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Chapter Text

It’s a hot and sweltering day in Tokyo, and Hana Song dearly wishes that she chose to wear something looser and lighter. Her MEKA bodysuit clings to her body and all of its curves. She remembers how she was embarrassed when she first received it; now, it feels like a second skin to her after wearing it for so long. A sweaty skin that is unsuitable for summer, however. Thank god for air conditioning. Without it, she thinks that she might have passed out. At least on the battlefield, there was the sea spray of the ocean, built-in air conditioning in her mech, and the constant thrum of adrenaline to keep her mind off the uncomfortable clinginess of the suit. She pauses to glance at her reflection in the mirror and then remembers. She had no choice but to be here.

Today is the day that the Japanese and the Korean governments attempt at a joint union in an attempt to take down the giant omnic in the sea. Frankly, Hana is surprised at how late the two countries tried it out, but then again, the rivalry continues to go strong after so many years of bitter history. At least North Korea isn’t exactly involved. There simply isn’t enough people to even call North Korea a proper country anymore.
So, that was why she was here. As the most famous representative from MEKA, her job was to make sure that the public welcomed it. And frankly, with her reputation, fame, and poise, Hana should be able to make it work. It doesn’t matter if she wants to stay home; they’ve purposely put her in the spotlight here in the dizzying lights of Tokyo. She is not here as Hana Song; she is here as D.Va and every ounce of fame that lies behind the name.

She snorts a little bit as she looks at her reflection in the glass window. She could be doing so much more than this: fighting, strategizing, organizing her team into different formations to throw off the algorithms of the omnic in the sea. She’s not just a star; she was good at Starcraft because she could think , develop new tactics, and have the reflexes to follow up with those tactics. She could apply the same to the battlefield. It’s just… She was used as a media presence more than what she really joined MEKA for.

Still, Hana turns back to go to the conference room. As she walks, she brushes against the shoulder of some man, and she automatically says a small “excuse me” in Korean. Then, she remembers that she’s in Japan and she tries to think of what the damn phrase was in Japanese. She looks up to see a man in graying hair pulled back in a ponytail and has to hold in a small laugh; the man has the most severe eyebrows she has ever seen on a person and a goatee to top it all off. He stares back at her and says a simple “it’s fine” in Korean to her. Hana sighs slightly as the burden of replying in the proper language falls off her shoulders. She dips her head slightly before turning back and entering the conference room.

One of the diplomats scolds her for running off during such an important time, but she excuses herself by saying that she had to go to the bathroom. Still, she’s told off yet again for not taking a bodyguard with her.
Apparently, it appears as though some members of Japanese society are not happy with the new arrangements between the Korean and Japanese government. The way the diplomat wrinkles her nose and enunciates the words members and society makes it seem like the undesirables; crime syndicates, terrorists, dissidents, or something equally like that. Hana simply shrugs. She’s only here for appearances.

During the entire meeting, Hana doesn’t pay too much attention. Well, she does pay attention, but half of her mind is spent on rolling over the question over and over in her head. Why would anyone disagree to a mutually beneficial agreement? And would she have the ability to fight back if she was indeed captured? She supposes that she has her military training. She wouldn’t have been able to qualify for MEKA if she couldn’t even pass that, so she knows how to flip a man, utilize her small frame to the most of its ability, and how to fire a gun.

The meeting adjourns for the day, and Hana strolls outside with the other Korean diplomats and the usual bodyguards. She pastes on a charming smile the minute they step outside because the flashes from cameras and crowding reporters are nothing new. She doesn’t say a single thing; she knows better than that. She tosses in a few waves every now and then but keeps the smile on her face. She doesn’t let it go until she’s safely in the car with windows darkened and all the way up for privacy. She normally would keep the smile on for longer, but there’s a screen on the inside of the window that’s pulled down. That suffices for safety, so she lets the smile go.

Her bodyguards review the current things that they have to look out for: civilians who could be disguised in order to get closer, overzealous reporters, and assassins, particularly from the Shimada clan. “Yakuza, but worse,” a bodyguard says with a curl of his lip. “Based in Hanamura, but they’ve got people everywhere.”
A diplomat raises his eyebrow and comments, “What are they going to? The head of the clan is dead, one son gone, and the other son dead.” The Shimadas are both prevalent and unknown; their names are known but no one knows just how far their reach lies.

Hana pops a stick of gum in her mouth as she props her elbow on the armrest. “Dead?” she inquires. “Doesn’t the leadership pass down to someone else then?”
The diplomat shrugs, “The Shimadas were always known to take familial ties and hereditary leadership seriously. No one ever knew why, something traditionalist maybe?”

Hana wants to snort. Japan seems like a land of contradictories; the cities are bedecked and lit with the furthest advancements in technology, but the people are still steeped in traditions. She supposes that it’s mostly the same with South Korea, but the omnic war forces them all to leave behind a vestige of tradition in favor of gaining the upper hand. Sure, you’ll see people going back to pay respects to their family around the harvest festival and lunar new year, but if you’re deployed, you’re deployed. Then, it’s just time to drink and hopefully not die.

“They say that Hanzo Shimada has been sighted around Hanamura though,” another bodyguard says, her eyes dark and suspicious. She brings up her small tablet and pinches the screen slightly before she projects the image.

Hana’s in the middle of popping the bubble of her gum when she sees the image, and she almost chokes on it. Cold, severe expression, hair graying by the temples, the goatee, and the eyebrows. She sucks in a small breath as she realizes who she ran into in the hallway.

Hanzo Shimada himself.

The likeness is too similar for her to disregard it as a mistake, and Hana Song, no, D.Va does not make mistakes. According to the diplomats, South Korean intelligence has shockingly little on the Shimada clan. It’s concerningly little and only shows how well the clan covers its tracks. Despite how Hana turns the issue over and over in her mind, she can’t find any cracks or holes that she could hypothesize about. Only speculations.

And those speculations remain in her mind as the next day’s meeting resumes. She’s in a different bodysuit this time — more patriotic, with the taegeukgi and flag colors — but it’s still annoyingly clingy as always. Another different thing about the day is that she has a MEKA demonstration later on in the day. She had her typically bubblegum-pink MEKA repainted a patriotic blue and white with a flag decal on the top as well. It matches her bodysuit.

The meeting passes with the typical arguments brought up and concessions that neither side refuses to make. It ends early to accommodate the demonstration before lunch. Hana slides out of her seat almost eagerly and strides out the door a tad bit fast. She walks fast, ignoring her bodyguard, and turns the corner too quickly. She brushes past another man again, but she ignores it in favor of getting out of the stifling atmosphere faster and closer to her mech.

People had cleared out a small area in the park next to the building, and the cherry trees lining the paths were fully in bloom. Hana glances up at the pink blossoms and thinks that her usual pink would have matched the blossoms much better than its current colors. She slides into her mech seat with ease and runs a hand lovingly over her controllers. She may not like the way that she’s constantly used as media, but this is something that makes her think that her talents are worth something more than trophies and titles. Something that enables her to protect.
She exhales and dons on her D.Va persona. With a small laugh, she activates her streaming equipment installed in her mech and chirps, “Hello, and welcome to the stream, everyone! I’ll be running a quick demonstration of my MEKA here in Tokyo, Japan!”
It’s not hard. Just a blast of her boosters causes a loud oooooo from the crowd, and she takes down bots with ease with her fusion cannons. She deflects all the practice bullets with her defense matrix, and she does a few tricks like spinning in circles in the air after launching herself upwards. When she exits the mech, people cheer and she bows and waves, smiling all the time.

She still can’t shake the feeling of someone watching her though. Which is strange. Everyone is watching her. Why does it matter now?

Now that her demonstration is done, all the diplomats adjourn for lunch. D.Va decides to park the mech in front of the building, next to a lone cherry tree. Of course, she locks the mech down and shuts it off securely; she's not an idiot. People can look at the MEKA and recognize the flag decal, but they can't do anything else. She snorts a little bit as she tries to imagine someone hauling off her mech; it's much too heavy and now, it's safely secured to the ground. There won't be anybody moving it unless she unlocks the security measures.
D.Va refuses to follow the others, insisting on going to the bathroom first. She wants to splash some cold water on her face, reapply some of her makeup, salvage the bits and pieces of Hana Song under the D.Va persona before going to lunch. A single bodyguard follows her to the bathroom with her purse and patiently waits outside the women’s bathroom for her. She waves her fingers at him, grabs her purse back, and ducks in the bathroom.

The sound of cold water gushing from the tap grounds her, and she stares at her reflection in the mirror. After splashing some water on her face, her makeup has been smudged and distorted. Her concealer runs a little bit to reveal the dark circles under her eyes. Hana sighs heavily before digging into her small purse for a makeup removal wipe.
She methodically takes off the makeup that she painted on only a few hours before. It’s her own form of war paint, she thinks ruefully. She even took the time to paint on her usual pink triangles that adorned her cheeks. The triangles probably wouldn’t be allowed for a formal setting like the meeting again, so she decides against repainting those. But the rest? She puts on her makeup quickly and efficiently; years of practice and the spotlight made it so much easier than it first was.
Hana examines her reflection again. It’s not as classically D.Va anymore, but the overall mood and expression and appearance of the face still holds some of that famous confidence and charm. Nothing like what she currently feels like, no, but it is the appearance that counts the most. She clicks her compact shut and tucks away her powder, her brushes, her palette, all back into her purse.

“ Boom-shakalaka . This girl is on fire,” she whispers to herself. “You play to win.”
With a nod, she exits the bathroom.

When she opens the door, she fully expects the bodyguard to be there, waiting as usual. But when she glances around, she doesn’t see any sign or trace of him. Suddenly, the lights above crackle before popping out. One by one, the lights in the building all turn off, making the hallways dark and shadowed.

A power blackout.
So rare for Tokyo.
Aren’t there supposed to be backup generators for these kinds of emergencies? Something churns in Hana’s gut, and she glances back and forth more quickly. There’s something off; the city rarely sleeps and constantly thrums with light and sound. This silence and darkness is unfathomable and abnormal.

Then, Hana’s heartbeat accelerates as she feels that same, ever-present gaze drilling into the back of her neck.

Chapter Text

Hanzo Shimada is exhausted.

He only returns to Hanamura once a year: the day that he and his brother both died. He walks and breathes and eats, but he doesn’t really live. Surviving is the best way to call it, really. Surviving and wandering has comprised his life for too long.

Entering his old family home was easy enough; you’d think that his family would have closed the gates by now. His movements are predictable on this one day. He always comes back to honor his brother, and he always handles the guards with ease. A few well-placed arrows and some well-timed kicks and punches always did the trick. A few minutes of incense and prayer wrapped up the evening, and he would return to his lonely life of survival and wandering.

But as he curls his left hand over his right, shaping a circle with his hands, he notices something wrong, something off about the scene. There is someone else in the castle besides him and the bodyguards that he dispatched. “You are not the first assassin sent to kill me,” he says lowly. “And you will not be the last.”
He can hear the weight of a person’s body thud onto the wooden floor behind him, but the sound, the vibration, and the hissing of vents makes him pause for a moment. That is not a normal person nor a normal assassin. “You are bold to come to Shimada castle, the den of your enemies,” the assassin tosses back. His? Her? It? Their voice is robotic and tinny, but Hanzo thinks that there is more of a masculine, deeper tone to it.
“This was once my home,” Hanzo says sharply as he reaches for his Storm Bow. “Did your masters not tell you who I was?!” He quickly swings his bow around and launches an arrow at the source of the sound. A cybernetic ninja quickly dodges out of the way. It’s a peculiar thing, white metal and chrome with green lighting. But no matter, he must attack.
“I know who you are, Hanzo,” the ninja says, almost mockingly in Hanzo’s opinion. “I know you come here every year, on the same day. You risk so much to honor someone you murdered!” The ninja unsheathes his shurikens, launching three of them at Hanzo, but Hanzo uses an arrow to block them. “You know nothing of what happened!” Hanzo bellows as he launches a volley of arrows at the ninja.

The two engage in a fight, and no matter how many arrows that Hanzo aims, the ninja simply deflects or avoids them. He even manages to deflect the scatter arrows that Hanzo fires. The ninja leaps up to the higher floor and cocks his head slightly as he slides his smaller sword back into its sheath. Hanzo spares a moment to glance at the sword lying on the rack in front of the still-burning incense, but the memories of a bloody day ten years ago stay his hand from reaching for the sword. Instead, he dashes after the ninja on the terrace.

“I know you tell yourself that your brother disobeyed the clan and that you had to kill him to maintain order,” the ninja’s voice echoes in the lonely night air. “That it was your duty.”

Hanzo tries to shoot more and more, but he only has two left; one gets sliced in half while the other thuds into the wood of the floor. Hanzo runs out of arrows, but that does not mean he is completely defenseless. He uses Storm Bow to attack, pressing onwards as he yells back, “It was my duty and my burden. That does not mean I do not honor him!” In his rage, he fails to press back on the ninja who now overpowers him and pins him down at the edge of the balcony.

“You think you honor your brother, Genji, with incense offerings?” he sneers. “Honor resides in one’s actions.”
Fury ignites in Hanzo’s veins as he snaps, “You dare to lecture me about honor? You are not worthy to say his name!” He flings the ninja off of him before sliding across the floor to retrieve the lone arrow. With the familiar tug of fire at what feels like his own soul, Hanzo brings forth his spirit dragons with a shout and a twang of his bowstring.

Blue dragons surge out of the arrow, coming to life from the tattoo emblazoned on his arm, but the ninja draws his blade. As the blade sings out a small note as the ninja withdraws it, the ninja yells out a sickeningly familiar cry. With the sound of his voice, a green dragon erupts to life along the metal of the blade, and the ninja directs all three Shimada dragons to surge back to Hanzo.

Hanzo falls to his knees and breathes out, “Only a Shimada can control the dragons. Who are you?” He does not want to believe even the possibility of the intruder’s identity. The ninja doesn’t even waste a single moment as he surges forward and holds the edge of his blade all too close to Hanzo’s neck. “Do it, then. Kill me,” Hanzo spits in return.
The ninja sighs as he moves the blade back and stands up straight. “No, I will not grant you the death you wish for,” he says as he sheaths the katana. “You still have a purpose in this life, brother.”
“No,” Hanzo whispers with disbelief. “How? My brother is dead.” The ninja doesn’t respond but instead, moves his hands up to his mask. The soft sounds of clicking and vents hissing accompany the ninja as he slowly takes off his mask to reveal his heavily scarred face. Hanzo feels as though his heart is leaping up into his throat as he gasps, “Genji! What… What have you become?”

