#mercci

White: I’m really shy to talk to you, but I would like to write with you sometime!

*BEEP* 4-AM.

Genji snapped up from his hospital stretcher like a metal bear trap, the human remains of his body oozing with a nasty, cold sweat, the metal parts pristine and uncompromised, save for a few vent ports that quickly whirred shut, the jade cylinders inside spinning around and drilling back into his body. The glow quickly faded as his body and breathing returned to normal, his feet turned to one side of the stretcher before leaving the bare comfort of the makeshift bed. Genji had lost track of how many times he woke up from night terrors, their frequency far too high to want to count anymore. Without a doubt, the Doctor was on her way to see if he was okay, his body having been tuned to medical monitors against his wishes.

*BEEP* 4-AM.

Long months had passed since Genji had finished his rehabilitation prior to his betrayal by his brother and his death. Forsaken from his end, the Shimada had been strapped to a metal body that perverted nature and his way of life. One of the only things that reminded him that he was still human was his hair: Patchy, ungodly dry, riddled with split ends, and dyed green.

*BEEP* 4-AM.

The ninja, now under the protection of Overwatch, quietly suited up and covered his vulnerable, human parts with plates of armor, each housing various tools of death and destruction for this way of life was the only thing he had left. He exhaled loudly and tried to compose himself, Angela Ziegler undoubtedly down the hall as footsteps grew increasingly louder.

      & ;; AS SOMEONE WHO’S EXTREMELY STUBBORN, Morrison would never really give up in the midst of an argument he’s losing, nor would he give up the fight simply because he got rather badly injured. He was just too hard-headed for that, he had to keep moving forward, and to keep fighting.

      WHICH, IN THIS CASE, WAS something he was doing now; he was completely ignoring the multitude of wounds he had sustained, and refused to call over Mercy. Instead, he had his biotic field down, and he was continuing to fight, too headstrong to back down just yet. His mind was set on getting to that point, and if that meant barely surviving an onslaught of attacks, then so be it.

      THE SLIGHTEST AMOUNT OF RED was dripping from his forehead, and some wounds he had sustained to his body stained his clothes a deep red, highlighting where he was hurt and how bad it was. Not all of his wounds were bad, but if he didn’t get proper medical attention, he was going to be in trouble.

      EVENTUALLY THE SOLDIER FOUND THE time to actually call out for healing, staggering back from another blow and retreating into cover for a breather. With his luck, Mercy would be there any second.