❝ How would you say you are progressing? It is in our interests to walk you out further than before, now that you have become more familiar with your legs. Of course, if such is too much exertion, then I will make a note and have you clear the usual distance, Mr. Shimada. ❞ Delicate fingers were wrapped around a pen, consulting a clipboard with words typed in a fine ink. She raised her gaze, peering at him through pale lashes, roseate lips twisting into a divine smile. It was kind, welcoming, considerate to her newest patient and scientific success. Dare it not be spoken aloud, for it should send the saints above weeping, but there was a medical interest on Angela’s end. Altruism did so bear its fruits in her heart, saccharine and ripe, though she was a woman of science, to believe that there was not an intellectual concern would be foolishness.
However, she looked ethereal with hair spun of sunlight and eyes that called to mind azure skies and crystalline seas. When she met his gaze, there lay nothing but kindness and interest in her latest project. If all went well, Mr. Shimada would be inducted into Overwatch. If all went well, that was. Angela was prepared to temper his volatile nature, however, her bedside manner impeccable no matter how often he called her a devil and a mad scientist.
Perhaps, in some odd sense of such insults, he was not entirely incorrect in the assessment.
It was in her private hours that she gave wry smiles to such recollections.
Genji felt irritable. Eyes glared down to the floor as he examined the prosthetic legs attached to a mockery of a body. The only human part left of him tarnished, scarred and damaged unable for him to view making him feel less and less part of the race by the moment. He knew better than to completely tune out the necromancer everyone had admired and revered, she’d been an expert on his condition now. Unfortunately he’d have to endure her presence until he could control this...set back.
¨ ... I can walk fine. ─ the concern for my legs is no longer a burden. ¨ The youngest Shimada had little idea for why this organization had gone to such lengths to return him to the world of the living. To allow this devil woman to toy with his spirit, and play god with his consciousness. Nevertheless, ever since his rebirth he’d been fueled with an unbridled rage. Hatred for his brother, hatred for this woman, and a disdain for the world he’d been forced back into.
He’d been granted not a moment of peace, when he was not being examined as a medical miracle he was cornered with the task of rehabilitation. Day in and day out, he’d go through the same routines of the organization, overwatch, testing his limits and pushing him to become a weapon. They’d told him they fought for freedom, they’d been the ones to save the world and by helping he would be a hero. Destroying the empire he’d watched his family grow and blossom for years, and perhaps it was the hatred for his brother passing into his new life that made him accept. Perhaps it was the fact these people had robbed him from a clean death to pass into the afterlife and be born anew. He’d found the blood lust to remove that stain of a clan from his home, or at least his tomb.
¨ are we finished. I’d rather be rid of you as soon as possible. I have already died once, i’d rather not be in contact with the devil longer than that. ¨
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