Genji puts his mask back on with a click as he says, “I have accepted what I am and I have forgiven you. Now, you must forgive yourself. The world is changing once again, Hanzo, and it’s time to pick a side.” He suddenly leaps off the terrace and lands neatly on another rooftop. Hanzo grabs his bow and the leftover arrow and points it at Genji as he cries out, “Real life is not like the stories our father told us. You are a fool for believing it so!”
Even though the mask betrays no emotion and no expression, the way that Genji tilts his head makes it seem as though his expression is softening. “Perhaps I am a fool to think that there is still hope for you,” he says softly, his voice carrying on the night breeze. “But I do. Think on that, brother.” With that, Genji leaps off the roof and melts into the Hanamura night.

Hanzo stands there on the terrace, staring at the spot where his once-dead brother used to be. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Hanzo grits his teeth as he slowly lowers Storm Bow and tucks the last arrow back in his quiver. There is nothing that he can to obtain the answers that he wants unless he chases down his brother again.

So, he runs, runs as fast as he can, away from the castle in Hanamura. He’s gotten good at that within the years. There is never a shortage of assassins when it comes to killing him, and avoiding them and escaping has been a talent he has honed over the years. Sometimes, he wonders why he never just allows them to kill him. Petty, stubborn pride, he assumes. But now, he cannot afford to die. Not when he knows Genji is alive. He must find him, track him down, and figure out what exactly happened to him since his supposed death.

He pauses just before he leaves the castle and strips off a tuxedo that a bodyguard was wearing. The man looked to be roughly his size and shape, so he takes it. His own clothing is too iconic to wear forever. Once he’s outside the castle limits, he changes quickly but keeps his bow. The city is still thrumming with lights and life — a strange, modern twist to a still-traditional city — so he’s able to melt in easily with the night crowd. No one pays too much attention to him when he sticks to the shadows, but the fact that his former family might use the night shadows as judiciously as him haunts his steps. He has to be careful, especially when he has so much at stake now.

He manages to get back to his cramped motel room that he rented out for the night. There, he rips off the stolen suit and changes into less conspicuous clothes. However, when he takes it off, he discovers a small holo-net tablet tucked into the inside pocket of the jacket. It looks as though he accidentally took the guard’s info tablet as well as his clothes. This guard was evidently well-known and high up within the ranks to even have such a tablet. That could turn out to be more useful than he thought. It somewhat makes up for the embarrassment of having to steal the clothes of someone else’s body.
He tucks his Storm Bow back into its special case and makes a mental note to start making arrows to replace the ones that he used up. Hanzo sighs as he takes a valuable moment of time to stare out the window at the lights of Hanamura. He will not be able to see the lights of his home for another year. He doesn’t even know if he’ll come back for his brother’s anniversary next year, not when he knows that Genji is still alive. Without another moment to waste, he wipes all traces of his stay from the room. Then, as he slings his bag across his shoulder, he makes his escape from Hanamura.

He doesn’t like taking typical modes of transportation — too obvious and too easy for others to find him — but this is the fastest way he can get out of Hanamura: the shinkansen . Like every year before, Hanzo assumes a different fake identity in order to get out of Japan safely. Once he reaches Tokyo, he can melt out of sight and take the next plane out from the Narita airport. With a small smirk of amusement, he chooses the name Hattori Hanzo as his alias for the year. Buying the ticket and finding an empty seat in the most isolated car is the easiest thing that he’s done so far in Hanamura.

Hattori Hanzo settles into his seat and pulls a tablet out of his bag; to any bystander, he looks like a businessman going through his files. The collar of his business suit chafes at his neck, and he dearly wishes for his comfortable, usual clothes. Still, his Storm Bow is safe in the case beneath his seat, and his limited possessions are in his bag.
Of course, his family loves to encode their files, even on private tablets, so Hanzo uses his old tricks to gain further access. He even manages to get his hands on some files that would normally be out of the user’s reach.

As he reads, his eyes grow wide as he discovers what exactly his estranged family has been up to. Most of it is usual business: distributing illegal arms and substances to humans and omnics alike. However, it appears as though the Shimada clan is dabbling into something new, something political.

They intend to stop an alliance between the Japanese and Korean governments. An alliance meant to stop the great omnic in the sea. It looks like there are meetings arranged in Tokyo for it.

He cannot imagine why the family elders would choose such a course of action; this arrangement seems mutually beneficial for almost everyone involved. Perhaps there is something, someone else, someone new , pulling the strings? From Hanzo’s experience, he cannot imagine the traditionalist elders planning a strategy like this. This comes from a more ambitious and more daring person.

They intend to assassinate the figurehead of the movement: a starlet by the name of Hana Song, also known as D.Va. It appears as though she gained fame by winning video game championships and then was drafted into the South Korean MEKA team. Killing her would cause chaos and outrage all around the globe purely based on her fame and recognition alone. It is a bold and daring plan, and although the details of the assassination is decidedly Shimada, the entire intent of the plan is not. He does not know who is behind it, and that unsettles him. New blood, new leadership? But the Shimadas remained fiercely hierarchical, keeping leadership within the family bloodline.

Hanzo shakes his head at the file and looks up to stare at the scenery that flickers by through his window. He supposes that he has to be in Tokyo anyways. Perhaps he will stop by the building marked on the map and see what the situation is like for himself. The train travels faster and faster, and the cities and fields of rice seem to blend together into a seamless blur that only gives Hanzo a heartache for a place he once called home and for memories that was once his childhood.

Chapter Text

Hana turns, ever so slowly, and sees a figure clothed all in black with a metal strap keeping their hair back and a fabric mask keeping most of their face covered except for their eyes. And they’re pointing a blade right at her. Her heartbeat accelerates as adrenaline surges in her veins. Without even a moment of hesitation, she ducks and lashes out with a rough kick to the assassin’s groin. She supposes that the person didn’t expect her to fight back because her kick lands solidly and the figure crumples on the ground. Hana wants to kick and punch some more, but at this point, she has no other weapons other than her body. Even though she’s been trained in hand-to-hand combat, she doesn’t want to try her chances against a blade.

She turns and sprints down the hallway, clutching her purse as she goes. There’s a sliver-thin button in there that allows her to unlock and summon her mech during self-destruct deployments. She just needs to get into a larger area like the lobby in order to summon it adequately. The elevators would be down, so she skids past the elevator doors and slams the doors to the stairs open.

She doesn’t hear footsteps behind her, but she knows that the assassin must be following her at this point. The diplomats and bodyguards told her that the Shimada clan trained their assassins to be deadly, cruel, silent, and utterly efficient. She slips on the first step down, and if it wasn’t for the railing, she would have fallen flat on her face. However, the color drains from her face as she squints her eyes to see a strange lump on the floor of the stair landing. It’s her bodyguard. Dead.
Her heartbeat pounds harder, and she runs. Thankfully, she’s not on the highest floors and only has two flights of stairs to go through before she reaches the lobby and her mech. However, the assassin suddenly drops down in front of her on the landing between the first and second floor. Her breath catches in her throat as she focuses on the sharp blade and the dark, liquid-black eyes of the assassin.

Hana briefly thinks, this isn’t how I want to die , before an arrow whistles through the air and lodges itself directly in their throat. Hanzo Shimada drops down in front of her as well. His prosthetic legs hiss gently as they accommodate the sudden impact of his drop.

He’s wearing much different clothing than when she first saw him: gold scarf tying his hair back, black hakama and kyudo-gi with a deep blue sash, and inexplicably, a gourd hanging from his belt. Also, he has half of his chest out, and when Hana looks up at him, the only thought that runs through her mind is that Hanzo Shimada, supposed heir to the terrifying Shimada clan, walks around with his tiddy out.

He looks down at her and snaps, “Run! There will be more!”

Hana doesn’t waste the precious time that he’s bought for her and dashes down the last flight of stairs. She flings open the doors and slides into the lobby. She glances frantically around her, eyes scanning the shadows for figures. One by the potted plant, one behind the lobby desk, and another by the nook next to the bathrooms. She shoves her hand in her purse, digging for the button, and checks her surroundings once more. The assassins are advancing, but she can’t see any civilians nor their bodies. Hopefully, this means that they’re somewhere safer. She also can’t help but notice shuriken embedded in the discreet security cameras dotting the lobby.

Her fingers touch the cool metal of the button, and she instinctively presses it twice: once to unlock it and once to summon it. Her breaths settle down to a slower rhythm as she waits for the scant seconds it takes for the mech to arrive.

“Why aren’t you running?” Hanzo’s voice echoes in the dark lobby. Hana tilts her head up to retort something back, but she’s interrupted by an arrow that splits and breaks off into multiple arrows that scatter around the lobby. The assassin by the nook somehow manages to deflect a couple and jump out of the way. The one by the plant lunges for her, but it’s too late.
With a thud, her mech lands solidly on the ground, and Hana slides into her operator seat. The familiar controls and displays are right there where she needs them to be, and with a smirk dancing its way across her face, D.Va activates her mech. “D.Va online,” she mutters under her breath.

Hanzo remains above on higher ground, trying to pick off the enemies. D.Va thinks rapidly, trying to think of tactics. No civilians present, three enemies here with agility and speed. She doubts she can out-run then, but if she can pin them down, she could do something about it. With a decisive jerk of her head, she turns her mech around and fires her launchers to slam solidly into the one by the plant. D.Va can hear the sounds of the pot shattering, but her focus is on the person in front of her. With a jerk of her right hand, she peppers their body with bullets. Thankfully, most of the blood is hidden by the black clothing that they wear, but she stills feels a chill down her back when she sees the red spatters of blood speck the slivers of visible skin and sees how their eyes grow dull and glazed after death. She feels bile rise up in the back of her throat, but she doesn’t have time for that . Not now. Not when she’s D.Va.

She whirls around and activates her fusion cannons, sending small rocket blasts across the lobby. She obliterates the neat wallpaper and forces the remaining two to gather in one area. Hanzo manages to fire one arrow into one’s chest, and Hana quickly launches her mech between the last one and Hanzo to activate her defense matrix. Her eyes flick rapidly and her hands move even faster as she deflects each and every shuriken meant to kill Hanzo. A final arrow lands straight where the assassin’s heart would be, and they fall over dead.

Hanzo scales down from his position by the upper floor landings with ease, and D.Va gapes a little bit. It seems as though he’s climbing on nothing but the walls which shouldn’t have any grip to them. He lands softly and with little sound before he turns to gaze at her.
D.Va opens the cockpit and easily slides out, returning back to simple Hana Song. Her makeup is still good as it looked before, and her hair isn’t messed up badly. Even her purse still hangs on her shoulder. The only evidence that something dangerous ever happened to her is her still-accelerating heartbeat and the few beads of sweat that dotted her forehead. She purses her lips as she examines the lobby; it’s utterly destroyed thanks to her mech and Hanzo’s arrows. She still feels shaky when she remembers how the assassin’s eyes looked when she killed him. She knows that death will haunt her nightmares for years now. Her hands tighten into fists; she cannot afford to shake or show weakness now.

Hanzo walks even closer and regards her with a different light in his eyes. Respect, perhaps? He glances behind her to examine her mech, still looking pristine as ever. The blue and white don’t shine as they should in the still-darkened lobby, but the Korean flag is still clear to see.

Hana eyes the man, careful and cautious. He looks older, more worn-out, than the hologram picture did of him, but the severe expression on his face is identical. “You’re Hanzo Shimada, aren’t you?” she asks in English. She’s too stressed to remember her Japanese adequately, and English was always a usual for international communication. She hopes that he knows it. “Bold and reckless of you to come,” she comments.
Hanzo is busy scanning their surroundings and examining the shadows for any other possible attackers. “Why does everybody seem to be saying that to me,” he grumbles before flicking his gaze up to meet her eyes. “Huh?” Hana says as she blinks owlishly. She shrugs, “Eh, doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you just let them kill me?” She needs to hold on to her nonchalance for a little while longer; it’s the only thing keeping her from curling up into a ball and breathing out the stresses and the panic of the day.

Hanzo doesn’t know that either. It would have been easier to just let her die. It would have meant a lack of a loose end to tie up and allow him to leave faster. Perhaps that would have helped him find Genji faster too. Evidently, he doesn’t hide that thought well enough because Hana’s eyes pierce into him and see that as well.
“Looks like you don’t know as well,” she sighs. “Well, that makes both of us.” She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, “Listen, what’s going on? Why is the Shimada clan so against this to the point where they’d kill me. ” She’s had her own fair share of crazy fans, but never people intent on murdering her. Her heart is still pounding.

“Why are you so comfortable talking to a man who is part of the very group trying to kill you?” Hanzo tosses right back. He’s really not in the mood for this right now.

Hana glances around at the smoking wallpaper and shrugs, “I don’t know. Good point. I could say the same to you except you’re the one who’s part of the group trying to kill me.” Hanzo’s expression darkens, and she laughs at that, “Go on, go for it if you really want to.” Privately, she thinks that she doesn’t want to die. She’s too young to die and too petty to die like that. If she was going to die, she might as well go down in her mech with guns ablaze and die with the knowledge that she was doing something to protect her country. But D.Va plays to win, and she does not like to lose. So, she keeps her bluffing face straight.

Hanzo sighs, “I… I am no longer considered part of the clan, but I will always be a Shimada at heart.” Hana cocks her head and observes him as she asks, “And why’s that?”

“I do not need to tell you.”

“Fair, suit yourself. Why are you here then if you’re not here to kill me?”

“I am here to find my brother.”

And when Hanzo says that, he looks the most honest that he’s ever looked in this entire conversation that has played out. The colder edges of his expression melt, and if Hana squints, she can see the barest traces of grief and sadness flickering in his dark eyes.

“Your brother?” she echoes. “Sounds interesting. Want to tell me more?”

She doesn’t expect him to.

“No,” he refuses as his expression hardens. Hana shrugs. As expected. “Okay then, I’m going to go back then,” she tosses back.

Hana turns around, flipping her hair back as she goes, and starts to stride down the darkened lobby. Broken glass and deflected arrows snap and break under her feet as she leaves. She’s not so sure if Hanzo will do anything, but at this point, the situation seems out of her hands. It’s not like she could stop the entire Shimada clan, and there’s not really any options left in this for her. So, she starts to leave.

