Chapter Text
“… need to discuss the issue with your father, but he’s becoming increasingly difficult to reach”.
The croaking from the phone echoed in the tiled, shiny confines of the bathroom.
“As I’ve told you before, my father is busy at the moment and in no condition to see to your political necessities”. Hanzo Shimada’s voice was cold and steady. His hands were not.
“ I know, but the latest leaked news on the Registration Act 619 is worrying – and it’s an understatement. If we could count on the support of your family we…”
A snap, a thick trail descending warm down his back. Hanzo shook his head and shivered, careful not to look at his own reflection in the mirror. The room smelled like blood and sweat, his fingers wrapped around the handles of the shears ached. Nothing compared to the throbbing pain from the two slashes on his shoulder blades.
“Senator, I’ve been rather clear, I think”, he said after a long breath. “The Shimadas have nothing to do with mutants, and are not inclined to lend their voice to your political campaign”.
“Hanzo, my boy, I’ve been a friend of Sojiro’s for thirty years and I know about Genji. Your father owes me this, at least!”
Snap .
Hanzo gritted his teeth as the blades sunk into skin and flesh, severing the stub of bone protruding from his back. Its twin lay on the floor in a crimson pool.
The well-known suffering choked him. He panted in silence, shaking wildly and forcing back tears from his eyes. Almost done, and the last thing he needed was a corrupted politician with a disappearing mutants scandal bothering him.
“Goldberg”, he hissed, and fuck, he sounded like a wounded animal.
Isn’t that what I am, after all?
He cleared his throat and let his arms fall to his sides.
“My father can’t receive you right now, and the situation won’t change for some time”.
A sigh floated from the phone, and senator Goldberg subsided.
“Fine. But don’t you think I’m not aware of Sojiro’s health issues; I’ll keep my mouth shut, but your company wouldn’t benefit from any gossip about its president”.
“Are you trying to blackmail me?” he snarled, pushing a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead. A moment of silence, and then a low chuckle.
“No, kid. I’m just being real. We could use each other’s help, and…”
“This conversation is over. Please contact my father’s assistant if you require further communication”, and he pressed the red button on his phone.
The bloody fingerprint sparkled over the bright screen, and when the light went out it disappeared.
The same could not be said of the mess around his feet.
Hanzo bit his lip and swallowed a lump of anguish and sheer pain. He was almost done – again.
He counted to three, and his hands clutched on the shears. One last snip, and the strip of skin gave way, letting the slender appendage fall to the ground with a wet thud. He didn’t last on his feet much longer; with a sob he sunk to his knees, shaking wildly.
Ten years ago he’d have cried and spent hours in that bathroom, waiting until the blood had stopped running and cursing the damaged genetics that had made him such a freak. Now he had no time for such nonsense: he had business to do, too important to be ignored in favor of his own self-commiseration.
It only took him a minute to accept the suffering and regain his composure; with swift gestures, he flushed the stumps down the toilet and grabbed a towel. There was blood everywhere – scarlet droplets on the sink, handprints on the white ceramic and all over his naked body. He quickly cleaned the mess, careful not to leave a single trace, and threw the towel into the washing machine. Chlorine, the chemical smell erasing the sweet, metallic scent of his own wounds, would have done the rest.
When he finally spared his reflection a look, though, it was as horrible as the first time.
Hanzo Shimada, heir to the most important communications company in the world, was a mistake and a fraud. A sharp face, deadly pale and streaked with tears and sweat, stared back at him, long hair sticking to his cheeks and bloodshot eyes full of guilt. He’d been a teen when it’d became clear that he was not like he was supposed to be, with those bone spikes growing insistently from his shoulder blades he’d been amputating every month (and lately every week, a change in the growth of his deformity that shocked him). In the last two years, a fine pattern of marks had grown on his left arm, tiny blue scales speckling his biceps and shoulder; it was easy to hide them under his rigorous white button-downs, but the stumps were another world.
He shook his head and stumbled to the shower, shivering when the cold water washed over the two large slashes. Pink trickles dissolved in a pale vortex around his feet, and he stood motionless until the water ran clear again. As usual, the wounds healed faster than it was human – or acceptable – and he found no solace when the pain disappeared. He leaned against the wall, forehead pressed on the cold tiles and fists clenched. He punched the slippery surface once, hard enough to send a shock up his arm; had he been younger and even more desperate he’d have insisted, but he knew all too well what would have happened – how the bruises would shrink and fade under his eyes, how the scratches would vanish in a heartbeat.
He was a freak, a mutant in a place where mutants were not welcome. A shame to his own name, something to hide from the world.
Hanzo growled a curse and stood up, hitting the faucet with the palm of his hand. When he walked back to the mirror, he was himself again, or at least a presentable version of his public self. He rolled his long hair on his shoulder and sighed, wrapping himself in a soft bathrobe before running an unsteady hand down his face.
