Due to new lore revealed in the Retribution event, Genji's bio will be updated a bit.
"Eehh, Onii-chan ... you sound like Otosan." Grouses the little boy, who can't be much older than five when Hanzo scolds him not to be running around the palace. His older brother, just eight years and groomed in the ways of oyabun. Unable to play with other children, and father would instead tell Hanzo he could go play with Genji if he so desired. But first, he would have to focus on the teachings. Genji was too young to begin to understand, but he was often dismayed when Hanzo couldn't join him and play as much. It led him to want to impress his brother, showing him his progress with the wooden kunai at the beginner's practice range. Sometimes, he would glower and tell Hanzo to stop talking to him like father. From a young age, at no fault of his own, Hanzo was made to become the heir of the clan. He was made to watch over his little brother. He wouldn't realize until later, how much of an issue it would become for their relationship.
"There is no time for games."
His brother's tone is succinct, but he recognizes the hint of wariness; he knows Hanzo wishes he could have the freedom to join him. Regardless, he always seems to ignore the stress creasing his brow, the burden gradually tensing up his muscles. His long, raven hair is tied back in a much more traditional way than the rebellious, short-spiked jade green he had chosen. Hanzo works on his form, never losing focus, even as Genji casually speaks to him. The truth is, Hanzo has been a prodigy since he was very young. Whether it was due to being forced to grow up so quick with training, or simply because he was born with it, Genji knows not. But he is certainly sharp, regardless of the weapon he uses. Fierce as the dragons they control whenever he is wielding a sword and deadly accurate with the bow.
When he is standing with father and the elders, and then practicing into the late hours of the night, he looks older and more mature than he is. Only twenty-one and the heir of a large criminal empire someday, making Genji just eighteen. He looks so much like father in his uniform. One day, he knows, Hanzo will own Hanamura. After that, he will probably be making headway in controlling Japan's criminal businesses. Sojiro told his sons about the Talon organization and how they had tried to reach out to him and recruit him. He felt their organization was not to his liking and they had differing views. That memory stuck with Genji, and he would sometimes thinkg about how his father and Hanzo would need to deal with powerful organizations wanting to work with them. It is a dangerous business.
"Any leisure time I use is to unwind outside of the public eye," Hanzo adds, metal singing as he slides the katana back into its sheath.
Looking much like a delinquent stretched out on the tatami, Genji snorts and props his elbow on a knee, averting his gaze to toy with his phone. Perhaps he was better off staying at the arcade right now, surrounded by his friends, beating his new high score. Better yet, meeting with the girl he'd been talking to. She likes him, and he knows his last name must be part of the reason. It's not a bad thing, either. The younger brother fully uses his reputation to his advantage, taking pleasure in all of the attention he receives from people his age. It is no secret that when Genji Shimada enters a bar or a club, all brimming with vitality and energetic charisma, there is a large following of friends in his wake.
Shimada. Don't tread on the dragon, lest you be burnt.
Scary as their reputation may be, he thinks the girl finds it thrilling and attractive. 'Kanae-chan, I'd like to speak with you privately. Is that ok?' He imagines his tone rolling, smooth as water. Her feather-light hair caressing his cheek, full, peach lips parted coyly. Silken breasts pressing against him. Imagining her melting into his arms, spending the night with her after they were both drunk on good sake. She is one of his many social exploits, to put it nicely.
He blinks out of the little fantasy as Hanzo gives him a frown of disapproval. "Do not dishonor us with your hedonistic ways and your constant skirt-chasing, Sparrow."
Chuckling smugly, Genji looks up from his phone. "Is that you or is that father speaking to me? Anyway, brother, why don't we practice now? I learn better and enjoy it more when I am sparring with you. We could have ramen after." And then his smirk grows into a grin as he pockets the phone and tucks his hands under his biceps, tipping his chin up and arching a brow. "Sakewo ogoru yo." I'll treat you to sake. Hanzo scoffs.
