Rico's brows furrow underneath his helmet, looking at Zenyatta. It doesn't seem to have made him feel any better. Rico's own heart is thumping in his chest, aware that every heartbeat is pushing decaying blood through his veins, breaking him down. This close, this strong, it's difficult not to pick up just exactly how Zenyatta is feeling. It's not like how it was with Nova Prime, this isn't what he's looking for (this didn't happen. just a memory and nothing else) and this hurts in a way that hasn't sickened him in a long time. It doesn't go away. How does he stop this? How does he stop this?
Then after a long period, he just barely nods his head.
"Okay," he states simply. It still doesn't go away, layered like some festering disease, and his face pulls back in a half-frown. He looks at the purple light on Zenyatta's array, and comes to a decision. Hell, they're both irreparably drokked up anyway. What does a few words matter? Rico's better equipped for handling things like these, used to violent oscillations of emotions and slamming away unwanted feelings behind bars. He's had a lifetime to struggle with this. And now that he's had a second to think about it, simply transfers his baggage and hatred from the Justice Department to this new organization. But Zenyatta is much more breakable. Both as a skinny human with no balance, and a naive droid who enjoys dancing.
"Zenyatta. I believe you're worth... something," he bites out, experimentally. "There's something in you beyond the programming. They made you, but it doesn't mean they own you. And it may be... difficult, for you to realise that you're... a defective clone, but."
And inch by excruciating inch, Rico voices the sentiment that Zenyatta had expressed to him, the first time they had met. "If you believed in any of the stomm you sprouted off to me about how 'true self is without form' that first time, you should believe me now when I say you belong to yourself."
Rico is still half a thing, illegitimate and soulless, but Zenyatta is not. He wants to fall into that gently convincing cadence, just put the gun down, I promise I won't shoot you, but he could stand to die honest.
"If you just let yourself be angry, it won't feel as bad," he murmurs. "It's their fault, not yours. They deserve it, I promise."
no subject
Then after a long period, he just barely nods his head.
"Okay," he states simply. It still doesn't go away, layered like some festering disease, and his face pulls back in a half-frown. He looks at the purple light on Zenyatta's array, and comes to a decision. Hell, they're both irreparably drokked up anyway. What does a few words matter? Rico's better equipped for handling things like these, used to violent oscillations of emotions and slamming away unwanted feelings behind bars. He's had a lifetime to struggle with this. And now that he's had a second to think about it, simply transfers his baggage and hatred from the Justice Department to this new organization. But Zenyatta is much more breakable. Both as a skinny human with no balance, and a naive droid who enjoys dancing.
"Zenyatta. I believe you're worth... something," he bites out, experimentally. "There's something in you beyond the programming. They made you, but it doesn't mean they own you. And it may be... difficult, for you to realise that you're... a defective clone, but."
And inch by excruciating inch, Rico voices the sentiment that Zenyatta had expressed to him, the first time they had met. "If you believed in any of the stomm you sprouted off to me about how 'true self is without form' that first time, you should believe me now when I say you belong to yourself."
Rico is still half a thing, illegitimate and soulless, but Zenyatta is not. He wants to fall into that gently convincing cadence, just put the gun down, I promise I won't shoot you, but he could stand to die honest.
"If you just let yourself be angry, it won't feel as bad," he murmurs. "It's their fault, not yours. They deserve it, I promise."