Soon this gore routine would become a daily task, not much different from shaving or brushing his teeth, only a thousand times more painful.
Still better than being a monster in the eyes of the public opinion, or one to be kept hidden and forgotten.
A knock on the door startled him. He snapped his head up and turned around, the furious heartbeat in stark contrast with the cold tone of his voice.
“Yes?”
“Mister Shimada? I’m sorry to bother you, but we have an emergency”.
One of his bodyguards. Not that he really needed any, being fitter and more built than most of them, but it was a necessity he’d accepted since his childhood.
A quick trail of pictures flashed in his head – was his father ill again? Or Genji…
“What happened?” He forced out, his hand clenching on the sink.
“Your brother, mister Shimada. He’s missing again”.
Hanzo closed his eyes and growled under his breath. Genji indeed, and he should have known it; he’d been quiet for weeks, it was only a matter of time.
“I understand. Give me a minute”. He was sure the man outside of the bathroom was still there, and he quickly put his clothes on – black, formal, a mask he couldn’t live without.
He was not surprised, more angry and horrified. Genji had no trace of common sense or respect, and he’d been so since he was a kid. A lithe, lively kid with the most horrible of secrets, one they shared.
Hanzo opened the door and didn’t even look at the massive man in dark shades and earpiece on the threshold, walking stiffly down the luxurious marble of the corridor.
“Tell me”.
“He’s gone, sir”. The bodyguard had to hurry to keep up with Hanzo’s pace, and he didn’t slow down to help him. “We tracked him downtown, but he’s refusing to cooperate. He’s… making quite the scene”, he concluded with a note of embarrassment.
Hanzo narrowed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, even if the itch he still felt was more in his mind than a real issue.
“We… we tried to take him back but it hasn’t worked, and he may have mentioned his name in public”, the man added in a small voice. Hanzo stopped abruptly and turned around, shooting him a killing look.
“You didn’t stop him”, he hissed.
“I’m sorry, sir, we tried but… but…”
An exasperated sigh escaped his lips. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and swallowed the impulse to punch the man in the face.
“Very well, I’ll take the matter in my hands. Have my car ready, and make sure my father hears nothing of this issue. I don’t want to trouble him when it’s not necessary”.
Five minutes and a quick ride on the crystal elevator later, Hanzo was sitting in the back of the blue sedan. The lights of San Angeles, the huge metropolitan area that had swallowed half of California, were a blur of orange and blinding white out of the windows. It didn’t help the headache blooming behind his eyes.
It wasn’t the first time and it wasn’t going to be the last – unless I find the strength to do the right thing once and for all.
The landscape shifted from tall skyscrapers, shining in the night in steel and mirrors, to the neons of the dark buildings of the sprawl. How obvious of Genji: not only he’d escaped the Shimada’s security, but he opted once more for the most offensive slap in their father’s face.
The car came to a halt in front of a study block of concrete covered in graffiti; even in the sheltered cocoon of the vehicle, the booming of music made the seat vibrate under Hanzo’s legs.
It was gross – the people drinking and making out in front of the entrance, a revolting mixture of humans and mutants; the pink and green banner yelling its name, “The Dragon’s Lair”.
Appropriate , he thought with a disgruntled grin.
Hanzo leaned forward and tapped on the glass dividing him from the driver. It opened with a dry sound, and the bodyguard on the passenger’s seat turned around.
“Drive to the back and find a way to take him out”, he ordered curtly.
He expected to be obeyed, and so it was. The door opened and closed, and for long minutes Hanzo was left alone with the constant company of his own self-hatred.
Genji was not supposed to be out of the mansion, or to be throwing his own name in a crowded club – he was dead for a good part of the world. If lucky assisted them, everyone would have been drunk or high enough to ignore him. If not…
Goldberg’s words on the Registration Act 619 rang again in his ears, a faraway threat that looked more like a solution with every passing day. His heart stung at the thought, but years of self-control smothered the pain.
A slam from the building drew him from his pondering. Hanzo sat up straight and moved to the other side of the seat. The door opened again to show the least unexpected of sights.
The bodyguard was carrying a limp, blabbering man; his attempts at wrestling the bulky arms around him were pathetic, his long limbs too uncoordinated to be of any use.
“… lemme go, I’m a Shimada, you can’t…”
“Genji, for heaven’s sake, get in now!” Hanzo urged his man forward, and with some struggle the alcohol-smelling shape was thrown on the seat. Genji’s big wings got stuck in the door, and Hanzo pulled his brother forward with little courtesy.
He was a disaster. At 23, Genji Shimada could no way pass for human, and did nothing to hide his condition. His wings were so cumbersome they barely fit in the back of the car, and the tiny scales painting his cheekbones and neck were the same bright green as his recently dyed hair.
