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Here’s the thing: Hana Song is damned good at her job.
That is why she was promoted to detective so early on in her career, because she follows the rules as far as she can before she has to bend them, because she doesn’t shirk on paperwork, because she reports in exactly when she’s told, because she’s law-abiding and law-enforcing and sharp and quick and strong and she’s small, sure, but the best things come in small packages. It’s because her methods work. Her bosses know this. Her coworkers know this. Even the goddamn press knows this, and she would be proud of that if they didn’t often get in her way.
That is why she is assigned the Sentai case. Solo. Alone. All resources given, no questions asked. She’s trusted to do her job honorably, and Hana gives no thought to doing otherwise because that is how she does things. That is why she pulls late nights. That is why she wakes up early despite them. That is why she drives her bike like she’s running towards tomorrow. That is why people respect her, why people fear her, why people whisper D.Va is on the case, and it’s only a matter of time.
That is why she’s standing in the rain at one in the morning, breathing hard, gun skittered across the ground by the Sentai’s feet, eyes narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, hands drawn up defensively in front of her.
They say don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.
What they don’t say is this: don’t bring a knife to a fistfight.
Here’s the thing about blades: it takes a lot of skill to wield one effectively. There are certain rules involved, and most of them revolve around your opponent fighting cleanly. Don’t fight out of the box. Don’t stray from your training. Whatever you do, don’t fucking cheat.
Here’s the thing about Hana Song: she hates cheating, she hates liars, she hates thieves, and she follows the rules but she bends them when she has to.
Here’s the thing about punches: getting hit in the face with one is disorienting as hell.
Here’s the thing about Sentai: he’s a cocky, cocky bastard, and he really should have known better.
He hesitates before he lands a cut on her, and it’s shallow and slices the skin of her upper arm.
She punches him in the face, roundhouse kicks him in the waist, almost breaks his elbow to disarm him, shoves him hard enough to the ground that he chokes, and slaps a pair of handcuffs on him before he can suck in a breath.
“GG, moron,” she says under her breath, knee pressed hard between his shoulder blades, lifting her radio to her ear and rattling off her coordinates before saying, “Backup, now. Sentai’s been cuffed, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Sentai says to her, breathless from being bested, breathless because this is the first time he’s encountered the legendary officer D.Va and the rumors all pale in comparison, breathless because he’s not sure how he’s going to make it out of this one, breathless because it’s Hana Song.
“Your entire superhero shtick is a mistake,” she replies, icy and flat and pitiless, and Sentai has no words as she says, “You’re lucky it was me assigned to your case.”
Sentai is, in reality, a man named Genji Shimada. His sidekick, who does not accompany him to the field, is a sleepless, brilliant med student named Angela Ziegler. His brother, who believes Sentai killed him, is an exhausted, tireless police officer named Hanzo Shimada. His nemesis, whom Genji has been fighting for over a year, is a shadowy, vicious wraith named the Reaper.
His friend, who has just now arrested him and is hauling him back to the precinct, who believes the Reaper killed him, who believes in justice and honor and righteousness and who is willing to fight for those things, is a tough, no-nonsense police officer named Hana Song.
Life is full of ironies, Genji thinks as he’s slammed into a chair, handcuffed, Hana Song leaning on the wall behind him and blowing a pink bubble with her gum. Life is full of ironies, and he’s but one mote of dust on a slightly bigger mote of dust, and yet the universe hates him.
“Hello, Sentai,” says Hanzo Shimada, sitting across from him, and Genji wants to laugh. “Let’s start simple. What’s your name?”
“Take his mask off,” Hana suggests blandly when Genji does not reply.
“Don’t,” Genji says instantly, and he can see how Hanzo’s eyes meet Hana’s, and he knows he only has to bluff for a few more minutes before Angela will come through.
The thing is, Hana knows it’s only a matter of time before Sentai escapes custody. That’s why she doesn’t waste her breath on questions; instead she studies Sentai’s body language, committing everything she can to memory, and knows in her bones that there will be next time.
As if on cue, the lights go out.
Genji finds Hana waiting for him outside. She’s holding his katana, the blade wrapped in fabric to keep from cutting her, and he watches, completely confounded, as she offers it to him hilt-first.
“Help me find the Reaper,” she says, drawing the blade back towards her as he reaches for it.
“That would be easier if you didn’t arrest me,” Genji says.
“I don’t arrest you, I lose my reputation, and I’ve worked damned hard for it,” Hana – no, D.Va says, tough as nails and ready to storm the gates of hell. “Help me help you, and maybe I will keep Hanzo from ever taking your helmet off.”
She holds his katana out to him and waits. After an eternity, Genji releases a silent breath and takes it.
“I’ll be in touch,” he says, and he can feel her eyes on him as he goes.
It’s not every day you get a superhero’s number.
You’re not a superhero. You’re a vigilante, and you’re not above the law.
