuckle after he takes a drink of his own whiskey.

"You flatter me, Vialli!"

He looks to Hanzo, a smile on his face. It feels so out of place compared to the dynamic of the others sat around him. A gentleness amidst a flock of vultures.

"Welcome to the team, Mr. Shimada! I look forward to working with you!" Sigma gives a respectful bow of his head.

Vialli returns his attention to Hanzo, holding both arms out to his sides leisurely.

"Behind me, our finest sniper. Widowmaker. I hear you aren't the worst shot yourself, hm? Bow and arrow, no less."

No look is spared to the woman he's talking about. One gaze earlier was enough.

"Now," he knocks back a long sip of his liquor before setting it down. "I assume you have questions. Perhaps you wish to negotiate the terms of this partnership with us. What am I getting out of this, you may ask. We are here to answer that."

He claps his hands together, beginning to pace slowly around the table, his trek starting behind Reaper. There's a small door that opens in the center of the table, emitting a large hologram from a lens within. Images fizz to detail displaying what Hanzo knows oh so well.

Home.

"As Reaper informed you, Hanamura is under our care. The uh... previous tenants, you could say, vacated the premises, and we saw an opportunity. A business opportunity. Surely, you can understand this. You're a business man, aren't you, Hanzo?"

 Hanzo's grip on his hand tightens.

"Of course. I was raised to take my fathers place. I am his heir." He replies, tone changing to reflect the one he's listened to in his youth during these exact types of situations. Strong and confident. Unfaltering.

"That's what I like to hear." Vialli says with a smile, his walk continuing, now passing behind Sombra.

"I recall we had a discussion with your father some time ago now about a mutual collaboration, of sorts." He pauses, "Given he is no longer with us and circumstances have altered, we would like to make you an offer. This," he gestures to the images and videos displayed in the hologram of Hanamura, "in exchange for assistance from someone as skilled as you."

Hanzo's head turns to follow Vialli, eyes meeting.

"My family is one of assassins, trained from the first moments they can learn. I see you already possess such attributes here. What is your use for my assistance?" He asks.

"What indeed, Mr. Shimada. What, indeed." The other man replies. 

Reaching Hanzo's side, he looks down at him. Hanzo wants to kick his legs out from under him just so he won't dare peer that angle at him. Alas, he keeps level, parrying the look with intensity.

Vialli continues with his explanation.

"We would hope to continue this relationship into the future once all is said and done. You handle a little something for us, we hand you back your estate. Help you get back on your feet. Obviously for at least a little share when the cogs are turning once again."

Hanzo breaks the eye contact to glance to the hologram. He's silent for a moment as he chooses his next words carefully.

"Hanamura is my home. It belongs to my family." He pauses, looking back to Vialli. "I will argue it's functional importance rests more upon me than outsiders. If you wish for business, business you shall have, but on my accord."

The suited man pats his hand on the table next to Hanzo lightly before he rises it in a dismissive manner.

"You're good. I'll give you that. Consider it done."

He continues his walk, at a faster pace this time as he makes the full circle back to his end of the table, obtaining his liquor. He's now centered through the transparency of the bartering chip between the two of them. He looks to the other team members, placing his free hand in his pocket before he sets his sights on Hanzo one more time.

"Do we have an accord?"

The Shimada heir takes a final gander at the team surrounding him, inhaling deeply through his nose, chest rising then slowly falling with a long exhale.

"We do."

Vialli slowly raises his glass. The sight of him through the hologram as he takes his final drink of whiskey leaves a sour taste in Hanzo's mouth. With a clink, he sets the empty glass down on the platter alongside the decanter, then giving another wave to the guards at the entrance.

"Please, show Mr. Shimada to his accommodations. We have much to discuss tomorrow. I would like to make sure he has a chance to get used to his new surroundings, perhaps explore a little. See to it he receives his new attire and his weapons back. He will need them."

The guards march up beside Hanzo and he stands, not even acknowledging them. He gives a shallow bow, not breaking eye contact with the snake of a man until he physically has to by turning to leave with his escort, leaving the soft glow of the display behind.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

Sight draws to a wooden hallway ahead of him. Lanterns hung off to the side like flickering tears from the roof above. He examines the walls, the ground beneath his feet, and then, a sliding paper door at the opposite end. Wait. This feels... familiar. It's deathly quiet, a chill in the air rising his hair to peaks.