Hanzo shrunk away from him – or, to be completely honest, from himself. They shared the same curse, but he was really good at hiding it from everyone, including their father.
“You reek”, he deadpanned, scrunching his nose. Genji slowly slid on the seat, his white jacket all crumpled and stained of something that smelled like a disgustingly sweet cocktail.
“Love you too, anija ”, he chuckled. There were dark streaks on his cheek, where his eyeliner had melted after a night of immoderation, and the marks of hickeys and lipstick on his throat.
“Shut up. I’m shocked you could be so irresponsible, is it true you went throwing your name around?”
“M-hm”, he muttered; he leaned his forehead to the front seat and let his arms fall to his sides. “I’m your brother, remember?”
“All too well. Genji, what is this folly? You know how dangerous it is, how…”
“How I’m s’posed to shut up and play Rapunzel at home, right? Fuck off”. His voice, rough with smoke and booze, died in a wheeze, and he tried to slap his brother. He missed, and Hanzo didn’t even have to move to avoid him.
“I’m disappointed in you, brother. What will father say when…”
“Well why should he know?” he snapped, raising on Hanzo two dark eyes full of defying and anger. “Unless the Favorite, Irreprehensible Son will go and… and…”
A strangled sound interrupted him. He doubled over and pressed a hand to his mouth; Hanzo rolled his eyes and bared his teeth.
“Please, spare yourself this further humiliation. Tell me you’re not going to…”
Throw up.
Genji retched, and as the car darted on the trafficked streets the unavoidable results of his night out splashed on the seat. With every cough, his wings fluttered, and Hanzo swatted away the one that brushed his shoulder. They disgusted him even more than the vomit soaking the car.
“Look at you. I can’t believe you reached a new low”, he grunted. But Genji kept on being sick for longer than he’d expected, and after a while, some brotherly love filtered through his fury.
He waited for the retching to subside a bit and then reached forward, putting a hand on Genji’s shoulder.
His brother didn’t flinch, only panted painfully, a trail of drool descending from his slack lower lip.
“Hey, Genji… are you alright?” he asked softly, and eventually Genji nodded. When the car took a sharp turn, Hanzo had to hold him upright, and by now he didn’t even care if his own clothes were going to be soiled too.
“Yeah. Sorta”, he rasped. He fell back on the seat and threw his head against the headrest, and for a short, heart-breaking moment his silhouette against the dark window looked normal . No scales or wings, no taint – just his little brother, the one Hanzo used to read bedtime stories to when they were kids, before Genji had turned into a rebel teen and, later, a desperate young man. Before himself had realized he was no different, only stubborn and mature enough to choose his own suffering over that of his family.
Hanzo sighed and shook his head, and in a minute Genji started to snore softly, lulled by the buzzing of the engine. He spent the drive back home staring at his brother with a painful mixture of rage and sadness.
We can’t keep going like this. I must find the courage to do what’s best for all of us.
His vision blurred, and he blinked the unwanted wave of anguish away.
Even if it will break my heart.
Twenty minutes later the Shimada Tower greeted them with its uncountable black windows. Not even their father’s room, up on the highest floor, was lit; it was really late.
Hanzo dismissed the bodyguards by the elevator; they were experienced enough not to question his request, or to ask him if he needed help carrying Genji up to his apartment.
Luckily, by the time they reached the thirteenth floor where both their quarters were, Genji had sobered enough not to fall if left leaning against the wall, and he even managed to stumble inside once Hanzo opened the door.
“Try not to vomit again”, he said, turning on the lights as soon as his brother collapsed on the black leather sofa. Under the white lights the apartment, identical to Hanzo’s in shape and size, a whole world of technology blinked to him. The huge flat screen tv, the gaming set scattered on a wide desktop, the collection of action figures and holograms on the shelves – everything spoke of a life of captivity forcibly filled with interests. For the umpteenth time, Hanzo marveled that Genji had not yet gone insane.
With a sigh, Hanzo turned to the slumped form of his brother; his green wings protruded from two cuts on his jacket, and one was splayed on the crystal coffee table, among a collection of cigarette butts and empty cans of energy drinks. Genji breathed loudly, his face pressed against the cushions.
“How much did you have?” Hanzo walked to the sofa and crouched by the armrest. Genji didn’t answer, but with a shapeless wave of his hand; he rolled on his back and covered his face with an arm.
Cursing under his breath, Hanzo swatted it away and grabbed Genji’s face in a brutal grip; he ignored the muttered protests and pried open his left eye with his fingers.
The pupil was a pinpoint, the sclera painted red by thin veins.
“Genji, what did you take? Aside from two bottles of vodka… was it synhtocoke?”