But then, Hanzo suddenly calls out, “Wait!”
Hana pauses and glances back with a raise of her eyebrows. “What?” she asks pointedly.
Hanzo crosses his arms and says, “You cannot stay here. Not in Japan.” He looks dead serious, and with the way he’s almost glaring at her and combined with the goatee and eyebrows, he looks intimidating as hell.
“Why?” she asks, crossing her arms as well. If he wants to play the arm-crossing game, so can she.
He sighs and gestures towards the limp bodies of the assassins. “The Shimada clan is resilient, strong. They will not stop trying to kill you,” he states. Hana bites her lip and replies, “You know, most people would just call that being stubborn instead of resilient.” Hanzo frowns at her and gives her a rather dirty look as he barks out, “Forgive me for trying to keep a shred of my family’s honor.” His expression sobers as he says, “However, the fact remains that you are in danger because you are an icon, a figurehead for the arrangement. Your fame marks you for death.”

It’s not that Hana resents Hanzo Shimada or anything like that. No, this is pure resentment and stress from being paraded around like a doll and being treated like a child for too long. Sarcasm bleeds into her voice as she snaps, “Wooooow, grim, aren’t we? Okay, smart guy, what are you suggesting I do?” Her frustrations overflow and she mutters darkly in her native tongue, “I can’t just leave; my superiors would never let me.”

Hanzo tilts his head and examines her expression; Hana stares defiantly back. Moments pass before he slowly says in the same language, “I do not know.”

She doesn’t know why the sudden thought flickers into her head. Maybe it’s the fact that he took the courtesy to reply in Korean or maybe it’s the fact that she has her mech with her. Maybe it’s the fact that she just killed living people instead of omnics or maybe it’s the fact that none of the security cameras work anymore thanks to the shuriken buried deep in them. But impulsively, she blurts out in the same Korean, “Listen, you said you were looking for your brother, right?”
Hanzo rears back slightly away from her and looks at her warily. “Yes,” he replies, still in Korean.

Hana sucks in a deep breath and figures that she doesn’t have much to lose. Oh, she does have everything to lose but not when she’s forced to be the media star, forced in the spotlight, forced to promote the military and the government with little say. She enjoys fame but not when she has no choice. This, at least, is something that she can say that she decided on all by herself.

“Is he still in Japan?” she wonders. “No,” Hanzo says, suspicion and understanding both blooming in his eyes. “I do not think so, not anymore.”
“Fine,” Hana says decisively. “Take me with you. I’ll help you find your brother.” She pauses and tries to scrabble through her memory of her Japanese classes from school. After all, if Hanzo has the courtesy to speak in Korean, she might as well return the favor as best she can. With a grin, she says in Japanese, “Let’s go, Shimada-san.”

Chapter Text

“This was a bad idea,” Hanzo grumbles as he shoves his hands in his jacket pocket. Hana snickers a little bit as he does so, and he flushes a faint pink. She’s been snickering at his “casual” outfit for almost the entire day. According to her, the black jacket and the athletic backpack quiver hybrid was fine. She bought him a few pins to put on his backpack strap, saying that it would look cuter. She didn’t even have much of a problem with him keeping sake in his water bottle looped on his belt or his boots. The only thing she found hilarious was “the golden dragon across your ass on those baggy pants.” They were warm pants, and the dragon was endearing .

“Okay, it was an impulsive decision” she sighs after her giggles subside. “But don’t forget that you’re the one who let me come along with you.” She’s in her own casual clothes: a red plaid top, a sheer-white scarf, and skinny jeans. He thinks that if anything, that shirt should be comparable to his pants because it’s red and white and far more recognizable in a crowd than his pants. At least you would have to walk closer to see the dragon on his ass.

“A decision that I regret daily,” he retorts. Hana pats him on the shoulder as she says, “Sure, but you don’t mean it.”

And really, Hanzo doesn’t quite mean it. True, it is easier to travel alone than it is to travel with a 19-year-old girl with a giant mech, but the company is strangely suitable. Hana regularly laughs and smiles and manages to find the smallest things in life that are enjoyable. Her sense of snarky humor also amuses him on the long train and plane rides to different places in the world. He hates to admit it, but he’s slowly realizing that a possible reason for their affinity is purely based on the fact that Hana reminds him of Genji when he was younger. Like a younger sister. Endearing and endurable.

It’s emphasized by the fact that they’re posing as siblings in order to escape the scrutiny of the authorities. People will notice Hana Song and Hanzo Shimada, but they will never notice Jisoo Kim and Jiho Kim. Hana picked out the names herself, claiming that Korean would be more authentic considering that he was more fluent in Korean than she was in Japanese.

But another danger that crops up while traveling with her is the sudden increase in the bounty for his head. There’s always been sort of a price on his head courtesy of some of the more vengeful family elders, but now, relations between the South Korean and Japanese government have completely broken down. The diplomats returned to their various countries, and for now, the alliance seemed to be stopped in its tracks. The entire world believes that Hana Song is dead, and her blog, website, and fansites are all filled with sad farewell messages from all around the world.

The believed murderer was namely Hanzo Shimada. He shakes his head when he thinks about it; how on earth did the family elders manage to deflect the blame from them onto him? He wasn’t even part of the clan anymore. Sure, there was still a heavy police presence in Hanamura thanks to suspicions cast on the Shimada clan in general, but now, the bounty on his head was higher.

He sighs and glances out the window of their motel room. The nightlife in Chinese cities thrives and thrums just as much as Tokyo and Hanamura, and according to Hana, Seoul as well. She looks a little wistful as she says, “Busan was hit too hard to make much of a nightlife.” She shakes herself out of her momentary lapse as she adds cheerily, “But we still like to get together for soju and snacks!”

Lijiang Tower is the tallest building here and easily identifiable thanks to the Lucheng Interstellar logo emblazoned on its side. Hanzo thinks that this is where Genji could have gone thanks to some intel that he got from an old friend. Well, he would hesitate to call them a “friend.” More like a man that he coerced the information out of using old debts as well as threats. Hana doesn’t need to know that.
From their window, they can see the night market. They’ve also heard that the gardens were a prime location to tour, and the tower was open during the day for visitors. However, Hanzo and Hana need to get into the tower at night. There’s a control center within the tower which apparently has something that his brother is interested in.

And perhaps Overwatch as well.

Hana does her fair share of research too, and based on Hanzo’s loose descriptions, she manages to find a few mentions of a cybernetic agent that Overwatch once employed. She isn’t able to get the pertinent details; for some reason, every file or mention that she’s ever found is either locked far out of her reach or meticulously scrubbed. The only thing that she’s able to find that isn’t locked or scrubbed is a brief glimpse of him in the background of a picture of Overwatch agents. But when Hanzo takes a look at it, he knows that it had to be Genji. Different coloring, different plating of armor, but it’s still him.

Hana peers at the photo as well and cackles, “Do all the Shimadas have a thing for having their arm and part of their chest bare all the time?” Hanzo bristles, “I leave my arm bare to channel my dragons and to ensure that my aim with my arrows is true. It is traditional , and I am practiced and trained in the art of kyudo . It is not some sort of ‘nip slip’ or an emulation of the ‘tiddy out’ meme.” Hana waves her hand at him as she crows, “Yeah, but how do you explain the tiddy for a ninja? Do you need to have your nipple exposed to use a knife?” Hanzo sighs heavily and drags a hand down his face as he groans, “It is called a katana and no, I don’t know why Genji has his ‘tiddy out.’ Perhaps he thought it was edgy or cool. My brother used to be very into being ‘cool.’”

Hana snorts at that before turning back to frown at her screen. “There should be more information on Genji if he was employed by Overwatch though,” she complains. “It’s almost like someone didn’t want anyone to find him whether it be his name or his face or anything. If my history and politics classes were right, Overwatch was legally required to be accountable. This shouldn’t be like this.” She glances at the clock and sighs; still three more hours to go.

“I’m going to play some games while we wait,” she informs Hanzo. “There’s nothing more I can find on Genji, and I’ve already found all the maps and information and camera locations and whatever else I can find in Lijiang Tower.” She’s already made herself a new account for some "FPS" game under the name, bunnyhop, and she tears through the ranks unlike anything within the short timespan of three hours. Already, she’s been accused of cheating, aimbotting, and smurfing. She shrugs as the loading screen pops up. Let them laugh; she knows how good she is. She also justifies her long play-time by saying that it's aim practice for shooting. Hanzo doesn't think that it'll help at all, but he lets her play. She seems excited and happy to get back to her games, so if she's happy, he's happy too.

Hanzo returns to his part of the room and digs out a small notebook. He doesn’t know why, but after Genji’s “death,” he started journaling using paper and pencil instead of the usual digital logs or voice recordings that people made. There was something about putting the pencil to the paper and seeing the neat lines of kanji and hiragana and sometime, katakana, run along the paper. Every time he uses one up, he sends them back to a distant safe where ten years’ worth of notebooks pile up. They’re meticulously organized by date, so whenever he wants to look back at a certain date of a certain year, he knows that he can go back and find the exact entry. He never does though. For today’s entry, he outlines a small map for himself and marks down camera locations. Entrances and exits, possible escape routes, places where he and Hana could get trapped. He also writes a small note to the side about Hana.

She’s nineteen, yes, but Hanzo can still see the vestiges of military training clinging to her shoulders. The way she holds herself, her composure, is all the makings and trappings of a public figure. She also shakes in her sleep sometimes, whispering things in Korean that Hanzo can unfortunately understand. She’s too young to be having nightmares over death and destruction. But she is resilient. Strong. Tough. She pulls through because she must, and that is something Hanzo admires.

He wonders what would have happened if Hana really was his younger sister. No doubt Genji and Hana both would have gotten along unlike anything else. The two are mischievous, bold, daring, and love fun. But somehow, he thinks that Hana would have been terrifying if she had been born in the Shimada clan. That relentless pursuit of victory would have served her well in the clan, and she would have made a fine killer. And how would she have reacted if she knew that he killed his brother? Their brother? He does not want to know.

When Hanzo glances at Hana again, he’s grateful that she was never part of the clan. She does not deserve to be the bringer of silent murders on dark nights. She shouldn't have to learn how to snap a man's neck at just the right angle for the optimal, instant kill. She should never have to scale walls and go under the needle to get the family dragons ingrained on her skin. She shouldn't be branded with generations of ancestral power, always reminded and always captive by the Shimada name. She deserves some peace and quiet.

Hanzo snaps the notebook shut. He’s running out of pages; he’ll need to get another one soon. He glances up at the clock. One and a half hours left. He goes through his inventory and realizes that it would be a good time to restock and clean his weapons. He takes out his equipment to fletch some arrows and make some backup sonic and scatter arrows.  Meanwhile, Hana scores another win on her game and pumps her fist with victory. Every now and then, when Hanzo looks up, he can see just how fast Hana can flick her eyes and move her hands and simply react to whatever is going on the screen. It’s inhumanly fast.

Still, time flows and it’s time for them to leave. It would look too suspicious to exit the motel in fighting gear, so they take what they need in their suitcases. They doubt that they’ll return.

They stroll through the night market, and Hana oohs and ahhs at the various sights and sounds. At one point, she stops by a street food cart so long that Hanzo sighs and pulls out some money to pay for some food. She claps her hand with glee and says cheekily, “Thank you, brother!” All in Korean. The elderly grandmother at the cart looks at them fondly and says in heavily accented English, “Brother, yes? Good, good, take more food to share, free. Brother always steal more food from sister than he should.” Hana snickers at that and nudges him in his side. Hanzo accepts the food and tries to say thank you back in Chinese. The phrase falls flat because he can never quite get the tones right, but the message goes across. The grandmother smiles broadly and sends them off with extra napkins.

They wander into the gardens as they munch on their food and pull their suitcases along with their free hands. Hana happily chatters away at him in Korean, talking about the latest games and trends and music and whatnot. Hanzo nods along and comments on whatever she chooses to talk about. It’s peaceful until they reach the small building where you could look up at the stars and try to make them out against all the light pollution of the city. It’s there that Hanzo quickly scans the room for any cameras and bugs and quickly disables them. Hana shuts the paper-latticed doors and rolls down the inner screens for good measure.

Hanzo turns around to give Hana her privacy as Hana starts changing into her bodysuit. She grumbles softly about “the damn spandex.” He has to agree with her though; a skin-tight bodysuit isn’t enough. For one, it’s not enough armor in case she’s ever forced out of her mech and two, it just isn’t temperature-suitable. Hana tells him that it was sticky and clingy in the summer and freezing in the winter. That is not good design.
Hana hooks her lightweight pistol to her belt and secures her button. Her mech is in an abandoned warehouse across the city, but she simply says, “When I re-call it, it always comes back no matter where I am. Even when I pull a self-destruct, the mech always comes back. I have no idea why. I just need to have my button to call it down.”

Hanzo has his Storm Bow and his arrows, so all that’s left is his clothes. Hana turns around to give him his privacy as he strips off his casual clothes to change into his kyudo-gi and hakama. It feels nice to be in familiar clothes again, and habit has him tie his hair back with his vibrant gold scarf. Hana turns back around when he’s done and nods with approval when she sees him tie the scarf on. “You look better, more natural, with that on,” she comments. “I don’t know why, but it does.” She tugs a little bit at the fabric at her wrist and wryly says, “The pink suits me and my mech a lot better than the blue and white, but it’s the taegeukgi. National symbol and all that. It’s really noticeable.”

Hanzo doesn’t really know how to respond, but he tries, “Well, you look nice in it. At least your mech is not broken?” Hana barks out a laugh at that. “If my mech was broken,” she says. “My heart would be broken.” She ponders on the thought before saying decisively, “I’d fix it, you know. Patch it together with anything. Keep it together with junk and scrap and whatnot. I love that mech.”

And with that, their mission into the tower begins.

Chapter Text

Hana pads silently down one of the upper hallways of the center of the tower. She privately thinks that it looks like the tower almost got cut in half or something with the way that the outer railings and the inner building part don’t quite meet each other.

Earlier, she and Hanzo managed to put their knowledge and their wits together to override the cameras. They weren’t able to disable them completely, but instead, they put in a loop of the last ten minutes of blank footage. Neither Hana and Hanzo are hacking experts, but hey, Hana knew her way around technology enough and Hanzo had training from an assassin clan. It wasn’t ideal and it wasn’t the most perfect job ever, but it was the best that they could do in a pinch.