"And," Genji adds, brimming with delight, "if you lose, you must treat me to sake instead. Fair?" Despite all of his rebellious hobbies, his very social lifestyle in comparison to Hanzo's strict one, he is still a warrior at heart. Coddled by their father, but taught the same way to fight and control the dragon.
Again, Hanzo reminds him of his position, "There is little time for such activities." He knows Hanzo means there is little time for the next heir of the clan, the one expected to bear the burdens, to shoulder the responsibilities. However, his older brother shakes his head and cracks a rare smile. "Watashiha sou kantan ni haibokushi nai suru." I will not be defeated so easily, claims Hanzo, reaching for his katana. Genji has already leaped to his feet, stance ready, reaching for the katana on his back.
"Yosh! We shall see, brother!"
watch your sin, cain,
i'm your brother.
The Shimada are known for their traditional professionalism and their reputation within politics. They have grown from arms dealers to dealing in illegal substances, and more. Depending on where some people stand in politics and how close they are to the truth, some may know just how efficient they are at taking care of problems. Whether it's putting pressure on their rivals through blackmail and extortion, dealing with their allies in military-grade arms and traditional weapons, or outright murdering problematic political people in cold blood. They mask their heinous activities behind their careful business sense and intelligent negotiations.
He watches his brother grow to become the ideal heir, the man they sculpted him to be from a young age. He is a brilliant tactician, not unlike the fierce historical character for which he suspects his father had been thinking of; Hattori Hanzo, otherwise known as Oni no Hanzo, the Demon Hanzo. The elders constantly praise him for his natural aptitude for leadership and displaying his innate understanding of assassination strategies and tactics. The more Genji tries to convince him to go out into the village with him to unwind, have a drink, play some games, the more it seems Hanzo is against these ideas because he simply cannot enjoy himself. Genji had known this day was fast approaching when Hanzo always seemed to think there was no more time for him to enjoy that part of life.
However, he would make time. He made an effort to see Hanzo outside of their prying eyes, away from the elders, away from the public. Genji brought sake and wine with him, encouraging him to share his complaints. Hanzo did tell him of how stressful it is to be in his position. Though they had their disagreements, sometimes, all they had was each other. Hanzo didn't feel ready to take on father's position, though he masked it well. Especially not with all of the burden being pushed onto him. The best Genji can do is let him know he is there for him, let him know he can confide in him.
There is a painful, ominous distance beginning to grow between them.
Brought onto them by the cold-hearted men both putting aggressive expectations on Hanzo and giving him advice, growing much more intent on molding him as their father grows ill and bedridden. In moments of hot frustration, he bears his brother lashing out at him in genuine anger. Before, it had been nagging disapproval, wanting to see Genji fix his actions. His harsh words were meant to help him grow, but now, his words are full of tight callousness. "You are a degenerate fool!" Barks his brother, teeth bared. His words are bitter vitriol when he calls him out on his dishonorable and rebellious behaviors, but he can sense the underlying pain in his tone. Hanzo still cares about him, but being oyabun-in-training has put a strain on their relationship. He tells him he's just hurting the clan, killing their father with his selfish, shameful recklessness and disgraceful behavior. Genji misses the times Hanzo would help him to bed, sitting beside him while he was a drunken fool.
"And you are letting yourself be manipulated into a useless, petty, cold-blooded pawn!" Genji retaliates, letting the anger wash over him. He tells Hanzo how pathetic it is to let the elders use him in such a way. He will feel guilty for his words later, knowing Hanzo never had a choice. He was born first, and therefore he was made to shoulder the burdens. Hanzo never got to choose to play with other children, to leave the palace and go clubbing just for the sake of it. Genji never had any desire to climb the crime syndicate ladder or rule Japan on blood money. He isn't like that, no matter how much his family wanted to raise him to be like them. The clan elders noticed this but didn't have the power to do much. However, he still has no remorse for some of the criminals they punish; but he refuses to make it a lifestyle.