“Get off me”. Genji struggled and kicked weakly; Hanzo let go of him and stood up, lips pressed in a strict line.
“You could have better. Had you just asked, I could have found you some real cocaine; at least you would have known what you were…”
“I don’t give a fuck about your fucking stuff!” he cried out. The look he shot Hanzo was beyond rage and confusion – it was broken, and it hurt. “I don’t want your fancy attentions or… or anything from you!”
“I can’t believe you were in such a disgraced state you went around saying you are a Shimada. What would father say?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?”
“Because he’s troubled enough without having to worry about his son being a complete fool”, he growled. The skin on his back tickled again and he rolled his shoulders. “How many time have we had this same conversation? You’re not supposed to go out like that”.
“Yeah, sure”. Genji looked away from Hanzo. His eyes went from unfocused to shiny in a second. “I’m supposed to stay here and pretend to be dead”.
“Don’t say so! You know why our father had to make this decision, and it haunts him more than it…”
“I only wanted to be alive. To be myself”. A whisper, low and husky. “I can’t go on like this”.
No, you can’t. And I can’t either – it’s been too much and too long for all of us.
The broken tone deflated Hanzo’s scorn. He sat by his brother’s side and his cold expression melted into a crooked smile.
“I wish things were different”, he said, brushing the sweaty hair from Genji’s forehead.
“I wish I was different. I wish I was you”.
The pure bitterness of that confession cracked a line in Hanzo’s heart. He closed his eyes and his fingers shook on Genji’s head; it took him a solid minute to find his voice again.
“It’s pointless to discuss this. Now rest, tomorrow father will want to see you”. He stood up and smoothed the wrinkles on the front of his shirt. “Do you need my assistance? You should take a shower, or…” A sad chuckle vibrated at the bottom of his throat. “Remember the stories I read to you when we were kids? You liked that one about the dragons, and if you…”
Genji frowned and closed his eyes. Suddenly his pale face looked hard, the green scales shiny and alien on his skin.
“Leave me”, he snapped. “Now”.
To this, Hanzo had no further answer. He lowered his eyes – a gesture he wouldn’t have allowed anyone to witness – and straightened his back.
“Pull yourself together, brother, and good night”, he spat out before turning on his heels and marching away. As the door closed behind him, he was sure he heard a broken sob coming from the room, and his heart bled some more.
The Shimada Tower was never empty or silent, but in that dead moment of night, it was quiet. Only a few yellow lights punctuated the long corridor, golden sparks shining on the black marble of the floor and on the Japanese prints on the walls. Hanzo walked slowly, his wide shoulders hunched and his head low; in nights like this, he felt old and tired of everything, and for once he blessed the loneliness of his life, as it allowed him to be vulnerable far from indiscreet eyes.
Thirteen years of imprisonment, and Genji’s only crime was being a mutant. Oh, yes, the world as changed from the days of Xavier and Magneto – now mutants were everywhere, under the eyes of the crowd that still feared them and looked at them with distrust and concern. They were not monsters, that was what decades of propaganda had managed to convince people of, but the truth was that they could be dangerous, they could be weapons. And just like weapons, they had to be monitored.
The Registration Act 619 had been a necessity – mutants had to be registered and examined by a federal board, and if found potentially dangerous for humans, tested.
Hanzo had no idea what happened to those who didn’t pass the test, but Goldberg’s concern with some citizens disappearing after the procedure made his sixth sense tickle in the wrongest way.
He turned left and walked by the immense windows, in front of a landscape all orange sky and city lights.
Genji was another story. Of course, no one would have publicly held his existence against their father, but there would have been voices. Gossips, cracks in the foundations of the empire Sojiro Shimada and his father before him had built in the years. A mutant son was a dishonor that would have destroyed the good name of the family.
One mutant son was more than enough.
Hanzo ran a hand over his shoulder blade. No, they were gone, and such they would be for days now.
He stopped in front of the white door to his apartment and placed his hand on the pad on the wall, a sloppy, exhausted gesture unworthy of a man of his composure.
The door slid open with a whisper, and when he stepped into the rigorous order of his rooms welcomed him. Books sorted by genre, author, title and year were neatly stacked on the vast library; an aquarium shone blue in a corner, its inhabitants unaware of their owner’s troubles, happy to just swim back and forth and to stare blankly at the world with their small vacant eyes.
Hanzo took his shoes off and left them at the entrance, and for all his fatigue he knew he could not sleep if he tried. He sat on the floor, his back against the door, and took his head in his hands.
