He follows the line of Zenyatta's gesture, then looks back at Zenyatta. Really. Really. Well if that isn't the most overused of metaphors.

"You're kidding," he says flatly, knowing full well that Zenyatta isn't. He makes his way around Zenyatta (with some effort, as the cell isn't exactly roomy) and raps on the door with his knuckles, letting the muffled clang it produces fade before he speaks again. "It's not that easy. It's never that easy. Believe me, I wish it was. I-"

He stops short as the full weight of that wish, said almost without thinking, settles on him. He wants it to be that easy. He wants to be able to walk out of here and rejoin the Legion - hell, he wants the Legion to exist instead of being a figment of his traumatized imagination.

But that's not how his life works. It's never that easy.

"I really wish it was that easy," he continues, acting as though that choked pause hadn't happened, turning his back to the door and leaning against it. "I-"

His words break into a surprised yelp as he falls backwards. The door, which had been so solid only moments before, had simply disappeared, letting him fall through and land heavily on his back in a vast, white void.

Around Zenyatta, the illusion of prison wavers and dissipates.