The clan would not have the power to do much about Genji's rebellious streak until their father passed away. Though he had been old and sick, at least his passing had been merciful. It happened in his sleep; hopefully with a restful sleep. Breathing in, and then out, and then in again, to Heaven. If his father was fortunate enough to make it there; leading an honorable, though deadly clan wrapped in bloody dealings may have cursed his soul. Genji often wonders if it was the burden that made their father so ill. The clan was also ready to be rid of him, ready to take on a new, younger and more fierce leader.
man and sin, cain.
love each other.
He overlooks their prior disagreements to stand across from his brother when Hanzo pays his respects at the funeral. Without their father's powerful presence, the place feels so empty. It feels unwelcoming, tremendously different. Genji approaches him not with bitterness, but searching for his strength; squeezing his shoulder. Hanzo nearly flinches away from the touch, but eases up. Hot tears well up in Genji's eyes. He had never been as stony and stern at hiding his emotions as his older brother. Hanzo refuses to show this sort of emotion to anyone, and rarely still, towards his brother. He doesn't know if Hanzo will weep once he is by himself. It doesn't matter how someone grieves. What matters right now, is that their father is not coming back.
Squeezing harder, a hot tear breaks and rolls down his youthful face. He can't say anything until the funeral is over. It's infuriating that, even at the funeral, they are being judged by their clan. The elders are traditional and feel like a show of emotion is weak. They judge him harshly with their callous glances and bowed heads. After the ceremony, Genji stays with Hanzo. "Are you ... all right, brother?" He speaks only after he is somewhat confident his voice won't break. After a moment of silence, Hanzo turns his head. Neither looking at Genji nor their father's body. "I was expecting years. Genji, this is all on us now. We must not dishonor his memory."
The hand that had beeen on his brother's shoulder becomes a fist. He is upset, not just distraught. Because he knows the clan couldn't care less about their leader's passing, no matter how powerful or respectable he had been in his life. They offer their prayers and speak of honoring Sojiro Shimada, but his only sons know the lies are carefully put together to the public. His breathing catches, teeth gritting. Furiously rubbing at his face, sniffling, he turns. He needs to think, knows how close he is to lash out at the elders. Hanzo doesn't need that kind of dramatic attention, especially not with his new title as head of the clan. He wants to stand with his brother but knows it's going to be impossible. Hanzo has inherited a dangerous world wrapped in politics and blood. That isn't how Genji wants to live his life.
Both of them need reassurances, but everything is about to change. Hanzo won't be permitted to show grief, he won't be permitted to complain about his sudden position. They had both expected this to happen years later; the sudden illness and old age catching up with their father happened too quick. While Hanzo has no choice but to take up his new position, Genji turns to exploiting his social throne again. He runs away from Shimada castle for days at a time, sometimes weeks. It becomes more bothersome than not, and the elder clan members disdainfully look at it as a disgraceful show. They claim to think he's seeking attention, the wrong kind of attention.
When they start monitoring their cameras, speaking with their intel connections on his whereabouts, they find the youngest Shimada to be having all manners of drunken escapades around the local bars, clubs, and arcade. He finds relief in the company of his friends and companions, because if anything, he wants to escape the Shimada chokehold by building relationships. However, his bitterness begins to break through. He reveals too much about their business and constantly dishonors the clan's reputation with his playboy lifestyle. After his father's passing, more often than not, the youngest Shimada was seducing drunken individuals for a place to stay.
When he finally returns to Shimada Castle, sober enough to want to speak with his brother, he cannot help but notice the way his former advisors look at him. Their eyes meet his; hateful, bitter, but at the same time, they know something. They know something he doesn't, but Genji doesn't have any fear. He needs to speak to Hanzo, vent his frustrations, and perhaps ... he can convince him to leave the clan altogether. Perhaps they could run away and travel the world. Genji had always felt like he belonged somewhere else, and Hanzo could find relief from the burdens of the clan.