There’d been no registration for Genji, no test. He’d been a kid of ten when his wings had started to grow, and their father had spent nights awake in his office, talking to the last picture he’d taken of their mother. She hadn’t lived enough to hold her second child, and Hanzo barely remembered her – he’d been but three at the time – but his father had loved her dearly, and even now he turned to her in his (many and more and more frequent) hard times. Like that time, when he’d decided that his younger son, his dear boy, his sparrow would have been better confined in their mansion than prodded and tested and under the limelight. Genji Shimada died for the world at ten, and in one of the aseptic cemeteries at the borders of San Angeles was an empty white tomb with the picture of a smiling boy with unruly hair and a dimple on his cheek.
I can’t go on like this , had said Genji but minutes before, and he was right. Hanzo took his jacket off and slid two fingers under his tie, loosening it.
Not many knew about Genji’s existence, and the bodyguards and staff of the Shimada Tower were beyond trusted. His father paid them enough to secure their loyalty, and the few who’s dared betray their word had faced the most terrible of punishment: the wrath of a usually calm man. A man with lots of money, lots of friends and little patience when his family’s security was involved.
Senator Alan Goldberg was a different story. He was probably the only one outside the family and staff who knew Sojiro’s secret, and yet he’d never used that against his father. He claimed they were friends, but Hanzo suspected there was something else, and such something smelled of blackmail. He didn’t know and didn’t want to.
But Goldberg had been insistent. As one of the promoters of the Registration Act 619, he repeated many times that Genji had to be acknowledged and checked; he’d even seen him once, and he’d reassured Sojiro that there was no reason he shouldn’t have passed the inspection. Sure, he was weird, but despite his wings and the tiny fangs in place of his canines he didn’t look really dangerous.
And maybe the senator was right. Hadn’t it been for their father’s reputation, Hanzo had have insisted too.
He ran his palms on his face and worried slip in a last attempt to stifle a roar of exasperation.
The more he considered his situation, the more it became clear that he never had a choice. He didn’t get to choose his high school or university, didn’t get to pick a normal life. He had to be the serious, responsible one – the normal son, the acceptable heir to parade around with a proud grin.
The thought of his father reaction to Hanzo’s secret was the usual punch in the stomach. It emptied his lungs of air and his body of force, and he slumped forward, arms resting on his knees and head hidden in the crook of his elbows.
It was worth the excruciating pain of periodic amputations and the suffocating burden of pretending to be different from what he was.
Probably .
That single word rang in his head and rolled through his bones. Hanzo gasped and opened his eyes wide, his heartbeat quick in his ears.
Of course it’s worth it, what am I thinking? I’m too deep into this situation, there’s no point in regretting it or trying to pull myself out. I’m just tired and I should get some sleep.
Standing up cost him his residual energies. He walked to his bedroom, and on his way, he stopped by the small cupboard under the aquarium; a school of cardinalfish passed in front of him and brusquely changed direction in a fit of panic, immediately forgetting what had scared them and going back to their routine. Hanzo didn’t look at them and took a bottle from the compartment under the tank, a crystal flask full of liquid amber. He looked at it for a moment, brow furrowed and eyes too tired to focus.
No, it was not a good idea. No matter how much he would have liked to drink himself into a stupor: his nose was still full of Genji’s stink of alcohol and vomit. He was a better man.
He put the bottle back and dragged himself to his bedroom, ready for another sleepless night.
“I’m sorry, father. I know I’ve disappointed you, but…”
Genji’s voice was rough with hangover and lack of sleep. He’d removed his black shades and now his eyes, cast on the floor, sparkled, red and puffy, in his pale face. He looked so painfully young and tired Hanzo couldn’t look at him.
“Hush now, my boy. It’s alright, I know this life can be difficult for someone like you, but you’re doing your best”. Sojiro Shimada stood up from his chair with a grimace – one he’d only let his sons witness – and walked around his crystal desk. A little older than sixty, the man had short grey hair and Hanzo’s austere cheekbones; both his children, though, sported their mother’s eyes. He walked slowly to Genji and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You look exhausted, little sparrow. Why don’t you go and get some rest? You had a troubled night”.
Genji seemed unable to look straight at his father, and only nodded. The gentle smile on Sojiro’s stern face made something clench in Hanzo’s chest.
It had always been like this. Even before the failure of his DNA had been evident, Genji had been the favorite child, the one his father looked at with unfaltering affection, who got every mistake forgiven with a smile and a caress. After his reclusion, it had been even more so, Sojiro’s guilt adding up to his love for his younger son. Hanzo had been a whole different story, and once again his stomach contracted with a painful mixture of anger and love; he rolled his hands into fists and looked away from his family, out of the view of San Angeles under a dull blue sky.
“Is there anything I can do to make you happy, Genji? You know you only need to ask”.
His brother’s thoughts were so loud Hanzo could have sworn they rang in the aseptic office.
Let me go.
“No, father. I… I’ll try to keep myself busy for now. I didn’t want to cause any trouble”.
A deep sigh shook Sojiro’s shoulders.
