Locus might have agreed with her. He should have been stronger, even as strong as he pretended to be. But to say one doesn't care and to actually divorce themselves from that pain are two separate things. It's akin to cutting at one's skin with a knife and claiming not to feel it. He'd grown numb. He hadn't known when to stop until the loss was too great...

A planet's worth of dead under her feet.

Sometimes with arms outstretched, pleading, sometimes cowering away or trying to flee. Most are military but there are others. Civilians. Women. Children. They seem to line the path Sombra's taken, some riddled with bullets, some burned almost beyond recognition as human by explosions. The landscape itself seems cruel, bent inward, the cliff's edges ragged and blade-sharp, if she isn't careful with her step and grip.

And there's one more body when Sombra reaches the relative safety of the plateau. An angled helmet with a broken visor, blood-shot eyes staring up accusingly, and mangled armor streaked with accents of orange. At first, it just seems to be staring upward.

But if Sombra looks away, the next time she looks back, the corpse is looking at her.