While searching for his older brother, he meanders on into the part of the palace with the traditional murals of their clan's symbolic dragons. The dragon of the north wind and the dragon of the south wind, fangs bared, claws open, entangled in battle. For centuries, his ancestors were blessed with dragon spirits. In that moment, one of his earliest memories comes to him. A pleasantly warm blanket was wrapped snug around his body, and though he was half comfortable, he was upset. He can only infer he had been napping, until realizing no one was around. Perhaps he was less than two years old because he couldn't move very well. With frustration and anxiety bubbling up within the baby, he cried hard. Tears blurred his squinted vision, fists clenched and pudgy cheeks soaked. As he wailed, a blurry green light began to appear. He realizes now, it had been his dragon. Gently, soothingly, the spirit snaked around him and seemed to barely nuzzle his face as though to calm him.
He had not been alone crying for long. Hanzo appeared, just four years old at the time, carrying a child-sized bow and arrow. Setting the bow down, he took one of his little brother's balled up fists in his hand. "Otoutochan," he said slowly, eyes wide in disbelief, as he watched the dragon slowly disappear. "It is okay. Be calm now."
His mahogany gaze flicks up to the crimson-framed wall scroll beneath the mural, where four kanji in idiomatic expression, ryuutoudabi reads 'dragon head, snake tail'.
the light goes down,
a mark from god.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickle in warning as he realizes he is no longer alone in the temple. He knows Hanzo's presence well and trusts his brother to join him for a much-needed conversation. Genji waits silently, gazing at the scroll and reflecting on where his life had gone. "I've been wanting to speak with you, brother. I am sorry for leaving so abruptly." He apologizes as he hears the soft footfalls signaling his brother's approach. The younger continues to face the scroll, gathering his thoughts and preparing himself for what he will say. They haven't had a chance to share open, serious conversation since father's passing.
Hanzo uses a sword, because he knows in his heart, if he uses a bow, he'll never be able to wield it again. The elders had spoken to him while Genji was gone, told him to do what his father was too weak to do. Hanzo seems to be deep in thought when Genji speaks to him, as though he is torn. Without a doubt, torn up about their father's passing and the burden being put on him so suddenly. Hanzo is standing behind him now, silent. Genji frowns, brows drawn together in confusion. Something ominous prickles at the nape of his neck, rolling down his back, tightening in his stomach. Just as he begins to turn, a very abrupt, very shocking surge of pain comes cleaving down through his right shoulder.
The pain bites hard, driving itself through his chest, tearing mercilessly through his arm. A wet, grisly noise reaches his ears and he suddenly screams and chokes on a mouthful of blood. It splatters against the scroll and he watches a piece of blood-spattered paper gently fall from being cleanly sliced by the tip of the blade. The bloody piece fluttering to the floor is what makes him realize this is not a dream.
The blade rips out of him. The next thing he hears before quite registering the feeling is the awful sound of a tree branch snapping wetly. Except it is not a tree, it is his arm. Hanzo's katana is sharp as ever, one of the highest grade swords the Shimada could afford to forge together. Sharpened and flawless, it cleaves through him like butter. A phantom pain already screams in the bloody stump of his shoulder as the sickening sound of his severed arm hits the floor. Genji frantically staggers forward, whipping around to face his killer, still praying it wouldn't be Hanzo. Pleading with his eyes, roaring in pain, tears of heartbreak and anger well up and gloss over his gaze. Why? "Why must it be this way?!" He doesn't want to die; not like this, not at his brother's hand.