He's been here before. Seen this before. As if his body is puppeteered by a force not his own, he begins to move familiarly as well, slowly treading down the walkway. A prisoner in his own form, he can only watch as once again events repeat themselves like the previous instance, only this time, it seems to drag by even slower. His running. The violent shaking of the floorboards. The blue haze. Turns out, the pace isn't the only thing different. Out of the corner of his eye, as he's dashing through the self-destructing area, he notices the lanterns that dangle ominously have changed color. Instead of a normal warm, orange glow, they're a chilling, icy blue. The walls also bleed black, the substance seeping from the top edge.

His mind fights to free itself, to grab the controls of this train before it hits the end of the tracks. His efforts are fruitless when his body simply will not respond to his mental commands. Once again, he finds himself staring down into the blue abyss in front of the doorway, it's distance seeming closer than before as if it's teasing him, making him believe he has a chance to reach it.

The stomping can be heard through the hissing vapor around him, sending a chill up his spine. Again, he's left with the same choice. Yet, another thought crosses by. What if he faced it? He doesn't even know what it is, how could he know the choice he's about to make is the right one?

His body chooses for him, and in the same motions as before, a few steps back are taken. Harsh running steps forwards. Arms slamming upon the other side. 

The same misfortune. 

The same end.

-

Hanzo wakes with a start, a gasp tearing down his throat. His body aches from the hard surface he had to settle for during the night, the vivid imagery of the dream still haunting his mind.

It rained all night. The splashing upon the concrete emitting a strong smell of petrichor throughout the clouded twilight hours. He isn't sure how much sleep he actually got, but it certainly wasn't much, telling by how heavy his body feels. Upon a rooftop underneath a solid metal platform is where he lie upon his back, his quiver used as support for his head. The sky's tears still trickle down, yet much less so than before. He was able to stay mostly dry, making it to this spot before it had really started to turn to a downpour prior to settling down for the night.

He tiredly drags his right arm up to rest on his chest, his heartbeat pounding through his fingers. He takes slow, deep breaths to center himself for a few minutes. Eventually, he rolls over onto his side to face his bow that lies next to him, reaching out to grab and drag it closer while he forces himself to his knees.

Picking up his quiver by it's strap, he swings it over his shoulder, situating it upon his back before doing the same with his bow, it's string belting across his chest. He stands, ducking out from beneath the metal platform, the light rain tapping gently on his body. Now that he's chosen this path through Talon, he suspects there will be many sleepless nights to come. His chin tilts upwards and he gazes into the dark clouds above, letting the liquid patter on his face. For a moment, eyelids shut, returning his amber hues to darkness. He feels the gentle breeze, listening. Soaking in the atmosphere of the city around him, the hum of hover cars, the music from shops and distant chatter below, he finds his resolve and levels his head. Reaching into his pouch, he pushes past the generator fuse and his phone to grip the small metal disk, pulling it out in his palm.

With a press of his thumb to it's center, it emits a soft beep. A few long seconds later, it spits out a small blue light cone, a form fizzing into view within it.

"Well. Made your choice, have you?"

The digitized face of the assailant from the day before stares right through him. Despite it's non-physical form, it still makes Hanzo want to launch his fist into it, his grip tightening on the small device.

"Just tell me where to meet." Hanzo spits.

"Right to the point. Commendable." The masked man replies, rather dryly.

"We'll come to you. Just stay put."

Tracking device confirmed, just like he suspected. Sucking his teeth behind his lips, Hanzo simply glares at the hologram before pressing the center of the disk again to hang up the call. He's only a couple buildings away from his estate and since he confirmed they operate from there now, they mustn't be long. He was right again as he saw a hovercraft emerge from the direction of the Shimada home not ten minutes later. It's much smaller than the dropship that left the night before. It's booming jets grow closer and closer until it cuts the rainfall from above, slowly lowering. He steps out of it's way, allowing it space to land. As it touches down, a door on it's side flushes open, revealing a solid white interior.

He takes one last look out towards the city. He mentally promises to return, finally taking his first steps towards the aircraft, once again, leaving everything he's known behind.

-

Hours pass.