With that, they both crept up opposite staircases in order to avoid getting caught. Hana would only call her mech down if there were hostile enemies that she couldn’t fend off on her own. If all went well, she wouldn’t even have to summon it. It was only meant to be a quick look in to see if they could find the data that Genji wanted. Hanzo was hoping that it would give them a clue to what Genji’s interests were and where his possible location was. And the perfect scenario would be if Genji came to find the data at the same time they did.
But then again, when did plans ever go right? Hana grits her teeth and thinks, plans go right when I make them. I play to win, and this isn’t an exception . Maybe it’s a little narcissistic of her to think that, but it boosts her self-confidence and keeps her adrenaline going for a little while longer.

She accesses the inner building and the first thing that she notices is the red, padded ceiling. Upon closer investigation, it doesn’t even look like it’s part of the ceiling. It looks more like it was extended from the actual ceiling itself. “What kind of architect would add extra padding to their ceiling out of all places?” she mutters to herself. Then, she sees the small space capsule. And a person in black body armor with a helmet and ballistic mask over it.

They look right at her just as her eyes land on them.

“ Shit ,” she breathes out before she darts over to the doorway directly across from them. The person yells out, “Intruder!” Then, she can hear their footsteps pounding behind her, following her for every step she takes. She slides a little bit on the slick floor, losing traction just slightly, but she manages to swerve just right so that she actually turns the corner instead of slamming into the wall. She hears gunfire behind her and that makes her hiss out more swears under her breath. Hana accelerates her speed as she weaves in and out of some large, tall monitors with screens that flash data and bar graphs.
She hasn’t been hit by any bullets yet, so she swerves around another corner and takes just a moment to catch her breath. When she glances up, she can see posters for the Horizon lunar colony as well as a small picture of a scientist and a young gorilla. She can’t help but try to look at it closer; it’s strangely intriguing. But, the sudden sound of slower footsteps makes her jolt and swing her gaze up to see a person in black. Not the same person in black body armor, no. This one has a white skull mask on their face.

They step closer, and with every step they take, Hana takes a step back.

“So,” the person rasps out, deep and rough and masculine. “We have an intruder in the building. Don’t you know that it’s off-hours, girl?” Hana unholsters her pistol from her belt and points it at him. At this range, she wouldn’t miss. “I could say the same for you,” she grits out. He laughs harshly, and the sound grates on her ears. He pulls out his own guns — a large, hulking pair of shotguns — and points them at her. “Two can play the gun game, you know?” he muses.

Well, she doesn’t have time to waste.

She fires off rounds as she can from her clip before almost instantly ducking down and rolling off to the side. There, she slams her recall button as fast as she can. Her pupils are dilated and she’s breathing hard as she’s waiting for those agonizing seconds before her mech drops in. She swears that the man turned to mist when she shot at him. And now, he looms over her, seemingly unharmed, and points those gigantic shotguns at her. “Any last words?” he smirks as he glares down at her. D.Va bares her teeth in a feral smile and scoots herself closer to the wall as she spits out, “ Game on .”

Her mech slams down on top of the man, forcing a scream of pain out of him, and Hana lunges for the cockpit. She slides securely in the seat and blasts out of the area into a larger and more circular part of the control center. She scans around her surroundings and sees the large panels that simulate the constellations in the night sky as well as the faint, orange holograms on the ceiling. And to her horrified surprise, D.Va also sees the man coalesce into dark, purple mist that surges up and flickers faintly before reforming into a man.

“No way,” she whispers out. The impact should have killed him immediately.

He raises his shotguns, but D.Va doesn’t wait to see what he does. She uses her launches to remanuever herself into a better position and then uses her micro missiles while activating her defense matrix to avoid getting shot. Her fingers fly over the controls, knocking down each and every bullet. She gets a few solid shots in with her missiles, and it looks like he’s used up his ammo. She smugly smiles, mentally noting her APM, but blinks in shock when she sees him toss aside his shotguns and bring out new ones. D.Va grits her teeth and surges in to engage once more.
They circle each other, trading blows and gunfire. When he gets in too close, D.Va slams her mech arm down on him with a force that should have broken bone. He only laughs and shifts into a wraith-like form that dances around her, just out of her reach. It is infuriating .
She fires off more missiles, shoots more of his bullets down, and almost pins him down to the wall with her launchers. But no matter what she does, he stays alive. But suddenly, a flash of green flickers in front of her and the man — Reaper , she’s mentally dubbed him thanks to his mask and black outfit — crumples to the ground. D.Va fires more missiles at his prone body and even stomps over him with her mech, but his body fades away and the purple mist dissipates.

Somehow, she feels like he’s not dead yet.

She glances at the new stranger, ready to attack if they turn hostile at a single moment. The figure stands up straight again, sheathing its blade. At first, D.Va thinks that it’s some kind of high-powered omnic, but when he turns around to face her, she suddenly realizes who she’s standing in front of.

After all, there can only be one possible cybernetic ninja that fits these description.

Genji Shimada.

He glances back at the direction where Reaper and says in a rather disgusted tone, “Of course he runs away. Where is the honor in that?” He shakes his head a little as he says, “I was hoping for a challenge.”

Yep, that’s a Shimada all right.

“You… Are you Genji Shimada?” Hana asks, leaning forward in her cockpit to try and get a better look at him. He glances up at her and tilts his head to the side. “A MEKA pilot in Lijiang Tower,” he muses. “Not what I expected.” He takes a step closer to her mech and looks at her in the cockpit for a moment before blurting, “No way, you’re D.Va? I thought you were killed!” He laughs a little bit and says, “I used to watch your streams all the time. You're amazing.”

So, Hanzo Shimada’s younger brother is a fan? She's always liked meeting them. Well, the non-fetishist ones, at least. You'd be surprised at how many perverted men were fans purely because of that damned bodysuit. She also can't wait to rub this fact into Hanzo's face when she finds him again. D.Va gives him a classic, blinding smile as she says, “Nope, still alive. Your brother saved me, actually.”

“Hanzo?” he asks dumbly. “Do you mean Hanzo Shimada? Guy with thick eyebrows, ponytail, bow, goatee, everything? The Shimada clan was supposed to be the one who killed you though.” She can’t see his face nor his expression, but the way his tone suddenly sobers gives her a bad feeling. 
D.Va nods. Genji falls silent.

In the silence, Hana can hear the distant echoes of more gunfire, and as she jerks her mech around to check the other entrances, she sees more people in black body armor and ballistic helmets. “Talon,” Genji growls. “Just as I thought.” He glances at D.Va and asks, “Can you keep up?”

Can she keep up? Is that a reasonable question? D.Va lightly fires her launchers — nothing that propels her forward, just fire for emphasis — and snorts, “I thought you said you watched my streams? I play to win .” With that, she fires off her launchers completely and slams into the group of attackers. It’s a usual routine: a flurry of bullets from her fusion cannons, occasional bursts of micro missiles, defense matrix, and launchers for maneuvering quickly. Genji speeds around the room, deflecting bullets with ease and throwing his shuriken with deadly accuracy. He seems to zip around the room in green blurs of light as he quickly dispatches some of the attackers that D.Va disrupts.

Sure, it’s an easy pattern to fall into. Humans might be less predictable than omnics, but they would never learn and memorize her movements like omnics did. Granted, she suspects that some of the attackers are omnics based on the way their bodies sound as she slams some into the walls, but it was nothing like facing the great omnic in the sea. Her stomach churns as she devastates the enemy line. These are all people. Each and every one a living person with a life outside of this that she has no idea about. The idea makes her feel even more sick, and suddenly, she remembers how the assassin’s eyes glazed over after death in the lobby.
She brutally shoves that thought out of the way as she launches upward and flips directions in order to fire more missiles towards the new wave of enemies. She doesn’t have time for distractions like those. She can compartmentalize that later; for now, she must fight.

The last body crumples to the floor after a swift strike from Genji, and he sheathes his katana. He glances at D.Va briefly before darting over the flickering monitors with data and graphs. Intrigued, D.Va stomps over in her mech to see what he’s doing. He doesn’t push her away or tell her to turn away, so she figures that it must be alright to look. He pulls out a small flash drive from a small compartment in his left forearm and sticks it into the monitor.

Genji turns his head to look at her and asks in an easy, conversational tone, “So, how did you come back from the dead, D.Va? Why are you here instead of in South Korea, streaming again?” He taps a few figures on the screen and then jokes, “I have missed watching both your combat and game streams. I even helped code part of the funeral site that a bunch of us from a fansite patched together.”
Honestly, D.Va doesn’t know how to respond to that. She knows what site he’s talking about; she looked at it the night before and almost cried after seeing how many people were devastated by her supposed death. But as of now, she can’t find a single good retort, so she goes for the classic: “I could be asking you the same thing.” Genji slightly recoils and asks, “So he told you that about me already?” D.Va doesn’t know what to make of it so she just looks at him dryly with a single eyebrow raised. He sighs and extracts the flash drive. “Here for information on the Horizon lunar colony too, then? I don’t know why you would be here other than that,” he says.

Horizon lunar colony? She thought that was shut down after the failure with the monkeys and apes. It was a huge debacle that was covered by every major news channel.

D.Va exhales before deciding to tell the truth, “I came here with Hanzo to find you .”
The green slash of light on Genji’s visor flickers, almost as if he were blinking. “Me?” he echoes faintly. Then, in a louder tone, he asks, “What does he want with me again? I thought he made it clear that he was unwilling to change, unwilling to come to peace with himself.”

A loud crash makes both of them flinch, and Genji turns around inhumanly fast. He mutters what D.Va thinks is a Japanese swear word under his breath before he turns back around to tug the flash drive out and tuck it back in his arm. “Well,” he comments. “It was nice meeting you. Never thought I would. Shame I couldn’t get an autograph.” He dips his head in a bow as he finishes, “Stay safe, there are more Talon operatives in the building.” He zooms away, leaving only a green afterimage of light burned on D.Va’s retinas. Just like he came in.

D.Va stands there in her mech, staring dumbly at where Genji used to be. She should have done something, said something so that Genji would at least wait until Hanzo came.

Oh, no , she thinks with a sinking heart. Hanzo .

If these Talon operatives were everywhere in the building, then no doubt the sounds would have come from him fighting them off. She needs to find him now . She slams the button for her launchers harder than she intends and zooms out of the control center, searching for Hanzo Shimada.

Chapter Text

Hanzo creeps up the staircase silently. He always had a knack for sneaking around — it was his job, actually — but he was never quite as good as Genji. Still, it’s a lot better than what other people could say, and after he got his prosthetic legs outfitted, his steps are virtually silent when he walks slowly and carefully. His prosthetics tend to make more of a louder tap-tap-tap noise when he's forced to run, but all in all, not bad for a beginning.

He’s almost to the control center when he hears something off. The sound of footsteps where there shouldn’t be. He pauses and glances at the door that would lead him to the control center. Hana would be alright for a few minutes, right? The girl has a mech too if she needs it. The unmistakable twinge of worry still stings at him, and against his better judgement, he peels away from the door and heads off to track down the sound.

Hanzo cocks his head slightly, right ear closer to the ground. He knows that it doesn’t do much; humans just don’t have that kind of tracking capability. Still, it gives him a false sense of security, as if he could hunt down the exact location of the enemy by the sound. He swears that he can hear a soft jingling quality to the footsteps now. What kind of idiot would wear loud shoes like that?
He scales the wall to hang onto the strange, additional padding that extends slightly from the ceiling. He hauls himself up and carefully tests his weight on top of it. Safe. He should be able to wait and observe from here.

And sure enough, a figure in black body armor and a helmet stumbles into the room, clutching their side. It looks like they’re injured, probaby shot in the abdomen. Hanzo squints at the person and wonders how the hell someone managed to get a bullet through the infinitesimal cracks in the armor to accommodate the joints and flexibility. Someone with incredibly good and quick aim, perhaps. He’s seen a few abnormalities in his time on the combat field; he’s sure that there’s at least someone in the world who could do that. He’s never had the luck (or misfortune) to spar with someone of that caliber though.

Suddenly, a small object of some sort lands squarely on the person and explodes in a bright flare that stuns even Hanzo. In the hazy light, he can vaguely make out the outline of a person drawing a pistol? A gun? They slam their hand down on the butt of the pistol, unloading 6 shots cleanly into the person clad in black. The body falls to the floor, finally dead. Hanzo shakes himself out of the stun and tenses his muscles, ready to react.

Hanzo realizes just what exactly that jingling noise is now. The figure was a man dressed completely in ragged, worn clothes of a cowboy. It almost looked like he was peeled directly off a movie set for a Western movie or something, and when Hanzo squints, he can see actual spurs on the cowboy’s boots.

The cowboy reaches up to adjust his actual cowboy hat and drawls out, “Honey, I’m going to need you to step down from up there.” He chuckles a little bit before continuing, “I don’t know how you got up there, but you’re safe now. No need to worry ‘bout Talon.” Hanzo grumbles a little bit before dropping down. The ceiling padding doesn’t have enough room for him to grab Storm Bow and shoot arrows, and that was the only reason.

Hanzo raises his head slowly, giving the cowboy an absolutely disgusted and disdainful look. The cowboy getup looks even more authentic and worn-out when he sees it up-close which means that it’s either authentic clothes that the man took from some museum or he’s worn them enough times to give them that look. Hanzo’s gut feeling tells him that it’s the latter.

The cowboy raises an eyebrow at him, and he sizes him up much like Hanzo is doing to him. His eyes linger longer than they should on his tattoo, his clothes, and his chest. The cowboy drawls out, “Now, what is a Shimada doing in Lijiang Tower?” Hanzo bristles and keeps Storm Bow at the ready as he retorts, “I could ask why a cowboy is in Lijiang Tower as well.” Somehow, that response seems so classically Hana that it takes him aback by surprise slightly. Hanzo also realizes that he’s seen this face before, albeit when he was younger. Scruffier. Not as much facial hair. It’s the face of one of those Overwatch agents that Hana showed him in the picture with a blurry Genji in the background. He decides to test the waters by saying, “I thought the Petras Act made Overwatch activity illegal.”

The cowboy doesn’t miss a beat and smoothly replies, “Justice ain’t gonna dispense itself. Call me a vigilante if you want.” But Hanzo still notices the brief flicker of something uneasy in the cowboy’s eyes. He hasn’t actually denied or confirmed the piece about Overwatch though. That’s enough to arouse Hanzo’s suspicions; there is something going on with the defunct organization than what he originally believed. 

Before Hanzo can say anything more, he hears a sudden crashing noise upstairs. Hanzo’s heartbeat accelerates and his breathing grows harsher as he realizes that Hana is up there in the control center. Alone.

