Even here, it spread like the plague against those that man wouldn’t even think to understand, nor would they ever try. To Genji’s knowledge, it was a recent phenomenon. Yes, a phenomenon. He concluded it as such, considering how the city abducts in humans and non-humans alike. One would think that despite their difference, people would have found a way to work with one another to escape this dystopian prison.
But it was not meant to be. A sickness found its way into the hearts of men and special individuals alike, and the tension had built up to a breaking point, and the cyborg had come across the ugly result of that.
He preferred to stay in the shadows. To watch over the masses and do his work without leaving a single trace of him. He was Overwatch’s silent guardian at best, and their assassin at his worst. And the situation unfolding in front of him reminded him of the omnic crisis and its aftermath. Even here, synthetic life couldn’t live in peace, and that saddened the cyborg.
“What would my Master say to this?” he asked himself. But there was no time to contemplate. Only action was needed. He recalled his omnic master’s words, and Genji, quite literally, dropped into the scene in between the struggling synth and the man, earning gasps from bystanders and causing the offending man to step back a few. But Genji made no move to go for his wooden sword. In fact, an open palm gestured for the synth in silence to stop whatever he was planning to do with it.
“Peace. There is no need for this violence. Whatever this person has done to you, let it go. Let him leave.” Genji pleaded, arm outstretched and his palm open. He could have come in, brandishing a curved wooden sword and threatening everyone who so much as look at him and the synthetic man in disgust, but he pleaded with words instead. It was always the first result. He would like it if conflict and violence could be avoided.
The new arrival caused everyone, even Nick, to draw backwards a bit.
As the others struggled to reclaim their former composure, Nick’s mind raced. Who was this stranger intervening in his favor? Obviously some sort of test subject like him—a robot swordsman was not the sort of thing you saw every day, even if you were Nick Valentine.
“Fuck off, omnic trash. This doesn’t concern you.” Omnic? That was a new word thrown with the exact same vitriol as when Harold had started his hateful tirade. The way the shopkeeper could change the subjects of his bigotry—apparently between universes—was yet another mystery for Nick to wrestle with.
When the stranger made no move to leave, Harold’s expression darkened. At the same time, Nick decided to speak up from his place on the floor.
“He’s right, you know.” Nick felt like he was pushing his luck with that quip, but anything to throw Harold off balance long enough to get him out of this. “Dunno where you and I went wrong, but I’d appreciate it if you let me take my business elsewhere.”
“Shut the fuck up, synth. I’ll deal with you later.” The shopkeeper punctuated his threat by spitting a mouthful of saliva in Nick’s general direction. Unfortunately the greenish globule landed right on the breast of his trench coat, though any disgust Nick would have had was quashed by the fact that he—and this synthetic stranger—were currently ringed on all sides by angry looking bigots.
Harold lifted his wrench, pointing the business end of the tool in his would-be savior’s face.
“I know your kind, always killing human beings, trying to replace them... well I won’t have it, you hear?! I’m taking my city back from monsters like you!”
Nick’s trepidation grew as a few members of the quickly growing crowd began to nod slowly. A few of them—all young men, eyes lit with a fire that bordered on zeal—stepped forwards, hands balled into fists. Few of them had any weapons past their bare hands, but Nick knew all too well that quantity had a quality all on its own.
Nick relinquished his grip on the dagger-like shard of glass that he’d found, hoping against hope that his impressive-looking savior could get them out of this bind without having to resort to knocking a few heads around... though that hope grew fainter and fainter with each passing moment.
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