She had thought losing Yasha was the hardest thing she would ever have to endure -- watching as he (in the suit) took a nosedive. One ending in a fiery crash that they had all been certain no person could survive. Even a search of the site had turned up nothing but piles of ash and pieces of dented metal. He was gone.
Or so they had thought. But the fight this morning had led Zarya down a different path, given her a different train of thought. There was a shooter. A man...well, he was barely more than a boy, but still. She knew him. They could do anything they wanted to him -- dress him up, hide his face, but she’d still know him.
Yasha.
Grabbing weapons from the armory, she began loading up duffle bags. Yasha was alive and like hell she was going to sit around and wait. No. She was going to get her boy back.