He doesn’t even wait or say a word to the cowboy; he simply whirls around and streaks off in search of Hana. It's irrational of him to worry so, but he can't explain why. Perhaps it's because he's lost a sibling already. He does not want to lose another one, even if she's not related to him by blood. He arrives at the doorway to the stairs and sprints upward, taking steps two at a time. As he runs, he can hear the sound of jingling behind him so he assumes that the cowboy is following him. He hasn’t shot him yet though, so for now, the cowboy will not try to kill him.

When he reaches the control center, he can hear the loud, harsh sounds of Hana’s fusion cannons and micro missiles. He tries to sprint towards the sound, but a sudden instinct pushes him to duck and roll out of the way. A bullet whizzes past him and grazes his bare arm as he dodges. He presses himself behind a decorative piece with bamboo plants in the center and weighs his options. A bang goes off next to the decoration, and the cowboy rolls in beside Hanzo to take cover as well.

“Sniper,” he brusquely says. “Keep your eyes posted. Tried to get them with Peacekeeper, but she moved to a different location with a grappling hook or somethin’.” He flashes a brilliant grin at Hanzo and says, “Name’s McCree. If we’re going to be fighting off Talon together, then guess I might as well introduce myself since that’s the polite thing to do.” Hanzo frowns and says lowly, “Do you place your trust so willingly in the hands of strangers then?”
McCree glances at him, and Hanzo can swear that it feels like McCree is looking straight through him. The man feels dangerous, watchful and wary with a layer of Western drawl and American attitude. It doesn’t feel quite right, and Hanzo just knows that the man is more observant than he lets on. After all, Hanzo does much the same when he first encounters people, automatically evaluating them for possible risks and errors and weaknesses.
And McCree only shrugs at him without any further response. Hanzo sighs heavily as he readies an arrow. “Shimada, Hanzo,” he grits out. Only good to return the courtesy of an introduction. Besides, it’s not like his face is completely unrecognizable. In fact, Hana delights in informing him that she could pick him out in a crowd full of Japanese people no matter if all the people wore the same clothes or not.

“Hanzo,” McCree says, as if he were rolling the name around. “Hanzo, Hanzo. I recognize that name, ya’know.” Hanzo narrows his eyes and hisses, “Almost everyone does. My appearance makes me more recognizable as well. Do we not have more pressing issues at hand?” McCree chuckles, “Your bounty’s gone up recently. Someone could make a pretty penny by pickin’ you off, sweetheart.” His face sobers as he says, “But sniper, probably one named Widowmaker since we’re dealing with Talon. Careful, she’s too good for her own britches.” His expression darkens as he mutters, “She’s killed too many good people.”

Hanzo nods before placing his arrow back in his quiver and notching a sonic arrow to his bow instead. With careful aim, he darts out from behind the plant decoration to shoot it to her former location. He scans his surroundings before finding the telltale infrared signature of the sniper. He does find her, but her body heat is so uncharacteristically low that it startles him. A person with that level of heat would be nearly dead instead of walking and jumping and sniping. A scatter arrow confirms the sighting from the sonic arrow.

McCree nudges Hanzo and roughly jerks his head to the left. Hanzo gets the message and starts dashing over to the right, searching for a good spot to start aiming. Bullets follow his path, every step of the way, and Hanzo thinks that if he were without his prosthetic legs overcompensating for his current speed, he would have been dead by now. He shoots arrows continuously, trying to hit the woman on the high ground. Strangely, McCree seems to be holding his own despite the small size of the six-shot revolver that he had called “Peacekeeper.” McCree tosses up another flashing grenade as he calls out, “Don’t like shooting a lady, but for you, I’ll make an exception!”

While the sniper is distracted by McCree, Hanzo starts scaling the walls to get up into the same level as her sniper’s nest. Once he’s there, he locks eyes with the woman. She curls her lip, and her strange, many-eyed helmet closes over her eyes. A high-tech visor, he assumes. He creeps closer to her location, close enough to hear her say softly, “No one hides from my sight.” Then, she whirls around in a smooth, practiced motion to shoot at him. Hanzo has little time to react; he lunges hard to the right. His prosthetics use too much force, and he falls off.
“Shit!” McCree hisses out as he tosses up another flashbang grenade. He runs over to where Hanzo’s hurtling down towards the ground and tries to soften his fall, do something to help the man. But instead, he just collides into Hanzo and makes the landing much harsher than it probably would have been.

Hanzo swears under his breath and rolls over to the side. Once he regains some sense of balance, he nocks another arrow and lets go of the bowstring as he exhales. The arrow doesn’t hit Widowmaker’s head, no, but it hits her squarely in the shoulder. Specifically, the shoulder that her rifle recoils on. He does not need to kill. He only needs to buy more time. Hanzo squints at her figure; she’s retreating. A small smile of victory curls its way across Hanzo’s lips, but it soon dies when he realizes that there is a wave of armed, armored fighters making their way towards them with guns drawn.

“Bad guys, heads up,” McCree comments blithely. It’s almost as if this doesn’t bother him at all. When Hanzo looks over at McCree, he just shoots Hanzo a finger gun back. His shoulders are relaxed, and his voice is still the same, easy drawl as when Hanzo first heard it. “Talon operatives are one hell of a bother,” he says. “But it’s still like shootin’ fish in a barrel without someone like Widowmaker to boost them up.” He huffs out a small laugh, “You took care of her right and dandy with that ‘ol bow of yours, huh?” He tosses up a flashbang grenade in his hand casually before saying, “Watch and learn.” With that, he chucks it at the group of operatives and stuns them all in a brilliant, incandescent flash of light.

McCree brings up Peacekeeper and shoots off his six shots with unerring accuracy and speed. Hanzo still gets the feeling that he's not seeing the entirety of McCree's skill; he looks far too relaxed for that. Still, Hanzo doesn’t waste the opportunity either and fires off a scatter arrow before retreating to higher ground. His feet and hands dig into the vertical wall, and he scales it up to where Widowmaker used to be. From that vantage point, he starts picking off enemies. Arrows sprout from the cracks and chinks in their armor where the joints are. Every now and then, Hanzo glances from side to side to make sure that no one tries to sneak up on him. Some try, but they’re immediately killed with an arrow to the gap between their helmet and their armor, leaving their efforts to waste.

All the time during the fight, a thought continues to thread and throb in Hanzo’s thoughts: what about Hana ? The sounds of gunfire and missile blasts have continually echoed in the background, leaving him with a small bit of comfort in knowing that Hana is still alive and in her mech. Then again, it could be Talon’s mech and not hers. But he wants to believe that it is Hana, fighting like she was born to do it.

The last body hits the floor, and Hanzo sighs with relief. He only had one arrow left. He goes around, trying to salvage as many arrows as he can, and he uses his prosthetics in order to get them. One was unfortunately stuck on the wall, too far up for normal people to ever reach, after he had tried to shoot down some Talon operative with a jetpack. He lands softly on the ground as his prosthetics hiss softly with the impact.
McCree whistles appreciatively as Hanzo goes around and even comments, “This a Shimada thing?” Hanzo doesn’t deign to reply, but McCree just keeps on going, “So, back to my original question, huh? What’s a Shimada doing in Lijiang Tower?" McCree snorts a little bit and a smirk even curls its way lazily across his lips as he continues, "Oh, sweetheart, don’t give me that look. I’m just tryin’ to do my job properly so that the folks back home won’t get mad. Besides, anyone with a single ounce of sense in their head could recognize you by the tattoo. Also, you’ve been getting right famous with your picture being posted everywhere for bounty hunters to look at.”

Hanzo fires another withering look at McCree as he retrieves his last arrow. “I am here to look for something,” he admits gruffly. “I suspect that you are here for the same.” McCree snorts, “Nah, just came here to look at the cityscape illegally like everybody does. Yep, I’m here to look for something, and it seems like you’re here for the same, considering you accused me of doing Overwatch work.” He holds his hands up placatingly and continues, “Now, you’re a real pretty sight for the eyes, and I’d hate to kill you. But if you won’t let me take it in peace, I’m afraid I’ll have to do somethin’ about it.”

Silence falls as the two size each other up, evaluate each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Hanzo can just feel that there is something more to the cowboy than what meets the eye. Some kind of talent or skill that is to be feared. It’s just the atmosphere about him that gives it away. It’s the same for almost any other that Hanzo has sparred with. The normal ones are regular, easy, usually predictable, but the special ones? The ones with more talent than they should have? Those ones are people of a completely different kind. Hanzo knows that he’s one by virtue of his dragons. Same for his brother. Even Hana has that atmosphere about her by the way she carries herself and sets her shoulders straight. And McCree has it despite the relaxed nature of his stance and tone of his voice. Judging from the way McCree sweeps his gaze up and down his body and down the dragon tattoo across his arm, Hanzo feels like McCree has made the same judgement about him as well.

The silence remains. All the bodies are dead.

It's a brief moment of peace, and Hanzo thinks that it's a good time to go around a different way to try and flank the rest of the operatives in the building. But then, Hanzo realizes that it has been silent and his blood runs cold. “Hana,” he breathes out, unable to stop himself. McCree opens his mouth to ask something, but Hanzo is already off, prosthetic feet harshly pounding against the metal. He doesn’t care if he makes more noise than he usually does; he’ll sacrifice that for speed instead.

Because if it’s silent, that means that Hana is no longer firing her fusion cannons or missiles or launchers.
And if Hana isn’t fighting back with her mech or her gun, the possibilities of what could have happened to her are endless.

With precious few of them being good.

Chapter Text

Hana Song has never lost a single person in the field.

She credits it to her obsessive planning and her lightning-quick reflexes on the battlefield. She has never had to hear the dull and aching silence on the comms, waiting for a person that will never respond back. It is a personal matter to her; she will ensure that there will never be that dull, aching silence. She’s seen other MEKA leaders lose their squad members. Even if she never knew them as intimately as she does her own team, she still feels keenly for their losses.
She loves her team dearly. It would kill her to lose one on the field. She thinks that alone is part of the reason why she paints lines of pink and blue and green and black across the faces of each and every pilot on her squad. It's become like a good luck charm; paint the triangles and they'll draw luck towards you. Guide you home. Identify your body if need be.

One time, she remembers that she was directing her squad over to the right side of the newest wave of omnics shuffling up and out of the raging sea. The other teams would go in different directions, trying to use dive techniques to take the omnics off-guard. Sure, the omnics would inevitably adapt to their tactics, but they were machines, and their movements alone were robotic enough to predict at least more than humans would. But, the dive mission had gone horribly wrong. D.Va only barely managed to hold off a few more omnics by using her ridiculous talent with the defense matrix to buy enough time. She remembers how her fingers and eyes strained, keeping up with each and every bullet in real time, in order to keep her team safe. When she returned to base, weary and exhilarated from the sensation of living another day, she returned to see the somber, miserable faces of the other pilots.

No bodies because it’s hard enough to escape alive. There’s little, if any, chance of retrieving the bodies safely. Oh, they’ll get the mechs back. Somehow, the South Korean engineers have managed to nail recall perfectly. But they’ll never get its accompanying pilot back. Hana supposes that there are now bones of people that she once knew briefly at the bottom of the ocean, thanks to the giant omnic of the sea. The only fact that makes her smug and proud of that is the fact that none of those bones ever had war paint streaked along their cheeks. None of them are her people.

Now, she hears that same silence when Genji takes his leave. Before, she heard the sounds of gunfire and fighting, and that had been reassuring enough. Whatever was in the other side of the control center was fighting hard enough to keep the next wave of Talon operatives off her. She thinks that it might be an agent accompanying Genji, but she doesn’t know what Hanzo would do or what would happen to him. She swears under her breath as she realizes that she doesn’t even have a comm to contact him with. They simply don’t have that kind of tech or money to spare at the moment since they’re on the run, and she regrets it so much that it is a bitter, stinging pain in her heart.

If he dies, Hana will not forgive herself for it. Not when she knows that she has the firepower and reflexes to make sure that he would not.

So, that’s the thought that runs through her mind like a broken record as she searches for Hanzo. She doesn’t dare call out his name; they might have prevented the security cameras from recording any trace of them, but she thinks that their slipshod job might fail mid-way or there might be some bug recording her or something that would endanger them.

What she doesn’t know is that Hanzo is on the other side of the control center and that they’re circling each other. Hanzo is currently in that same red office where she encountered Reaper, and his brow furrows as he sees the burn marks on the walls and the harsh indentation in the floor where her mech landed. McCree whistles when he sees it. “So this the person you lookin’ for?” he asks in his classic drawl of an accent. “Don’t think ya have to worry ‘bout them so much if they can do this much damage in one go.”

Hanzo is distractedly shuffling through the chairs and examining the scuffs on the floor, trying to figure out where she went. So, he doesn’t reply and focuses on the possible path that Hana could have taken through the control center. Something must have come through on McCree’s comm because he suddenly says in the silence, “Alright, I’ll meet ya at the rendezvous point.” He brushes invisible motes of dust off his trousers as he says easily, “Well, Shimada, looks like I’m good to go. Shame, looks like ya haven’t gotten what ya wanted.”

“I care not,” Hanzo replies distractedly as he searches through the office room. The red of the walls and ceiling padding seem to taunt him. Red is a color that Hanzo feels like he’s become intimately familiar with. The color of the throbbing lights in the red-light districts, the color of the signs of the clubs that he used to drag his brother out of, the color of the lipstick stains that would litter his brother’s neck after said club nights, the color of the spatters that stained the concrete after that horrible night. “I am looking for something that is more important than what you want,” Hanzo breathes out as he searches.

“Oh,” McCree says as he blinks. When Hanzo glances back up at him, he looks almost disconcerted and sheepish for it. “Thought ya were after the same thing as me and that we got it first.”

“Your assumption were incorrect,” Hanzo snaps. “Congratulations.” His patience is running thin as his worry increases exponentially.

“Geez, don’t need to be so harsh about it.” McCree falls silent, and for that, Hanzo is grateful. He finishes searching through all of the possible hiding places here.

“Want help?” McCree suddenly offers. “What are you looking for?” Hanzo slightly gapes at him. Out of all the impulsive and ill-thought things that the cowboy could have offered, he offers this? Does he not have better things to do with his time? He straightens up from his crouch and shuts the cabinet door while keeping his gaze on McCree. Hanzo opens his mouth to say something, but then, McCree suddenly whips out Peacekeeper and evenly says, “Step right up if ya want to try me.”

Hanzo’s eyes harden as he reaches for Storm Bow and an arrow. He knew that he shouldn’t have trusted the cowboy, this Overwatch dry-out, but then, he realizes that there’s been a distinct pounding noise that has been vibrating the floor slightly with its motion. It’s something that he hasn’t noticed while trying to simultaneously search for Hana and entertain McCree’s attempts at conversation and work through the wild worry in his chest.