Bile begins to rise as he sees the stern, unfeeling callousness in his expression. It is hard to read; whether he is angry at Genji, the situation, or all of it, he doesn't quite know. And there is also pain in the way his eyes narrow. What he does know, is that he is no longer looking at his brother. He is looking back at the solitary dragon, the killing beast. He wants to reason with him, but the look on his face tells him there will be no talking. He can't bear it. The elders drove him to do this, right? Suddenly, Genji's chest aches. His heart feels as though it has been ripped apart as Hanzo lurches for him again. A scarlet slice splits across his handsome cheek, and then another. He's so shocked by Hanzo's anger and murderous intent, that he doesn't realize he's bleeding until the wetness rolls down his face. Eyes wide in disbelief, he parries as best he can with his own katana.
He moves with all of his training and expertise, without hesitation. Grief creases the younger Shimada's expression. With all of the training he has done, he can't bear to use his blade against his brother this way. This isn't sparring, this is full of hatred and anger, bitter anger.
Blades clash violently again and again, but his movements are too reluctant in comparison to Hanzo's precision. Before he has time to think, he's having trouble breathing. Excruciating pain bites into his chest as fabric splits and blood flecks across the floor. Bitter bile and blood, hot and sickening, cloying, fills his mouth, soaks his tongue and stains his teeth.
"Onii-san .... onegai itashimasu."
The expression is a very humbling expression, putting himself lower than his older brother; imploring him one last time, 'please'. As in, desperately asking him, don't do this. Desperately fluttering against his brother's ferocity, he brings his one remaining arm up, sword in hand, to guard. He's not careful, nor is he quick as he should be, nor is he thinking straight, as he meets Hanzo's gaze and his sword is knocked free. Metal ominously clashes against the ground, splitting wood as it hits the outdoor wall, and clatters several meters away from him.
you're shaking now,
your brother's blood
He tries to tell himself this isn't Hanzo. Although they had bitter disagreements, he thinks of the good times they had. When they were together, just the two of them talking. Choking on blood and anguish, he frantically reaches for the wakizashi in order to better parry in defense. He resorts to fighting with his wakizashi as he scrambles not to be knocked off of his feet, all the while going into shock. Must be losing almost a liter of blood by now, the way it pours hot against his clothes, soaking into his uniform. He should be running, that would be more rational. If he doesn't, he's going to die from the blood loss.
Finally, he breaks away in an abrupt leap, sprints, and snatches for the bloody katana. The one still being held in his severed arm. He doesn't want to use the dragon against him, but if he must in order to get through to him, he will. Hanzo is already two steps ahead of him. Across the room, dread falls upon him as he hears Hanzo roar in anger; "Ryuuga waga teki wo kurau!" Unleashing tremendous screaming dragons against him, commanding them to devour him. Twin dragons erupt from his arm tattoo, frigid and callous. Perhaps like how his brother has become. Their great maws gape open, teeth bared, as they rip through him.
They drag through his flesh, digging at his very soul, freezing and tearing him apart at the same time. He is knocked off of his feet, sent sailing back a couple meters and crashes into the back wall with the mural. He never thought he would use the dragons on him. Not even when they were training, did he unleash such a power on him.
He chokes on his pain, his grief, and growing hatred. The training room looks like a bloody massacre, his blood spraying on the floors, soaking into the tatami as he staggers and loses his footing. Finally, the last feelings going through his mind before sinking to the ground is both grief and anger. Wretched anguish and outrage. Blood gurgles and steadily fills his mouth with no other taste but bitter metallic as he tries to breathe. His heart is racing, and then throbbing slowly, for it too, has been grievously damaged by his brother's sword. He's not sure at what point it's supposed to stop, but his world goes black shortly after. Just before his vision swims to darkness and he hears nothing but the struggled sound of his wet breathing, he hears another sword furiously drop to the ground as Hanzo turns his back on the grisly massacre. It feels like hours pass as cold death begins to creep into his mutilated body, but he doesn't have hours to live.
what have you done?
your father's boy,
your mother's son.
It seems the clan has chosen to burn the evidence on a funeral pyre, reduce him to ash. The Shimada have perfected this into an art; ridding the scene of bodies, cleaning up the evidence. He only vaguely understands their plans as one man grunts while holding him by the good arm, grousing about the bloody mess. "Kuso. If I would've known I'd be cleaning up shit today, I wouldn't have worn my good suit. Oni no Hanzo truly has no heart," sneers the voice. "This is overkill."
