[Genji darts back when his hit is blocked, scowling behind his faceplate at the Commander's words. They are, at once, both reassuring and infuriating. Genji has been struggling with his identity, who and what he is after the surgery that saved his life, and as much as he wants to believe he's still a man he can't bring himself to see it. Not when he looks at his palms and sees flat metal instead of lifelines. Not when he has to adhere to a strict diet while he adjusts to his mechanically-aided internal organs. Not when he vents steam instead of sweating.

The idea of accepting himself as something in between is one that hasn't crossed his mind. The thought of accepting himself is not one that will occur to him for a long time yet.]

Tell me, Commander, are you aware of the exact percentage that needed rebuilding? The exact ratio of flesh to metal?

[It's as much a genuine question as much as it is an angry rebuttal. Did the Overwatch Commander fuss himself about knowing the small details of the man they'd taken in and then changed into a weapon? Was it just another signature to him, just another recruit in the field? Did the reality of Genji Shimada ever bother Jack Morrison at all?

Genji darts back in, and this time his blow comes harder than the first two. Harder but sloppier, a sure sign that he is, indeed, angered. He's not so much striking at Jack now as he is venting energy through motion. Motion that just happens to be aimed at the Commander's face.]

If I am not a machine, then what was I supposed to be?