He turns around slowly, and oh, he has never been so grateful to see a blue and white mech with its accompanying pilot.

And as for Hana, her gut twists a little bit as she pauses by the area that she first encountered Reaper in. At this point, she’s made a full circle around the control center. But then, she notices the distinct sounds of voices, and she swears that one has a drawl to it that she doesn’t recognize. She pushes aside all thoughts of Reaper and his impossibility and prepares to face a new enemy. Her mech is near-impossible to disguise or utilize as stealth, so she keeps her hands near her missile controls. And she does hear the new person's voice ring out, but her eyes focus on one figure and one figure only.

Instead of a new Talon enemy, she sees Hanzo. Oh , she has never been so grateful to see him with his gold scarf slightly fluttering and the familiar dragon tattoo winding its way down his arm.

“Hanzo!” Hana screams as she scrabbles to get her seatbelt loose. Hanzo jolts and runs towards her mech as the man behind him slowly drops his stance and lowers his gun. Hana ejects out of her mech almost immediately and launches herself at Hanzo. The impact makes him stumble back, but she throws her arms around him and cries, “I thought you were getting killed!”

Hanzo’s stiff at first, unused to hugs, but slowly, he reciprocates the hug and replies tightly, “I thought you were the one getting attacked.”
“Well,” Hana says frankly as she buries her face into Hanzo’s kyudo-gi. “I was.”
Hanzo huffs a bit with amusement as he replies, “I was too.”

“Oh my god, Hanzo, we can never go anywhere without violence, can we?” she laughs as she pulls back from the embrace. She can’t just go around strangling her fake older brother to death just after finding him post-battle. “That is not a good thing,” Hanzo says with that familiar severe expression on his face. Worry makes the corners sharper, but oh, she missed him, severe expression and all. He pauses and considers the matter for a while before commenting, “And I am less destructive than you are.”

Hana can’t help but laugh and make a face at him as she says, “Really now? Mr ‘I can climb things that are impossible to climb and can leave scuff marks on said walls.’ Do you really want to argue this?” Hanzo raises an eyebrow and comments, “ You are the one who destroyed an entire lobby with your mech.”

“Mr. Scatter Arrows? Mr. Bare Tiddy? Mr. Arrow Holes in the walls?”

“You are the one with the mech .”

Hana’s face suffuses with happiness as she concedes, “That’s true, fine. You win this time.” It was an argument that she knew full well that she could not win, and Hanzo knew too. It’s just so nice to bicker and banter with him instead of that dull, aching silence before. She glances behind Hanzo and her eyes widen. “Hanzo,” she says slowly. “I never thought I would say this, but I’ve found someone with more ridiculous clothing at a battle.”

McCree wrinkles his nose as he says, “Now, excuse me, missy, who gave you the right to criticize my clothing?”
Hanzo drags a hand down his face as he sighs, “Hana, that is… The cowboy.”
McCree crosses his arms and calls out, “Oi, Shimada, you know my name.”
Hanzo rolls his eyes and gestures to McCree, “He says that his name is McCree. I do not know if that is his real name.”

McCree tips his head and dips slightly in an old-fashioned bow as he says, “Name’s Jesse McCree, miss. Nice to meet ya.”
Hana bows back, back straight and smile bright, as she says, “Song Hana.” She pauses and says, “Oh, wait, English. I’m Hana Song. Surnames last.”

McCree taps his chin with his index finger as he muses, “Aren’t you the starlet who’s supposed to be dead?"
Hana rolls her eyes and says flatly, “I seem to get that a lot. Yeah, I’m supposed to be dead. Hanzo saved me.”
McCree looks a little shocked at that and turns his gaze over to Hanzo who returns it just as stonily as he had done before. “So you’re the one he was searching so frantically for,” he says with a chuckle. “He went near crazy tryin’ to find ya.”  He sighs a bit before saying, “Well, it was right fine to meet y’all, but I’m ‘fraid I’ve got to go. My partner’s got what we needed, and he keeps botherin’ me to come back on time.”

Hana gasps, “Oh! Do you mean Genji?”

“Hana,” Hanzo says lowly. “Did you find Genji?” The way he says it so tonelessly doesn’t make it seem like a question at all.

“Yeah,” Hana says, trying to go for a more lighter tone in hopes of lifting his mood. “He came to get data on the Horizon lunar colony.”

“Well, shit,” McCree grumbles. “Genji told you that? Why’d he have to go and tell you that?” He sighs heavily before crossing his arms and saying, “Winston’s not going to be happy.” He shrugs slightly, “Well, you’re a dead girl, and he’s a hunted man. Y’all probably won’t go tellin’ the entire world.”

Hanzo flicks his gaze over to McCree and says coolly, “Where is Genji?” Again, the same lack of tone in his voice makes it seem as if it were a statement, a demand, something else other than a question. It reminds Hana of the first few stumbling days when he had grudgingly taken Hana along in his journey. He loosened up with her after a few days of her well-intentioned poking and prodding with questions and answers and comments and whatnot. But to make such an impression on this McCree? It didn’t seem like a wise decision to Hana.

“I don’t know, Hanzo,” McCree drawls back in just as cool of a tone. “Why do ya wanna know?” An edge of suspicion creeps into his tone, and he drills both Hana and Hanzo with his gaze. It unnerves Hana. Something just feels like there’s off about his gaze. It makes Hana feel like he’s seeing right through her to her very soul or some other equally macabre comparison.

“He is my brother,” Hanzo stonily replies. “He is family; I should have the right to know.”

“Oh,” McCree retorts rather mockingly. “The brother that you killed, huh?”

Hanzo looks taken aback by his statement, but Hana’s eyes widen with shock. She didn’t even know that. So… she thinks with alarm. Is that the reason behind his cybernetic body or something?

“...Genji told you?” Hanzo slowly asks, voice gaining more emotion and tone to it than it was before. McCree idly twirls the cylinder on his revolver as he answers, “I was the one who found his body in the alleys of Hanamura. Brought him to my commander and got a good doc to him. Most of it was Mercy’s work, but I still saved his sorry ass by finding him. And you were the one who made him that way. Why should I tell you where he is?”

Hana flicks her gaze back and forth between the two, trying to comprehend the situation McCree was laying out. Hanzo killed his brother? Was he referring to the concept of mercy or was Mercy an omnic or some technology or someone or something? She doesn’t know enough of the facts to get a good overview or analysis of the scenario, and that doesn’t settle right in Hana’s heart. She would much rather prefer having a thorough understanding of something rather than having a few scant details and nothing more. She wants to ask something, interject, or even just say something to defuse the situation or gain her some kind of fact, but she doesn’t know what to say again.

That seems to be a common scenario: one that Hana does not appreciate at all.

“I…” Hanzo trails off. He glances down at his hands and clenches his hands into fists. He purses his lips together before finishing, “I wish to talk to him.”

McCree looks at him with disinterest and flatly says, “That isn’t gonna cut it.”

Hanzo’s expression falls; Hana thinks this is the most miserable he’s ever looked. However, to an outsider or someone that was unused to Hanzo, it wouldn’t look that way at all. Hana grits her teeth and glares at McCree. “He just wants to talk to his brother. Work things out maybe. Is that really anything bad?” she snaps. “Tell us. Please.” She tacks on the “please” as an afterthought. She places her hands on her hips and points out, “A good man would tell a brother where his younger brother is. Especially if it were to make amends.”

McCree sighs, “Listen, I’m not good. Not bad either.”  He snorts a little bit as he adds, “But I sure as hell ain’t ugly.” Both Hana and Hanzo blink, and McCree groans when it’s clear to see that neither of them got the reference. McCree shakes his head, “I’ll give ya this: we were in Overwatch together. Good man, your brother. Used to be angsty as hell, but still a good man.” His eyes narrow at Hanzo as he continues, “I don’t want to think ‘bout what would’ve happened if he died. No, I’d protect that man til his last breath, and he’d do the same.” He uncrosses his arms and slides his revolver back in its holster on his belt. “Listen, I’ll help y’all out of the tower. Talon’s gonna probably have some stragglers still in the building, and if Widowmaker’s here, chances are that Reaper’s gonna be here too.” He raises two of his fingers to first point them at his eyes and then to Hana and Hanzo. “But I’m leavin’ the minute we’re out of the tower. Y’all are on your own then. Let’s go.”

Without another word or waiting for a response, McCree turns on his heel to stride out of the control center. His spurs jingle with every step that he takes, and Hana exchanges looks with Hanzo. He nods briefly before shutting his eyes to inhale deeply. He reaches into his quiver for another one of his remaining arrows before following McCree.

Hana stares at Hanzo’s and McCree’s backs before tsking slightly and getting back into her mech. They don’t have much time to waste anymore.

Chapter Text

“Alright, folks,” McCree says as he slides his revolver back in its holster. “Welcome to the exit of Lijiang Tower. It’s been real nice travelin’ with y’all, and that mech and bow have been real handy. But for now?” Hana slips out of the cockpit to try and ask McCree something more, but she’s too late. He gives a small wink at Hana and Hanzo before he casually tosses a flashbang grenade to the ground.

“I think I’ll take my leave.”

The flash of light is familiar, and yet, the two are still stunned by the blinding dizziness caused by the grenade. Hana coughs slightly when she inhales some of the remaining smoke while Hanzo tries to get rid of his spinning vision by shaking his head slightly. When the stun wears off, they see that McCree is gone.

Hana turns to Hanzo and places her hands on her hips as she says evenly, “You didn’t tell me that you killed Genji. Your own brother.” Even she’s surprised at how flat her tone is. Hanzo looks down at the ground and says rather guiltily, “I did not think that it was necessary.”

“You didn’t think that it was necessary to mention that?” Hana asks dryly with an eyebrow raised. “We’re on a mission to find this exact same brother. Isn’t that a key fact to include?”

Hanzo grumbles softly, “The mission did not even work out.” Hana throws up her hands in exasperation and finally snaps, “Just because it did not work does not mean you should discount the fact!”

Hanzo presses his lips together and tries to think of a way to amend the situation, but Hana huffs out, “If I knew that, I could have tried to find more information or something. Help you out a bit more. Be more useful than a girl dragging a mech around for no apparent reason.”

Hanzo stares at Hana, and surprise is etched oh so clearly across his face. He assumed that Hana would want to leave after finding out about his crime. After all, one does not travel readily with an assassin, much less a murderer who killed his own brother. Or tried to at least. “I already assumed that you knew by looking it up via your methods,” he reluctantly admits. “The incident may have been covered up publically, but most of the underground knows it.”

Hana’s eyes flash and she asks with an acid tone, “Do you think that I’m part of a… A… I don’t know the English word.” She gives up and resorts back to Korean — Hanzo would understand regardless — as she continues, “A syndicate? I’m not a hacker; I’m a video game player. I don’t even know enough hacking or computer tech skills to be able to pull off that .” She sighs heavily and switches back to English as she says softly, “Besides, I did not want to intrude on your privacy by looking you and your personal matters up.”

Well, that’s a bit of a white lie. Hana did look Hanzo up on the list of Japanese sex offenders on the Japanese government’s list and crime charts just in case. Plus, she slept with her gun next to her at all times in case he tried to do something unwanted to her. She’s a girl, and she knows that men are usually dangerous. Hana Song was many things, but she was never stupid .

But the fact remains that she did not do anything more outside her own concerns for her safety. She hates looking up famous people, and even now, Hana fidgets with her fingers as she shudders at the thought of fame. After all, that’s what other people always do to her: look up every single detail and fact about her and her life. Don't get her wrong; she revels in the spotlight. It's where D.Va shines best. It just always feels so shocking to have fans dig up the smallest snippet of information about her from years and years ago. Words that she said in the rush of the moment, things that she did when she was young and immature, and mistakes that she’s made in-game and in-stream. She’s even had experience with crazed fans finding her address. Hana Song knows fame like the back of her hand, and even infamous people must have had to endure some form of that. She’s not going to betray that kind of trust for Hanzo, not when she’s lived that kind of constantly hunted life.

“...Thank you,” Hanzo says softly. His voice wavers on the edge between solemn and a kind of emotion that Hana doesn’t want to identify. She doesn’t say anything more; she already knows what it implicitly means.

A sudden noise jolts them out of their momentary stupor, and they realize with a growing sense of dread that they are still in the area near Lijiang Tower. Which must now be completely surrounded by Talon operatives.

Hana’s heard of the terrorist organization, but she never supposed that she would ever run into them like this. She swears softly under her breath, and she can hear foreign vowels and consonants tumble out harshly under Hanzo’s breath as well. They meet each other’s eyes and realize that they said the same words and meant the same sentiment with different languages.

“So,” Hana says. “Are they just going to continually try and kill us?”

“It appears so,” Hanzo grumbles as he notches an arrow in his bow. “What is the state of your mech?”

Hana glances behind her at her beloved mech and grumbles, “God, I don’t know.” Her mech looks worse for wear with black marks skidding across the blue and white and marring the taegeukgi emblazoned across it. “I don’t think that I can take a lot more hits before I need to patch or fix something,” she comments. “And you?”

Hanzo glances down at his arms and the biotic patch attached to his shoulder before replying, “Some minor wounds. The biotic patch that McCree offered me fixed most of it. None are deep, just scratches.”

Hana honestly thinks that the softly-glowing yellow patch on Hanzo’s arm looks vaguely like a diaper on Hanzo’s arm, but she decides not to tell him that. Instead, she grumbles, “If you covered up your arm and your tiddy, you’d show less skin to supposedly scratch.”
Hanzo glares at her and snaps, “Is this really the time to discuss this?”

Just as he finishes his sentence, a loud blast goes off in front of them, and a man with a gigantic rifle sprints out of the smoke and haze. He skids on his shoes as he comes to a stop, and he glances at them through a bright-red, razor-line visor. The man has pure white hair as well as wrinkles and traces of scars that peek over the rim of his visor on his forehead. His jacket is thick and worn and marked with too many signs of battle to the point where the red, white, and blue are barely visible above the old blood stains and soot marks. He cocks his head at them and raises his rifle as he roughly says, “Who the hell are you?” He shrugs slightly and grunts, “Doesn’t matter, kids, get out of the way before you die.”

Hana and Hanzo exchange glances. Did this guy seriously just call them kids when they’re holding weapons and when there’s an entire mech with actual fusion cannons behind them? Hana clears her throat slightly and asks the obvious question incredulously, “Are you seriously calling us kids?”