They plan on holding a funeral for the public, much like his father's. They probably plan on acting respectful, pretending to offer prayers, perfecting their toxic facade. He slips in and out of consciousness again as gunfire breaks out and the men shout in alarm. The hard ground slams up against him again, and he barely has the minuscule energy to grunt in pain.
Another man shouts, tone deep with an American accent. "Mercy!" He doesn't understand the man's tone, but it doesn't sound like he's pleading for his life. Gunfire cracks and booms. The clan's men fall from perfect headshots by a sniper. Shortly after, there is a woman's voice and it sounds like she's running. The American speaks in a booming tone again, "Stabilize him and get him to the chopper asap!" For a moment, it's just nonsense and he wonders if this is the point he's losing his mind from the blood loss. There are moments his vision swims in and out of focus, and he sees what for all the world appears to be a hallucination. It appears an angel has come to escort him to Heaven, and she has a caduceus staff and golden blonde hair.
Golden light and healing warmth caresses his tattered body. Technology has moved forward in leaps in bounds. With the technology most hospitals are equipped with now, they have the research and resources to heal life-threatening injuries on the spot. This warmth both soothes his body, clots up the gaping wounds, and begins to slowly mend together the large gashes. "Patient is Shimada Genji, male, appears to be in his early twenties." A familiar woman's voice reports sustained injuries as she checks his pulse and breathing. "Contact HQ, I need an operating room prepared with cybernetics." He sinks into darkness again.
They stabilize him and stitch his injuries long enough to ask for his consent. Without telling him the grievous extent of his injuries, the doctor tells him he may not be able to use his legs. But there is a way for him to walk again. Overwatch's advanced medicine and cybernetic department offers him new legs and an arm. Where his legs should be, is a tarp with subtle bloodstains from the wrapped stubs of muscle that could be saved. The horrific sight of his legs puts him in a dizzy state. He touches the plastic face mask with his good arm, and a jarring memory splits his skull with a headache. His brother has killed him. Hanzo's bitter vitriol yelling in his head, screaming dragons with gaping jaws ripping through his body. Cold, relentless steel biting into his chest, his stomach, cleaving through his limbs. His brother has killed him, and the realization brings emotions too intense for him to handle in his recovery. Anger boils hot in his gut, rolls through his chest and burns his tongue like fire. In his spirit, resides the dragon he may manipulate and call upon. He has never felt such a strong connection to the ferocity of the dragon, and he wants to unleash its wrath. For revenge.
"I consent." His tone is weak, barely audible. "Please. Do what must be done." He knows in his heart, he would not cope well with being unable to walk. Despite his injuries, they have the technology to grant him an enhanced, though ominous and unknown way to function. He is a man barely alive, and they can give him back what he lost.
The operation must be careful and tedious, and the work takes a couple of days to complete. When he opens his eyes again, he does not see father. This is neither Heaven nor is this Jigoku, because he's not being burnt in a pit or drowning in a black sea under blood red skies. Instead, he is gazing blearily up at the air conditioning units running through the ceiling. When his gaze swims out of focus for a moment, blinking, his eyes settle on the image of a large cartoon kitten. The younger Shimada's brows knit together in confusion at the somewhat ridiculous image, and then he turns to see the other side of the room. There is a small window above the door. When he breathes, his lungs ache, but the air is cool and filtered. Beside him, stands a machine with bags of air, bags of liquid, and a heart monitor. Medical equipment beeps steadily and he follows the tubes running from the machine, to his nose and taped to the artery in his left arm.
What am I? Man, or machine?