“Of course you didn’t. I remember what being young means, and I know I’m asking you so much…”
No, you know nothing! Genji went downtown and said out loud he was a Shimada, and it was only out of good luck if he was too drunk and high to be deemed sincere! Hanzo gritted his teeth and swallowed the furious reply. He’d never had a right to such benevolence – only duty, for him.
“Anyway, we will think of some way to make you leave the house's safety, but for now you should…”
The gentle ring from the desk interrupted him.
“Mister Shimada? Senator Goldberg is here”.
Sojiro tensed at once and his hand dropped from Genji’s shoulder.
“Did he tell you what he wants, Clara?”
“No, sir, but he’s being quite insistent. He says he’s been trying to contact you for two days and…”
“Five minutes and you can send him in”, he said curtly. No reply from his secretary, but it was not needed. The mask of the loving father reappeared for a second as he turned to Genji. “You should go, now”.
“Goldberg knows about me, what’s the point in…”
“Genji. Go”, he repeated, and steel sparkled in his voice. Genji clenched his jaws and a muscle twitched on his cheek, but didn’t protest further; he turned his back to the room and walked to the door, where one of his bodyguards was waiting for him. Before he disappeared into the corridor, Hanzo met his eyes.
He resented him, he knew it – his freedom, his position – but he ignored so many things…
I miss the times when we were kids and the world was ours to explore. I may be free to come and go as father bids me, but you’re free to be yourself.
The door closed with a hiss of metal, and Hanzo shivered to recollect himself. He’d said it the night before – questioning the past was pointless, and he had no time to indulge in such fantasies; he turned to look at his father, and he discovered he’d taken his seat behind the desk. Behind his back there was a huge, original painting of two dragons – one green, one blue, coiled together and looking down at Hanzo with fiery eyes.
As usual, their sight filled him with anger, but it was another thing he had to ignore. His father sighed again and Hanzo was quick to run at his side. Sojiro was not the man he used to be, not after the death of his beloved wife, the tragedy of a mutant son and a cancer he’d been battling for three years. Still, money could buy many things, including the most advanced health care that allowed him to be head of the corporation.
“Hanzo, did Goldberg try to contact you?” he asked, and the moment of weakness was gone.
“Yes. Last night, at a very late hour”.
“Did he tell you what he wanted?” There was no trace of the affection he’d shown Genji, only the practical necessities of the moment.
“He was worried about the application of the Registration Act, and…”
“I see. I want you to listen, but don’t speak unless you’re asked to do so”.
Hanzo schooled his face to a neutral expression, but his blood was boiling, the scales on his shoulder itching. He wanted to scream that he was not a child anymore, that he wouldn’t accept to be treated as such, but he was not in the position to throw a tantrum; he only nodded and straightened his back, waiting for their guest.
Senator Goldberg didn’t make them wait. The door opened again to reveal a short man in a gray suit, his round face and bald head somehow intimidating due to a pair of piercing blue eyes.
“At last, old friend! You’ve been strikingly hard to reach these days”, he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Sojiro didn’t stand, but held out his hand to be shaken.
“The development of the next holographic glasses is time-consuming. Please, take a seat”.
“Hanzo, good morning to you”. As he sat on one of the black leather chairs his gaze lingered a moment too long on Hanzo, who nodded without smiling.
“Senator”.
“Tell me then, what brings you to my office?” Sojiro joined his fingertips in a peak in front of his face. Down to business as always. Goldberg took a deep breath and squirmed in his seat.
“As I mentioned to your son during our last call, I could use a friend in this moment. We are having… issues. With the…”
“… Registration Act 619, I know. Care to articulate?”
“Yes, sure. Er… I’ve got some journalists on my back. Looks like they think some of the mutants disappeared after taking their test, and of course this is preposterous, because…”
“Are they gone for real?” Sojiro interrupted the senator without losing the polite smile on his lips.
“How should I know? After they take the test they can go wherever they please, I’m not their guardian!” He opened his arms and shook his head. “I want to prove to the world that the procedure is safe, and only intended for the wellbeing of mutants. Which brings us to…”
“No”.
“But you didn’t even let me…”
Sojiro stood up, and for a second Hanzo perceived the aura of authority radiating from his father. He was not young anymore, and was sick more often than not, but even he couldn’t bear such a ruthless stare.
“I won’t lend you my son for your political campaign”.
“Sojiro, don’t rush things. Just… just listen to me, alright? I’ve been thinking this for a long time, and I’m sure the solution would benefit us all”.
“Genji is not your puppet, he’s dead for the world and such he will stay”.
“Is he happy?”
Three little words that erased any insecurity from Goldberg’s tone. Hanzo inhaled sharply but didn’t move, and his father narrowed his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
Goldberg shrugged and cocked an eyebrow.
“Exactly what I said – and it looks like you’re avoiding my question”.