Sitting with his arms crossed, belted into a seat in the back of the craft that's cut off from the cockpit, he tries to determine where he's being taken. The time that's already gone leads him to believe he won't be in Japan anymore. Despite his exhaustion, there's no way he can sleep. No way he can let his guard down. His hand grips his upright bow tightly, so much so his knuckles turn white.

More hours pass.

He occasionally rises from his chair to pace the thin seating area, which luckily has enough space for him to do so. He also fiddles with one of his arrows, spinning it around in his hand, sometimes holding his fist around the metal head and dragging the pad of his thumb across it's point with increasing intensity by each minute. He hadn't even realized he broke skin until he noticed a drop of red liquid rolling down the arrow's shaft.

He then returned to pacing.

Back and fourth. Back and fourth. Back and fourth.

Finally, he feels the decent of the craft, his head hanging as it touches down. He fishes out his phone. Seems it's already adjusted to the time difference as the digital numbers display 12pm. Feels like he's literally gone back in time when in reality, in this part of the world it's simply a different hour on the clock. He remained awake the entire time, luckily able to stave off passing out on a few occasions as almost an entire day passed him by in a windowless heap of metal.

He stands from his seat, eager to get off this damn hovercraft and see where he's been dragged off to. The door hisses open, splitting from center and slipping off to the sides allowing sunlight to flood in. He squints and cranes his neck away from the sudden direct light for a few moments as his eyes adjust. Once the initial pain of his pupils constricting subsides, he relaxes his eyes to look around. It seems to be just a relatively normal, yet very large helipad. Once he pans his eyes just a little more up, he finally gets to take in the city past it's edge. He steps out, taking several strides as he trains his eyes on the city in the distance. Rounded rooves, unlike the angled nature of the ones he's familiar with. Based off the rest of the architecture he can see, it's one hundred percent an entirely different country.

The hovercraft's door slides closed once more before it begins to power down. He turns, silver sash curling through the air behind him as he observes two soldiers marching their way over. The uniforms are the same ones as back home. Black base, red and white accents, pulse rifles in hand. Hanzo stands tall as they approach, sharp eyes shifting to one, then the other. Once they reach him, they step opposite of each other, splitting an opening in between them and keeping their bodies facing him, signifying they are there to escort him. He's silent. He remains still, staring past them to catch the sight of someone with a few more guards alongside them in a large doorway across the helipad. From where he stands, the first thing that catches his attention is their hair. Red. The figure is also rather lanky and their hands are behind their back.

He then begins to walk, bow in hand, striding gracefully towards the entry to the facility with the two soldiers tailing close behind. It feels like an eternity of a thirty second walk, though he now finds himself face to face with the figure in question. It's an older woman with features rather gaunt alongside heterochromia. One blue eye, one red. 

She speaks, her voice sultry and level.

The sky begins to darken with the setting sun, city nightlife beginning to come alive. The industrial structures block the orange glow from the horizon, already making it seem it is way later than reality. Neon lights highlight the perimeter of Hanzo's person as he leans back against the wall with arms crossed next to a ramen restaurant, a large alien mascot hovering above him, it's LED lights buzzing annoyingly. He needs to know if there's truly merit to the wraith's words.

Down the street is a large wooden gate, two sets of large wooden doors with a large symbol carved upon the center where they meet. Two dragons swirling in an ouroboros style, mouths open as if they're engulfing the tail of the other in a never ending cycle. At the sides of each doorway stand guards. The same uniforms he saw last time. They hold pulse rifles that cut through the darkness with an accenting glow. They seem to be talking to each other across the way. He can hear their voices over the city ambiance, but just barely. His mind snaps back to how he was told these people full on own this estate now and his chest fills with fire.

Like hell they do.

Turning his head to look straight ahead, his eyes shut for a moment. He takes a deep breath. So far, it seems superficial. He has no idea how deep this goes. However, it's his specialty to be able to find out. Opening his eyes, he makes sure he has the crowds to use to his advantage before he slinks away, slipping behind the ramen shop. He pulls up a mask over his mouth and nose, becoming enveloped in the darkness of the small alley.

Climbing up to a platform at the shops roof, he stays concealed, his actions practically silent. He hops over to the next building, gripping onto the railing and hauling himself into a wall climb to reach it's top. He gets low, feeling the arrows in his quiver shift quietly with his movement. Staying on the high ground, he paths his way into the estate via a back wall, finding himself entering a yard with a pagoda standing center, surrounded by out of season sakura trees.