Fair enough. Don’t be a stranger.
Overwatch Memorial Park. Two days. Twenty-one hours. Be there.
How do you even know the Reaper will show?
You said you’d help me. I can always arrest you again.
... I’ll be there.
“You have excellent timing,” she says to him many days later, pinned into place by gunfire.
“You have excellent instincts,” he replies, and she can’t see his grin, but she can hear it in his voice. “You were right, as it turns out. The Reaper is here.”
In response, Hana snaps her gun against her hand, reloading it with a fresh magazine and adjusting her grip. She jerks her head; lead on. She’s heard of his abilities and trusts him not to let her be killed. It’s not his style.
He leads. She follows.
“Hana Song, working with Sentai,” the Reaper rasps, and they’re on the roof of a building and Hana is fearless beside him, gun pointing with dangerous precision and eyes focused intently on the wraith. Genji is still having trouble reconciling his image of Hana Song with Officer D.Va. “The press will have a field day with this.”
“My oath says I will serve with honor and dignity in the pursuit of justice,” Hana says, “And there is no higher justice than defeating a criminal who has killed hundreds.”
“You’re next on the list,” the Reaper croaks, and Sentai breathes in, katana loose and ready in his hand.
“Perhaps,” Hana says, unwavering. “But I’ll be damned if it will be by your hand.”
The Reaper opens fire on her. Hana rolls to the side to duck behind a ventilation unit. Genji charges in, and it occurs to him that Hana did not have handcuffs on her, or any restraining equipment at all, and then Reaper lashes out, he dodges underneath, and he doesn’t think about her at all.
Here’s the thing about Hana Song: she’s endlessly loyal, clinically efficient, and, most importantly, completely ruthless. She does not show mercy, she does not do things in halves, and she is the type of person who weaponizes every aspect of her.
Here’s the thing about Genji Shimada: he’s jaded, but at heart he is an optimist. He believes in second chances, in redemption, in forgiveness and harmony. He does not kill; such is not his way.
Here’s the thing about the Reaper: he thinks he knows who is the more formidable enemy, and that is his last mistake.
The Reaper hesitates before he fires, most of his focus on Sentai somewhere beyond. The shot goes wide, and only a few ball bearings dig into Hana’s flesh.
Hana rips his mask off of his face, presses her pistol to his temple, and kills him with a twitch of her finger.
Genji is speechless. Hana watches impassively as the Reaper’s body drops to the ground.
“That was for Genji,” she tells the corpse, and then shoots it twice in the chest for good measure, adding, “And that was for my fathers and my friends.”
“Thank you for your help,” Hana says to him. Sentai says nothing, which doesn’t surprise her, and she looks at his sword before she looks back to his helmet. “You’re free to go. Not like I’ll ever be sent after you again.”
She chuckles. He doesn’t, which is a shame because it’s kind of a good joke, and instead he says, “Officer Hana ‘D.Va’ Song.”
“Just Hana now, I imagine,” she says. “That was the joke earlier.”
“Genji Shimada isn’t dead.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know why that matters, but you didn’t see the body, Sentai. He’s definitely dead.”
Sentai studies her for a moment. She stares back, not defiant but ready.
“Follow me,” he says, and she trusts him, against all odds, so she does.
“Oh,” Angela says when he opens her door, and her eyes shift to Hana, widen, and she says, softer, “Oh.”
“You’ve heard the news?” he asks her. He doesn’t make a move to enter until she steps aside, going to all the windows and shutting the shades, and Hana follows him wordlessly.
“Yes,” Angela says, and then, to Hana, “Do you need a place to stay?”
“No,” Hana says, and that is that.
“You’re going to tell her, then,” Angela says to Genji, and he nods, and when he moves to remove his helmet, Angela only shakes her head. “You knew something like this might happen.”
“Not like this,” Genji says, and when the helmet is off, Hana stills, eyes widening incrementally as he looks over and meets her gaze. He says again, quieter, “Never like this.”
The next time Hana runs into Sentai, she’s just arrived home from the precinct. She stays down in the evidence room these days – no more fieldwork for an indefinite period of time, so she’s told – and that suits her just fine.
“Officer,” he says. He’s in her apartment, somehow, perched delicately on the couch in front of her gaming setup. She throws her keys on the counter of her kitchen and doesn’t question it.
“Sentai,” she says.
“I need your help.”
Here’s the thing about vigilantism: it’s wrong in the best of ways, but that doesn’t make it right.
Here’s the thing about justice, about honor, about diligence and loyalty and determination: they are powerful and fearsome in ample amounts, but too much of any can be deadly.
“No,” Hana says. “Sentai is a mistake, Genji.”
Here’s the thing: Hana Song is damned good at her job.
“Suit yourself,” says Sentai.
Here’s the thing: Genji Shimada is a cocky, cocky bastard, and he really should have known better.