“A question you have no right to ask”. Sojiro sat down and the leather creaked under his legs. “My son is living the best life I can provide, and I doubt anyone could offer a better one”.
“See, Genji’s only 23, of course he wants something more than living a Rapunzel’s life for the next decades. And I think I could help with that”.
“You come to my house and expect me to listen as you lecture me how to take care of my family? Be grateful I consider you my friend, Alan, or…”
Goldberg ignored him and waved his hand.
“Let him take the test. No one will know he’s your son, and you know how discreet I can be; there’s no reason to think he wouldn’t pass it, and then… well, he’d be free. I bet he’d thank me for this”.
“As I said, you can’t borrow my son to parade him around and show your problems aren’t real. Find another way to sort this out”.
“You don’t want the world to know the Shimadas sport a mutant in their ranks”.
It was a fortuity, but Goldberg’s pale eyes went to Hanzo. He silently prayed his face was as impassable as ever, but he could feel a droplet of sweat roll down his back.
“You are stating the obvious. If you have nothing relevant to add I suggest you…”
“Hanzo, you’ve been very quiet. What do you think?”
“It’s my father you are talking to. And I take this meeting is over”. He looked at his father, who met his statement with a quick nod. A bubble of satisfaction swelled in Hanzo’s stomach – he’d done the right thing and his father approved.
“I know you love Genji very much. You two have always been so close, and if there’s someone who knows how much he suffers his cage it’s you, boy. Look me in the eyes and tell me he’d prefer to be kept imprisoned for years to a free life”.
He tried to do so – to bear the cold gaze digging through his mind – but something was stirring inside him. In the end, he turned to his father.
“I’m not one to decide, so please don’t count me in this matter”.
“Alan, enough. Will you leave me alone if I’d say I’ll consider this?”
Goldberg pushed his chair back and got to his feet, brushing an invisible particle of dust from his jacket.
“Only if you promise you’ll do so. I hope we can work this out together, Sojiro”.
“Hanzo, please escort the senator to the door”. It was the tombstone to their conversation, and despite the sting of annoyance – he was not his personal assistant, after all – Hanzo did as he was asked. By the door, the senator gave him a side look.
“I know you’ll think about my words, Hanzo. And you’ll find out what the right thing is”. He didn’t smile, and soon his footsteps faded in the distance.
Hanzo looked at the small, plump shape for a moment.
The right thing.
Is he happy?
He’d be free.
He kept his head low as he walked back to his father’s side, but a soft sigh stopped him in the middle of the office.
“Hanzo, sit down”.
He frowned at the tone – the one Sojiro always used with Genji, never with him – but promptly obeyed.
Seeing his father so troubled was hard, and the surge of pride and love he felt for the man who’d raised him to be the person he was canceled any trace of envy and resentment.
“I need you to be honest, son. Tell me: do you know why I didn’t answer Goldberg’s question about Genji?”
Hanzo clasped his hands in his lap and pursed his lips. Hiding the truth was useless.
“Yes”, he whispered.
“And?”
“Genji is not happy, and we both know this”.
Sojiro leaned back in his chair and looked up to the ceiling. In doing so, his eyes rested for a second on the picture on his desk – his wife, Hanzo’s and Genji’s mother. A smiling woman, with pretty dark eyes and a sharp smile.
“I wasn’t lying. I will consider Alan’s idea – not that I like it, because I’m not going to get involved with his political agenda, but still…”
He didn’t finish his sentence, and Hanzo worried his lip.
He’d never seen his father so vulnerable and doubtful, and it scared him.
“It is possible that I will never grow old, and you’re conscious of this, my son. Maybe someday your brother’s destiny will lie in your hands”. Sojiro lowered his head, and under his black eyes, Hanzo felt like a child again. Too small to understand the burden that was being laid on his shoulders, too eager for his father’s approval to show how much it weighed on his soul. But in the end, his father smiled. “I know you’ll make the best decision”.
It took him ten days to make up his mind.
Hanzo’s fist hit the punching bag with a muffled thud. He lifted his knee and kicked high, missing the chain holding the bag in place by inches, and then threw another punch – harder, enough to make his knuckles burn and his whole arm vibrate with tension. He preferred target practice, but he was not in the right state of mind for it.
Ten days of calls from Goldberg and nights spent looking at the ceiling, as the best decision formed in his mind.
With a snarl, he stepped back and brushed away the black lock escaping from his ponytail. Sweat trailed down his back and beaded on his forehead, and the hoodie he was wearing was damp between his shoulders. He breathed out his fatigue and kicked again, but with every hit, his tension worsened.
Ten days to make that call, and now the waiting was almost over.
The delighted tone of the senator rang in his ears, and rage inflamed his muscles. The rhythm of his attacks grew more frantic, and a deep growl trembled underneath his ribcage.