His body isn't the same; his heart beats differently. His muscles have been salvaged; grafted with artificial flesh, electrical wires and steel joints. His muscles scream in pain as he slowly moves, finding it extremely difficult to tell his own legs and arm to move. It's as though something is there and not connected. Frantic, angry and confused at the same time, he pulls off the mask with his good arm. Though he told the doctor to go through with the operation, his mind still has trouble wrapping itself aroun d the sight of metallic digits and a set of cybernetic legs. They look like real limbs, except grafted with metal. The medication hasn't completely worn off yet, and while he is not completely lucid, he has a meltdown. Crying out in alarm at the metallic digits, he tugs the tubes out of his mouth and nose. His voice is even metallic, not quite the same. Blood dribbles onto the floor as he rips the IV out of his arm. The machine flatlines, setting off an alarm, and Genji frantically yells as he feels a panic attack wreak havoc on his mind. He scrambles around on the mattress, unable to control his new limbs.
Two, then three faces quickly appear at the door and rush into the room as he falls in a tangle off of the bed and crashes to the ground. There is a man in a blue Commander's uniform and another man in a black beanie with a matching black uniform. The doctor is the angel he had seen before, and though he recognizes her, the phantom pain surges in his limbs. He can't erase the images of mechanical prosthetics, the hidden stumps where his limbs used to be.
"Genji, please calm down." The doctor softly coaxes, reaching for him. "You are in the Overwatch recovery ward. We are here to help--" He shouts in protest, scrambling back, knocking into the machinery, and managing to use the bed as leverage so he can climb to his feet. It doesn't do much as his metallic joints kick and squirm.
"Take it easy. We don't want to put you through any more pain than you've already dealt with." The man in the blue uniform is the American he heard in Hanamura. Vaguely, he begins to recall more of these familiar voices. They saved him, they want to help him. He was a man barely alive, Hanzo didn't manage to kill him. He owes them his life, but right now, he just isn't thinking straight enough to consider that. The commander grabs his good arm, meaning to help him into bed, even if the Shimada is having a meltdown. "Sawaranaide kudasai!" He shouts angrily for the man not to touch him, teeth bared, violently swinging at the Strike-Commander. The man dodges with ease, and lets go of him once he's on the mattress again. Then, he holds his hands up in a careful show of harmless peace.
"Easy. You've been through--"
"He's great. I can't wait to train him."
The doctor snaps, "Gabriel, you're not helping. Get out!"
He doesn't need a sedative. His body is too tired, still recovering from the injuries and the blood loss. He finally settles down on the bed, passing out. Dr. Ziegler administers more painkillers, and he sleeps for a couple more days. When he comes to, he is quiet and refuses meals. But he does thank the doctor for her saving his life, and apologizes for his outburst. She smiles in understanding, never judging him for his actions, and only tells him they wanted to give him a second chance. The week passes by before he sees Strike-Commander Morrison again, who apologizes for the stressful first impression. At that point, Genji is much more lucid and humble about what their team went through in order to save his life.
Different Commanders sit down and question him each day, trying to be patient enough not to prod and interrogate him. As the youngest son of a Yakuza empire, he has precious intel they need. The Shimada are high priority on their radar. He meets the Strike-Commander and his Captain, Ana Amari. He later finds out by going over his hazy memories, that she was the sniper who took down the men attempting to dump and burn him. She is softer and kinder like Dr. Ziegler, and he enjoys her presence when she visits him out of concern and not only for information. She is like the mother he didn't always have. Genji and Hanzo didn't know their mother for long. Hanzo was five making Genji just two. They have both been teased about being birthed by different women. Sojiro told them that was a lie, but even now, he wonders about the truth.
Clever as he always has been, he knows his purpose here is to be an asset for Overwatch. He realizes that with each new prosthetic enhancement, as the neutral silver and metallic colors take on the Blackwatch insignia with sleek new red and black plating, that he is going to be their weapon. He is a means to dismantle the Shimada empire, tear them down one by one, become less man and more machine. He is the only one with the knowledge and ability to slay his clan, and they are asking him for his cooperation. He lets his instincts guide his mind, allowing his anger to constrict around his heart and unleash the relentless violence he had always been capable of, but chose not to do.
