Mistrust. Old war wounds. Zenyatta has heard every one of his answers time and time again, yet repetition has done little to dull their force. Every move Junkrat makes drives his points in harder and deeper, as if they were nails to be hammered in, and he sits still and silent to accept them as he knows he must. It is a matter of respect. Those prosthetics speak for themselves.
Finally, after what feels like a century's worth of time, he senses a break in the flow, and he speaks.
"I am." His voice is soft, birdsong to Junkrat's roar. "I cannot change what has been. But I can change what will be, and I do not want you, nor anyone else, to suffer like that again."
It is not an apology- he was created long after the Crisis had ended- but there is some of the force of one within it nonetheless.
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Date: 2016-11-28 09:56 pm (UTC)Finally, after what feels like a century's worth of time, he senses a break in the flow, and he speaks.
"I am." His voice is soft, birdsong to Junkrat's roar. "I cannot change what has been. But I can change what will be, and I do not want you, nor anyone else, to suffer like that again."
It is not an apology- he was created long after the Crisis had ended- but there is some of the force of one within it nonetheless.