starter for @thexdragonxbecomesxme
Zenyatta’s array blinked back to life, unusually dull even in the dim light of the room. His shoulders ached with an unusual pain signal, and his chronometers had just come back online. He had lost time.
Sluggishly, he surveyed his surroundings: a small, dark, nondescript room with barren walls and concrete floors. Right now, he was slumped against the wall opposite a heavy looking door. If he strained his auricular receptors, he could barely make out the faint whispery sounds of speech beyond it.
His memory came back to him in pieces, as did motor functions and other sensory receptors. He had been sent on a simple mission to disrupt a payload and ensure it didn’t make it to Talon’s drop-off. It was a standard supply run, one of several that Overwatch had targeted in the previous months. Except now, it was clear that the intel had been planted.
They had been ambushed by a swarm of Talon agents, and the result was that Zenyatta found himself herded away from his team by a group of them, unable to heal anyone and forced to fend for himself. If not for the small EMP device one of Talon operatives had been carrying - was that specifically to brought to neutralize him, he wondered? - he may have been the victor in that encounter. As it was, he had gone offline, and could only assume that he was then carted off in a transport vehicle in the confusion.
His mala were nowhere to be seen - they had probably been left where they were on the battlefield, having dropped to the ground once Zenyatta’s omnic energy stopped keeping them afloat. Now more clear headed, Zenyatta ran some diagnostics on his systems and realized with a start that he couldn’t feel his arms. Another scan confirmed it: his arms had been torn off. So that was why his shoulders felt so raw.
That seems a bit overdramatic.
Nevertheless, he could see the logic. He was now literally unarmed. Perhaps the Talon agents had been eager to take out some of their anger on him? Whatever the case, he must have made for a grisly sight: dented, scuffed, the blood of the Talon agents he had fought staining his chassis and torn wires sparking from his warped arm sockets. He was too low on power to hover, let alone fight his way out. Even worse, there seemed to be a cloaking field surrounding his location, preventing him from sending a distress signal to anyone.
He reprioritized the distribution of his power, shutting down movement in his legs and torso, devoting the majority of his meager reserves to his auricular receptors. All he could do at the moment was wait and listen. Overwatch must have been searching.
And if there was one thing he could rely on, one truth above all else, it was the certainty that his student would not rest until he was found.