“Did that poor thing offend you somehow?”
Hanzo jumped and turned around, eyes wide and face burning; Genji was waiting by the door, a towel slung across his neck and a smirk on his lips. He walked in and stretched, spreading his wings with a moan.
The gym was their place, one of the few no one was allowed to attend but the two of them. A secret basement with an entrance known only to the Shimadas – for now.
“Why did you want to see me, by the way? I hate training in the morning, I was up until 3 am to play League of Legends”.
“I… yes, I wanted to see you”. Hanzo was panting, and he knew it didn’t depend on the physical exercise alone. His heart fluttered and his skin prickled as he watched his brother walk casually into the gym, unaware of everything.
Because Genji trusted him.
Words formed and faded in his brain, a grey shadow thickening inside him. He stared at the slender shape approaching and blinked. What stung in his eyes couldn’t be tears.
“Hanzo? Are you ok?” Genji frowned and leaned closer, inspecting his brother with his head tilted on the side.
The best decision.
The right thing.
Hanzo shook his head to clear it from the unwanted wave of grief that made his heart heavy. There was affection in his brother’s eyes, the purest form he’d ever experienced, and suddenly he didn’t look weird or wrong anymore. His wings were just a part of him, his scales another feature of his face.
And he, Hanzo, was the real monster.
“Genji, I need you to know that… that everything I do is only for our family’s sake”, he croaked, barely recognizing his voice.
“Well yeah, and water is wet. Tell me something I don’t know”. He yawned and ruffled his green hair. “You seem off. Too much stress, am I right?” He threw the towel on the floor and smiled at Hanzo.
That smile. Despite half a lifetime of imprisonment, more than a decade of tears and bitterness, it still shone like when they were young.
Hanzo wanted to say something; the need to justify himself was overwhelming, and his recently removed wings pulsated under his skin.
Am I doing the right thing indeed?
It was the worst time for doubt, because when he’d picked up his phone in the dead of night and called Goldberg, he’d known there was no going back. And yet…
“Come on, Hanzo, take that sour look off your face and tell me what’s wrong. I’m all…”
Footsteps. Just outside the gym, heavy and quick. Genji’s gentle expression crumpled as he turned to the door, and Hanzo felt a chill froze his blood.
“I did it for you”, he whispered, and it was as if he was floating out of his body. The vast room was dull, its borders darkening at the corner of his eyes, and everything – the dumbbells scattered on the floor, the machines by the walls – looked alien and frightening.
“Hanzo, what… what have you…”
He had a second to witness the dawning of understanding in Genji’s eyes, and the look of betrayed trust, of disbelief, imprinted in his soul like a fiery brand.
He knew .
Half a dozen men stormed the gym, all wearing the same black uniforms and badges on their arms. FBI.
The world crumbled to pieces. Genji screamed as the first federal hit him in the back with stock of his rifle; he fell to his knees, and two more men hurried forward. They blocked his arms, bending them behind his back with little care. Not enough: Genji fought back, kicking and flapping his wings; one hit a federal across the face, sending him flat on his back and calling for his comrades’ intervention.
Hanzo lost it when a loud crack echoed in the air – the sound of broken bones, as a soldier grabbed one of Genji’s wings and snapped the thin joint the wrong way. A beastly cry filled the room, and Hanzo sobbed, taking a step back.
Wrong. This is wrong, this is a mistake. Stop it, stop hurting him, he’s my little brother, I only wanted him to be better, not this, never this.
But he couldn’t speak. He stood paralyzed as the federals pulled Genji back on his feet, securing his wrists on the small of his back with a plastic band, tight enough to dig into his skin. They pushed him and dragged him, and at the last moment Genji looked up.
His lips were stained with blood, his cheeks glistening with tears, and when his mouth moved without a sound Hanzo read a single word.
Why?
He’d known what was happening, but not the reason behind it. And like that, with a broken wing and a broken heart, he was taken away, leaving Hanzo with the agonizing awareness of his own crime.
In a minute, even the last echo of the armed men that unrooted his brother from his life died in the distance, and Hanzo was alone.
The silence was maddening, heavy against his ears, broken only by his ragged breaths and thundering heart. He couldn’t move, and the wet trails running down his jaw were not sweat; in the complete shock of his own guilt he started to shake so hard his legs gave way and he sunk to his knees, his hands abandoned in his lap. There was blood on his fingers – wasn’t there? He couldn’t see it but he felt it, he could smell it and taste it on his tongue.
He couldn’t breathe or close his eyes, wide and unfocused on his shaking hands, and from his lips fell a wheezing sound that slowly rose into a wail, only to explode in a desperate howl. He took his head in his hands and rocked back and forth, empty of any logical thought. Falling into a void of horror, as a handful of words bounced inside his skull.
What have I done?