His rage feeds into more rage, and the revenge never fulfills his rage. He does not feel sated, even with all of his new assets and his advancements in weaponry. Hanzo was nowhere to be seen, and he can only guess that means he left the clan shortly after killing him. Raw, bitter grief and anger claw at his heart and tug his stomach again. Genji isn't sure what he was going to do upon running into him again. Would he really kill him in revenge? The dragon's wrath and anger boiling inside him tell him yes, without hesitation, strike him down like he tried to strike you down.
The Shimada are no longer strong enough to rebuild their empire. The name leaves a bitter bile on the back of his tongue, leaves his eyes blazing with hate. His cybernetic eyes have red lights with a piercing gaze. He has kept his hair cropped short and jet black, unlike his easygoing youthful days. Overall, the cyborg scares some of his fellow team mates with how crass and violent he can be. All sharp edges, rebellious, careless anger and dismissal. It's no wonder why Reyes lets him do what he wants most of the time, because he is dangerous and hellbent on doing things his way. Regardless, he is most certainly focused on every mission Reyes gives him. He works with dedication, and sometimes, a way to distract his mind. With time, Genji had warmed up to some of his team mates. Tracer became one of his fondest friends; a bright, energetic young woman capable of challenging his cybernetic speed. Jesse McCree was humorous with his western accent and his cowboy charm. He made working in Blackwatch a lot more interesting. Moira's cunning intellect and sassy nature is amusing, but at least she is focused on her job and is always ready to aid them.
He has come a long way from the youth he was in Hanamura, he believes himself to be a weapon now. With the Shimada clan gone, he spends more and more time thinking about his purpose. Though he is glad to work with Overwatch, he still deals with constant struggles about how he has been rebuilt into a machine. People criticize him for being part omnic, and Reyes claims all of the cybernetic enhancements are making him look too much like the 'tin cans' they fight. Reyes never wanted him to look omnic, but regardless of his Commander defending him, he cannot help but question it. Where should he point his sword now? If he is a weapon, who should he be fighting? He's not sure working with the Strike-Team will help alleviate his growing anxieties and his distraught feelings. He no longer feels like he belongs.
He needs to search for a better purpose. As Overwatch faces allegations, judgment and they barely manage to succeed in containing the Uprising incident, Genji decides to leave. He takes his new set of armor with him, abandoning the blood red neon for the green and silver. Green is a nice change, he has always liked green. It is a color that speaks to his soul, and the color of his dragon. At one point, he thought he would try dying his hair again. However, he doesn't think it matters anymore. There is no point; he just isn't the same man he used to be. Now he is twenty-eight, and he travels the world for seven more years. It was worth the travel, because he finds himself settling in the beautiful snow-capped mountains of Nepal.
There is a shambali monastery of Omnic monks. He has heard these monks accept their bodies and believe they have spirits. Genji wonders if he still has a spirit, after becoming less human and being crafted into a weapon. When Zenyatta finds him, at first, he encourages the wandering cyborg to join him in the temple. Genji is quick to dismiss him and reject his kindness. However, the omnic monk has all of the time in the world. He is endlessly kind and patient with Genji, and continued to visit him. In time, he learned to be more patient. He learned that Zenyatta could show him how to meditate on his anger, let it go and find true inner peace.
He finds forgiveness in humility, calms the storm of rage and strife in his heart. He finds peace, and accepts a life of tranquility. Through Zenyatta's sage advice, he finds he still loves his brother, and wants only to help him change. Ten years have passed since their parting, and he knows Hanzo bears the burden of having murdered his brother.
Zenyatta shows him the way of Bushin. It is a philosophy and a lifestyle, by which the warrior seeks peace and uses his skills in combat to help others. Genji carves the kanji into his armor and continues to travel the world as a saved man.