There's more guards patrolling throughout. Much more than before. His plan is not to attack them and draw attention to his existence but just to observe. He expertly sits out of sight and listens to conversation between them, noting the atmosphere and any changes within it. They speak of supplies, weapons, more incoming recruits, nothing he hasn't heard before. He catches some speaking ill of the city's people, making fun of how they're practically just able to step all over them. How weak they are. This fills Hanzo with rage. One of his clans purposes was to protect the very people these motherfuckers insult. If looks could kill, his gaze would have slit their throats wide open.

This infestation has definitely grown. Seems his last visit rustled them, as well. They've increased their defense on top of everything. Though, that can't be all. Hanzo's eyes scan about the area. The way some groups carry or drag loads of boxes with large painted numbers, groups of six or more soldiers marching about and commands flying left and right makes it quite clear. The estate has become a base of operations. He mentally curses to himself, anger continuing to ache in his core. Making sure there's an opening in patrol, he shifts his position, quietly flinging himself across to the roof of a bridge leading to a side entry to the shrine room.

Landing as quietly as possible, he remains on the opposite side of the sloped roof, keeping low and holding on with one hand. Trailing it all the way to the shrine building itself, he presses against the wall and listens. There's a patrol passing underneath him. Once their stomping footsteps recede, he shifts his sight to the ground below, taking an opportunity to swing down over the short barrier and sneak inside. He instantly makes his way into the rafters, kneeling down on a large wooden support beam and scaling across it to position upon the back wall near the ceiling. The large mural of two dragons, one green, one blue on the opposite wall feel as if they're staring into his soul, despite their gaze not even looking his direction.

He sits in wait, not a single sound nor movement emitting from him. It's several minutes of silence, sharp gaze cutting over the room like a predator searching for prey. Then, what he was looking for emerges from behind the mural wall followed by a few more lackeys. Someone that looked different from the soldiers that litter his home. In fact, someone familiar. 

The wraith.

Hanzo's eyes lock onto him.

A metallic clawed hand raises with a finger extended outwards in indication, the deep, gravelly voice easily distinguished as it barks a command to the soldiers tailing him. They acknowledge his direction, splitting to continue walking ahead through the entry beneath Hanzo. The hooded man turns to his right, walking with his long black coat billowing behind to exit to a large outside balcony. Hanzo scales above to follow. Once he reaches outside, still keeping high ground, he sees the man stop a few feet from the balcony, raising a hand up to the side of his head to ping his communicator.

About a minute later, there's a rumble in the distance. It grows louder and stronger, almost vibrating the very environment around them. From overhead, a dropship cuts into view, turning for the door to face the balcony. The door is painted with the same symbol the armor of the soldiers have. It looks almost like the zodiac symbol of Aries, more formed into the letter T in a blood red color and pointed edges.

The door hisses open slowly. Once the entry is revealed, the wraith swirls into a black cloud, disappearing from sight before reappearing almost out of the ground in the same black haze just inside the ship, striding out of sight as the door pulls up to close behind him, the billowing of the hover jet engines rumbling in Hanzo's chest as the transport hauls away.

Once the the ship leaves his view, he inhales deeply.

The man was right.

Seeing it for himself all but confirmed that it seems his clan is no more. The realization hits him like a truck and he takes a few steps to the side, his back hitting the wall. He remains this way for several minutes until his trance is broken by a crack of light in the sky, a low rumble following it. With a huff, he pushes himself off the wall, returning the same way he came to exit back into the city, seamlessly replacing himself into the bustle, which now has begun to react accordingly to the incoming weather. Some have retreated inside, others ready umbrellas at their sides or pull up jacket hoods. Wind begins to rush between the skyscrapers, shifting anything loose and light enough to be bothered by it's increasing force.

He returns to the alleyway he had his encounter to find the silver disk has not moved from where he left it. He scrapes it up, placing it in his hip bag along with the generator fuse. The metals clink together softly as he drops it inside, belting the bag closed once more, then rising his face to the sky as another lightning strike splits it open, this time, a louder boom tailing it by only a few seconds. At this rate, he won't make it back to his shelter on the outskirts of the city. He's stuck in Hanamura until morning. He can't go back to his shelter even if he wasn't about to be stormed in, anyways.