The man pauses to stare at her, and even he can tell through the red light of the visor that these are more than just your average soldier or operative. Not even Talon. There’s a certain kind of glint in Hana’s eyes and something in the set of Hanzo’s shoulders that immediately points them out to be people long exposed to the horrors of war and sacrifice far younger than anyone would ever wish someone to be.

“Fine,” he concedes. “Get out of the way then.”

Hanzo steps forward and raises his bow squarely at the soldier’s face as he says, “You are Soldier 76. The vigilante.”

Soldier 76 snorts, “Nice to know that you’re not blind.” He points a thumb over his shoulder and turns around slightly to display the “76” emblazoned on his back.

Hanzo narrows his eyes and pulls back the bowstring a little harder than he normally would. “You have a heavy bounty on your head, Soldier,” he warns.

Soldier doesn’t seem fazed at all as he nonchalantly comments, “So do you.”

Hanzo grumbles, “Everyone is telling me that nowadays.” Hana blinks and asks, “What?” Hanzo shakes his head and pettily replies, “Nothing.”

Soldier sighs and points behind him at the clouds of smoke drifting over the delicate, arched bridge leading further into the gardens. Hana can’t even see the place where she and Hanzo changed into armor amidst all the grey haze. “Talon,” Soldier 76 mutters. “Always have their mitts everywhere they shouldn’t be.”

Then, bullets rain down on Soldier in a whistling array of sharp-thin sound. However, the old man ducks down faster than Hana or Hanzo would ever have expected. Hana dives towards her mech and tries to snap the seatbelt on in her cockpit as fast as she could. Hanzo jolts upward and shoots the arrow in the smoke; with that much firepower, he’s bound to hit somewhere along the enemy lines.

“Listen, you came out of the tower,” Soldier says urgently as he rolls over to meet Hana at the mech. “What happened there? I need to know.”

Hanzo darts behind Hana’s mech for cover and scoffs, “Why should we tell you?”

“Because I’m here to save people, not kill them,” Soldier replies grimly. “The longer you don’t tell me, the greater the chance that more people will die.”

Hanzo opens his mouth to say something equally grim and equally sharp, but Hana cuts to the chase and launches more micro-missiles into the smoke. She gets her mech moving and vibrating with the hum of its tech as she complains, “Honestly, can we just settle this already? We’re getting shot at and attacked, and we’re not going to do anything?” Another bullet whizzes past the mech cockpit through the sheaves of bamboo and bushes bordering their edge of the gardens. Hana hisses out, “A mech isn’t exactly easy to hide behind a bunch of plants, okay?”

Soldier ducks behind her mech as well, and while Hana complains in Korean, Soldier says evenly, “They’ve got Widow and Reaper on this mission. That means it’s in an important mission with something huge at stake. People’s lives. And my intel tells me that I’ve got people in that tower that I don’t want to lose.”

“Oh,” Hana says softly as she ceases her momentary tirade. “The man that doesn’t die.”

“What?” both men say blankly. Hanzo and Soldier stare at each other behind Hana’s mech and among the sounds of bullet fire before Hanzo asks, “A man that doesn’t die? What do you mean by that?”

“Constant regeneration,” Soldier bitterly replies. “His cells decay and regenerate constantly at a hyper-accelerated rate.”

Hana tries to get her mech to crouch down lower so that more bamboo covers them all, but that makes advancing forward towards the bridge harder. As she does that, Hanzo creeps out every once in a while to fire arrows at the vague outlines of figures in the smoke. He ducks back and snorts, “A man that never dies and yet is dying at the same? It sounds false, too hysterical.”

“Have you seen him?” Soldier dryly asks as he launches a few pulse bombs from his large rifle.

“...He’s right,” Hana says as her fingers and eyes track down some more bullets in her defense matrix. The work is seemingly mindless; she’s done this so many times, and her reflexes are more than sharp enough to counter something like this. “Reaper didn’t die even when I landed my mech on him.”

“You what?” Hanzo says baldly as he lowers his bow in shock.

“Yeah, I tried to crush him with my mech recall,” Hana says absent-mindedly as she shuts down her defense matrix and moves on to more fire from her cannons. “Didn’t work. He disappeared in smoke when Genji tried to kill him too.”

“Genji?” Soldier says, and the red line on his visor crackles slightly. “You saw Genji?”

Hanzo fires another arrow before jerking his gaze over to Soldier. “You know Genji as well?” he says incredulously.

“Damn, I came here to save his sorry ass,” Soldier grunts. “Should have figured that he’d survive. Always was a tough one.”

“Tell me,” Hanzo insists, sudden and urging. His eyes shine under the dim lighting of Hana’s mech, and he presses, “How were you able to track him?”

The sound of bombs going off cuts him off.

The smoke grows thicker, and Hana feels the impact first. She lurches in the cockpit, and her hands drag the controls along with her. And so, she and her mech both buckle under the impact and force of the bomb projectiles that she’s taken squarely in the face. Hana swears under her breath and tries to get her mech back up and standing to shield Hanzo and Soldier 76, but that’s when she feels the heat. Red lights quickly array themselves across her visions as her infometrics inform her that yes, indeed, she and her mech are on fire. Literally.

She yelps with pain as the heat spreads uncomfortably fast, and she scrambles to unstrap herself from the burning seat. Hana tumbles out of the cockpit, hair tangled and skin barely burned. “Kid!!” Soldier says sharply as Hanzo cries out, “Hana!”

Soldiers swings his pulse rifle over to launch a few blasts over in turn while Hanzo tries to help Hana get out of the mech before it overloads completely. “We need to move away from the mech!! It’ll self-destruct!” Hana cries out. “I told you that we needed to get moving faster!” Hanzo supports most of her weight and helps drag her away from the smoldering wreckage as Soldier dives behind a wall. Hana and Hanzo press themselves against the opposite wall as they watch the mech glow green and white with horror. Then, with a ear-popping and skin-searing blast, the mech completely destructs.

Hanzo swears under his breath, and Hana stares mournfully at the wreckage. The slim recall button is still zipped up where it should be, but she knows that this time, there is nothing to call. She’s heard miracle stories about MEKA pilots being able to force the pieces of a mech back together with a single press of the recall button, but she doubts that the story was ever true. Sure, the military was always able to recall mechs with dead pilots back perfectly from the field, but that was when the mech was still intact and in condition. At this point, she supposes that she'll have to accept the loss. She doubts that she'll be able to call home and ask for a shiny new mech.

Hanzo grits his teeth and pulls in Hana closer within the bushes and the cold brick of the wall. “I am sorry,” he breathes out. Hana sucks in a heavy, smoke-stained breath before she replies, “It’s okay. We’re still alive, brother .” The lilting word easily drops off her tongue in Korean (oppa), and Hana can hear Hanzo suck in a sharp intake of the same smoke breath. He wryly says, “A brother would not allow his younger sister to nearly get killed so many times within a single night.” But, Hanzo’s voice catches on the last few words, and both of them know what they’re all thinking: Genji’s “death.”

Soldier skids in next to them and shatters the moment as he snaps, “Fine, I can’t believe myself. Listen to me, we have to cross the bridge. There’s no other way across.” He points towards the slim, arching bridge, and Hana raises her eyebrows incredulously at Soldier. The arches are smoking and crackling and so very close to snapping completely from the impact of her mech’s destruction. “Now, listen closely,” Soldier continues as he leans in closer. The red light from his visor illuminates the small space between them all. “I’m going to run with you and fire at the enemy to keep you safe. If your friend, brother, whatever, can keep the long-ranged ones dead, I’ll try to shield you enough to get you to the other side of the gardens.”

“You’re going to die with that many people!” Hana cries out. Her voice is too loud, and both Hanzo and Soldier 76 instinctively lean away from the noise. Soldier shrugs as he replies, “I’ve been a long time for a good reason. I’ll stay alive, and I can keep you alive. For a while.”

Hanzo sighs heavily and reaches back to thumb through his remaining arrows. Hana tracks his movements with an angry glare in her eyes, but he looks up and resolutely says, “I will keep the snipers down. Hana, run away.”

Hana wants to say something or offer up another option. Her mind is flickering as fast as ever, trying to sift through any other option. Most of her options disappeared once her mech burned. She’s furious at both herself and their situation; she should have been better than this. She’s won more in ride-or-die situations like these whether it be online or in the churning seas and shores. She exhales sharply with frustration and unclips her pistol from her belt. “I hate this plan,” she says, voice low and throbbing with that same frustration. “Too many dangers, too many strategic gaps.”

“Do you have a better suggestion, girl?” Soldier asks with a derisive snort. Hana flicks a small fleck of ash and soot from Hanzo’s shoulders as she sighs and reluctantly admits, “No, we are out of options.”
“Exactly,” Soldier says. “Do as I say, and we should be able to get you out fast enough for you to get near a police cam or bot or something.”

“I am ready,” Hanzo states with an arrow already at the ready. Hana looks him over worriedly; he only has a few arrows left. Some of the arrows that he has are damaged already too with black and red stains as well as broken fletching.

Hana sighs heavily as she tightens her grip around her pistol.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

The plan goes poorly.

It’s not even a surprise to either Hana or Hanzo.

Hana dashes across the bridge, and her heart beats in time with her steps. Fear traces her footsteps, and she can’t get the thought of the bridge collapsing beneath her. After all, the blast from her mech totally destroyed all of the plants nearby in and compromised the delicate arches of the bridge. She regrets every moment of this, and yet, she feels like she’s living. Living her own choices, living her own life, living for the sake of living. It’s refreshing and terrifying.

The sound of rapid gunfire and explosions don’t help either.

Soldier 76 sprints beside her, gun at the ready. He fires back equally for every bullet, and Hana knows that Hanzo’s in the back as well. Hana has to step around and over fallen bodies with the white and black logo of Talon emblazoned clearly on their breastplates and guns.
She’s almost there to the last bridge when she notices a flickering of dark mist. Oh shit , she thinks desperately before Reaper materializes in front of the two. She swears that the man must be smiling some kind of shit-eating grin under that mask because the way he carries himself and sets him shoulders just screams a cocky kind of arrogance that comes with the knowledge of knowing that you’ve won.

Hana knows because she’s worn that attitude on her slim shoulders for far too long and for far too many times on international television and streams.

Reaper lazily holds up a hand, and the gunfire stops. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Jack,” he croons softly. He lifts a hand to his ear and presses his finger lightly against his earpiece as he murmurs, “Widow, keep an eye on the archer. Operatives, stop shooting.” His voice curls with a smug kind of tone that makes Hana’s skin crawl. “It’s time to have a chat with an old friend. You always did have a soft spot for children, didn’t you?”
Soldier aims his gun straight at Reaper as he growls, “You did too. Once.”
“Still do,” Reaper comments. “But I think that you’re too old to really count as a child, Jackie. What? Getting sentimental?”
“Let her go,” Soldier snarls. “She has nothing to do with Overwatch.”

Hana keeps her finger on her trigger as her mind races to connect the lines between the frustratingly small pieces of the puzzle that’s been laid out before her. Overwatch was supposed to be long dead, buried with the bodies of the famous commanders, Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes, under the wreckage of the Overwatch headquarters in Switzerland. She remembers taking a ridiculously boring history test on this once.

Then, her blood runs cold as she realizes something critical.

“Oh, her? That might be so,” Reaper hums. “But she did try to crush me with that mech of hers.” He turns towards Hana and mockingly asks, “Where is it, hija? Vulnerable without your shell?”
Hana clenches her jaw and grits out in low Korean, “ Fuck you .”
Soldier clicks his gun to the rocket setting as he snaps, “Let. Her. Go.”

Reaper shakes his head and shrugs, “Normally, I would. I don’t have time for things like that, but Talon thinks differently. And by the way? A shame that I missed you in Dorado. I saw the photos of bodies you left behind. You saved a little girl there too. But that’s beside the point. This girl involved herself, you know. Or did she follow you into the tower? Another fan of Overwatch?”

“Nice try, Reaper ,” Soldier hisses out.

“Oh, I don’t know, Soldier 76 . Your old habits die hard,” Reaper returns.

Reaper examines his shotguns idly, and the city-light lamps make the old metal shine. Then, he looks up and the light gleams off of his bone-white mask. “Clearing the area,” he comments in that dull raps of his. He begins to step forward, and each step is heavy enough to be clearly audible. Hana swallows down her fear and analyzes her situation as brutally as she would a game. Soldier could use his rockets, and during the fire, she could possibly make it out with help from her pistol. However, that would mean running as fast as she could and relying on hope, luck, and the speed of the bullets chasing after her. The odds weren’t good. Time was running short.

Just as she sucks in a deep breath to start running, she hears Hanzo’s voice ring out with an abnormally loud sound, “Enough! Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau! ”

Hana whirls around, mouth open, to see huge swathes of blue mist materialize out of what seemed to be Hanzo. The mist crackles and sparks with a thousand flickers of light that weave together into an explosion of brilliantly bright light. They swirl and shake the ground with a loud rumble to form a pair of spirit dragons that twist and twin towards the small pagoda and the wave of black-clad operatives. The dragons roar, and the force of the sound shakes the ground. People fall to the ground, writhing in pain, and she can hear their screams for only a second before the sound of the dragons swallows it all.

Then, Hana stares in horror as the dragons fly faster and faster towards her and Soldier and Reaper. Their maws are wide-open and sharp-toothed, and Hana swears that in this moment, she can see her entire life flash by before her eyes. She is going to die. She is going to die here in the gardens of a city too far away from her home, far away from where she expected to die in the surging tides of her sea, far far far away from anything that she used to know. Hana always figured that she would die young when she was first drafted into the military, but in this instant, she thinks that she’s too young to die. However, Hana Song is not a coward, so she braces herself, closing her eyes tight, as the spirit dragons engulf everything in their wake.

The dragons soar right through her, and her entire vision blurs to brilliant blue. Her nerves feel electrified as if she was standing in a living storm, and the spirit mists rush through her with a force not unlike the pounding waves of the ocean that were too high for anyone to believe. She braces herself in that vortex of storm and sight and sound and thinks wildly,  Hanzo.
The blue fades away, and when Hana opens her eyes, she can feel only the wind gently brushing by her cheek, as if it were caressing her as an apology for the devastation. Because devastation is what surrounds her. Soldier 76 is on the ground, wincing and struggling to get up from the impact. Bodies are piled up on the floor of the distant pagoda, but she can’t see any sign of Reaper.

She’s the only one left standing.

Hanzo sprints across the arched bridge, and as his metal feet pound across the arches, the last of the wood gives way to a heaving screech. On the last couple of boards, he leaps inhumanly high before landing lightly on solid ground. His prosthetics let out a soft hiss as they compensate for the impact. The remnants of the bridge fall behind him, and the too-soft tap-tap of his feet grows louder and louder as he gets closer to Hana.

“Hana!” Hanzo cries out. Hana sways slightly on her feet. Hanzo’s voice sounds too soft compared to the roar that she just heard. “Are you alright?” he asks, now close enough to grip her shoulders and offer her more support. A blue shimmer still flickers faintly around his body, and Hana can swear that his normally-brown eyes are lighter and bluer in shade. The color quickly fades, however, and he returns to being normal Hanzo in front of her.

Hana tries to snap out of her daze and offers up a weak “yes” in Japanese instead. At least she has enough sense and consciousness in her mind left to do that. Somehow, she’s still holding on to her pistol with her now-weak grip, and she glances down at it. Hanzo follows her gaze and quickly takes the pistol to snap the safety back on and clip it back to her belt.
Hanzo sighs with relief as he says something in Japanese, too quick and too low for her to fully understand. Hana catches a few words like “dragons” and “lived” and “mercy” and what she thinks is “worthy.” He then checks her over for any wounds, and to both of their surprise, her few wounds are minimal at best.
Hana tries her best to smile and reassure Hanzo that she’s okay, but she’s so drained of energy that all she can muster up is a lackluster smile and an attempt at a bright tone. “The spandex held up, huh?” she tries.
Hanzo snorts at her and plucks slightly at her bodysuit. “I cannot say if this is much better than ‘having my tiddy exposed’ to the entire world,” he replies. His tone is softer than Hana expects, and the realization strikes her. She does not know what Hanzo would have done if the dragons had killed her. And with that thought, she asks, “Were… Were those dragons? From you?”
Hanzo glances up as he squats down near Soldier 76. “Yes,” he confirms. “The Shimada family dragons.” A few more pieces click into the vastly unfinished puzzle in Hana’s mind, and she sways slightly on her feet as she files the new tidbit of information away for later.

Meanwhile, Soldier 76 groans on the ground as he struggles to fish in his pocket for something. Hanzo tries to help him, and when Soldier finally has it in his hand, he slams it down to the ground with a kind of force that Hana wouldn’t have expected. The old man still has some strength left in him. The object in his hands springs open to loop a biotic field around them, and everyone simultaneously sighs as the cooling light heals their wounds.
Soldier 76 hauls himself up and stands on his own two feet again, refusing any help from Hanzo. Hanzo stands up as well and surveys the damage dealt to the gardens. “We will have to escape now,” he observes. “We cannot stay here longer. Talon or the assassins that my clan hires or whoever else will be here soon. We are too distinctive now.”

“No shit, Shimada,” Soldier coughs out. His shoulders shake slightly as he coughs some more, “There’s no doubt about it; you’re a Shimada alright.”

Hana sucks in a deep breath of air and exhales out slowly. The same technique and pattern she uses pre-games in tournaments. “We need to run,” she says, mind racing through the possible paths. In her mind’s eye, the map of the city expands before her, and she traces routes through it. “We can leave through some back alleys and avoid some police areas.”

Hanzo nods approvingly but then glances towards Soldier 76. “What about you, Soldier 76?” he asks. “What are you intending to do? How did you figure out where my brother was going to be?”

Soldier 76 stretches and rolls his shoulders to work out some of the kinks. He grumbles, “Well, now that I know that you’re a Shimada, I can understand the interest. But aren’t you the one who killed your younger brother?” He pins Hanzo with his red-lighted gaze as he asks, “Why should I be the one to guide you back to the one who you tried to murder? Are you planning to finish the job?”

Hana steps forward and opens her mouth to make an excuse for Hanzo. She doesn’t know why she feels like she has to, but Hanzo speaks up, “I know what I have done. And I have regretted my choice for years. I… I wish to make amends. Atone for what I have done.” He raises his eyes and meets Soldier’s red glare straight on as he continues, “I am sincere in that I wish to connect with my brother again.” His expression twists as he says, “I am.. Confused. Angry. Bitter. Regretful. I wish to speak with him and reconcile. If that is still possible.”

Both Hana and Soldier 76 are stunned at the bare honesty of his words.

Soldier 76 sighs heavily, “You won’t be able to find more on Genji if that’s what you’re asking me. He was Blackwatch; you’ll never find his former records publicly.”
Hana blinks and asks, “What do you mean, Blackwatch?” However, a dawning of some sort of understanding gleams on Hanzo’s face as he echoes, “Blackwatch.” His eyes harden, and he says, “Blackwatch. The rumored illegal arm of Overwatch.”

When Hanzo says that, Hana remembers those conspiracies about Overwatch that never quite clicked the right way. The rumors and stories you told late at night to scare other people and the things that adults whispered to each other behind children’s backs.

Soldier 76 snorts, “Exactly, you would know that best. It existed, and it was strong. Still has some strength left in this world.” He turns away from the two of them to stride towards the opposite bridge, leading to the exit.

However, Hana lunges over to grab his wrist as she demands, “You’re not just a soldier, aren’t you? Former Overwatch. You have to be.” Soldier glances over his shoulder, and Hana stares determinedly into that blood-red gaze. “Fine, I don’t care,” she says in a clipped tone. “But you know more about Genji. You have to.” She pulls her hand away from his wrist as she says firmly, “But we’re either following you or you’re staying with us, Mr. Overwatch.”

She can see one of Soldier’s eyebrows arch above the wrinkles rimming his visor, and he wryly asks, “What are you going to do about? You can’t make me stay. It’s my choice.”

Hana snorts and tosses back a lock of hair as she retaliates, “I’m a one-woman army. I might not have a mech, but I can either shoot you with my pistol or better yet, I can tackle you off the bridge.” She raises an eyebrow as well and says, “I’ve seen you sprint and fight. You can’t run away faster than I can launch myself at you. Also, I’m supposed to be a dead superstar. There’s a police cam about 50 ft away from here that I can run to and alert. You might not get caught right away, but I can make leaving the city or leaving China very very hard for you .”

Hana Song has not faced down legions of omnics laced with god code to back down from this fight. She plants her feet and steadies herself in a firm stance; she has faced spirit dragons and a man who does not die. She can stare down an aging vigilante and pray that her bluff works.

Soldier 76 stares back wordlessly before finally sighing and nodding. A wide grin splits Hana’s mouth, and she claps and cheers with glee. “Alright!” she crows. “Another one on the team then!”

Hanzo gapes slightly at Hana; he honestly didn’t expect anything that Hana has done in this seemingly endless night. But then again, that seems just her style; unpredictably and explosively successful. “I am beginning to feel like this is a repeat of how we first met, Song Hana,” Hanzo grumbles.
Hana shrugs and says with a too-bright tone, “Shut up. I’m a good and polite and respectful person when I meet new people.”
Both Soldier and Hanzo scoff slightly at that. If anything, their first impression of her was both in her mech, firing and killing at a too-young age. Hanzo strides over to them and swings Storm Bow back in its place on his back. “Is asking to tag along with others a good and polite and respectful thing to do?” Hanzo mocks. The traces of a smile twitch along his lips though.
“You’re technically doing it too,” Hana retorts as she lightly elbows him in the side.

Soldier 76 stares at them both and remembers other people from long ago, and he smiles to himself under his visor and face mask. He quietly shakes off the memories as he says, almost like second nature, “Kids, stop bickering and follow me. Let’s get out of here before it all goes bad.” He turns once more and crosses the bridge. With every step he takes, Soldier thinks about how history repeats itself over and over again with different people in the same roles. Both of them, especially Hana, look especially young, but it seems like the world hasn’t changed a single bit for them. He thinks that they’ve seen the same amount of blood and death as he has when he was their age. Perhaps that, in addition to old memories of other, younger friends and subordinates, is the only reason he allows them to trail after him.

Hana privately thinks that everything has already gone bad, but she exchanges a glance with Hanzo. In that single gaze alone, she sees that honesty cling to his face, and she knows. She will ask questions later, and he will answer as best he can. That is the most that Hana can demand from him. He briefly nods, and Hana nods in turn. In her mind, she turns over the possible options, and to her, this is the one with the highest chance of success. Besides, there is no turning back now. Not after what she just lived through.

So, Hana bounds over the last bridge, feet light against the curved arch of it. Her mech recall button still burns in her small side-pocket, but she forces the loss of her mech aside to prioritize her most important focuses left after Lijiang Tower. With that same too-bright tone, she comments, “So, if we’re ‘kids’ now, does that mean you’re our fake dad now? This is great. We’ve got an American dad, a Japanese son, and a Korean daughter. I can’t wait to try sneaking past authorities with this .” She gets a muffled snort from Soldier and a tch from Hanzo.

It’s enough though. Enough for her.

Hana thinks that it’s strange to see how she’s found this false family in the middle of nowhere. Strange, really, especially when considering when she had none before.

Chapter Text

Their escape from China is surprisingly a lot easier than Hana expected.

First off, Soldier 76 leads them to an old and musty safehouse that’s filled with dust motes. Among all of the opened boxes and aging tarpaulins, he unearths a box with extra ammunition for all of them as well as more biotic fields and nanobiotic med-tech. Soldier tosses a canister over to them and comments, “Mercy. You’d do well to use it.”

Hana and Hanzo wordlessly exchange glances before opening the canister. Inside, there are packs and thin tubes that are marked blue with a red cross. Hanzo motions for Hana to come closer to him, and he cracks open one of the tubes to let the yellow light inside wash over the worst of Hana’s wounds and heal them. Hana sighs with relief and then grabs a larger pack to do the same for Hanzo.

Soldier digs through the box a little more and finds a few clothes. They smell of mothballs, and they’re largely shapeless, but it has to be enough. He shakes the fabric out, and Hana realizes that they’re long coats.

“Come on, girl,” he says. “Put a coat on. We’re going to go out and try to get some clothes and more supplies. Shimada can stay here and watch the safehouse for us.”

“No,” Hanzo insists. “She stays with me.”

Hana sighs. She knows why Soldier 76 chose her instead. Hanzo’s too distinctive and noticeable. At least with her, she’s hard to recognize among the crowds of Chinese people, and she always wore her makeup and war paint when she streamed. No one should be able to recognize her if she passed by quickly.

“The name is Hana,” she says. “Hana Song. Not "girl." And Hanzo, I have to go. You’re too recognizable.”

Soldier nods brusquely before he reaches up to his face. He turns around and bends his head down to hide his face as he switches his visor and faceplate out for a pair of dark glasses. When he turns back around, Hana winces to see the old scars lining the visible parts of his face. Soldier 76 is clearly no stranger to war. Then again, none of them are.

She slides on a coat and goes out with Soldier to buy clothes and food from a small corner store where the omnic clerk beeps slightly. It doesn’t talk, but it accepts their money and gives Hana an extra steamed bun. She smiles slightly and accepts the bun. It’s hard for her to reconcile these kinds of omnics, the peaceful kind, with the ones that rise up from the seas to raze her cities to the ground. Hana knows that it’s not their fault; the god code is sibilant and dangerous and overwhelming for anyone, omnic or not. Still, she wishes that there could be more like this omnic: peaceful and kind.

They return back to the safehouse where Hanzo paces back and forth. When the door opens, Hanzo has his bow in his hand despite the lack of arrows. He brandishes it, ready to use as a weapon alone, but his stance relaxes as he makes out Hana’s and Soldier’s face.

Hana tosses a bag of clothes at him instead. “I picked out fashionable and suitable clothing for you this time,” she says jokingly. “I don’t think that I can trust you to pick out your own casual clothing anymore.”

Hanzo grumbles a little bit, but they all change behind an old tarpaulin that they stretch out between two tall stacks of broken boxes. Hana digs through some boxes as well and finally finds a quiver of arrows. Hanzo complains about the arrows’ quality, but the set of his mouth and the look in his eyes reassures Hana. Hanzo tucks them all carefully in his quiver before packing Storm Bow and the arrows all away in a special duffel bag that Soldier gives him. It’s supposed to be a bag that goes through security and hides weapon with a special weave or something.

The “we’re an adopted family” trick actually works, and Soldier uses his glasses and aging appearance as another excuse to get them out. The old man is surprisingly good at pulling off the tetchy dad / Omnic Crisis veteran act. At one point, when a young attendant tries to stop them, Soldier 76 glares and snaps, “My children are going to stay with me. God knows I can barely find my way around now. They treated us soldiers a lot better in the Omnic Crisis than this, young lady.” The Chinese girl stutters through an apology and ushers them out with as much care as she can muster up. Hana and Hanzo had to choke down their laughs.

Otherwise, Hanzo is the exemplary older brother, and she’s the bright and cheery youngest daughter. Simple and easy. The greatest thing of all is the fact that Hana would never let Soldier 76 forget it too.

“Dad 76,” she whispers to him with absolute delight as they slip through the crowd. Soldier 76 only grunts before moving faster through the crowd. Hana smiles to herself as she grips Hanzo’s and Soldier’s hands tighter.

It takes them two weeks to escape from the city and make their way through China and then to Russia. There, they restock on ammunition and tech with one of Soldier’s omnic contacts. The omnic whirs excitedly and says, “It is a pleasure for me to be able to help you again, S—” Soldier waves it aside before the omnic can finish. Hana even gets a laptop that’s been adjusted and modified to be nearly untraceable. Just in case, she refrains from downloading multiplayer games and keeps it limited to a few single-player games. The omnic also tells her how to search for hidden information more easily with the laptop’s search mods.

Then, they manage to get on a plane illegally with some shady contacts on Hanzo’s side. Soldier 76 also contributes a great deal of money from places that he claims were “technically stolen by the people that I took this from already.” Hana has no idea what he means by that, but she just nods along anyways.

She feels like she should be more alarmed by this. Illegally traveling with two high-profile wanted people feels like a thrilling and slightly terrifying adventure. She just doesn’t feel the terror yet.

Instead, her days have been wrapped around different night watch shifts and staying in the same room as the other two and keeping her pistol constantly on her whether it be on her belt or her pockets. As unappealing as that sounds, Hana thought it wasn’t so bad. She discovers that Soldier 76 has an affinity for scrambled eggs with ketchup in the morning and makes much better coffee than Hanzo does. Hanzo is still superior at making tea though. She also learns that Soldier 76 does not like westerns, so she and Hanzo make cowboy jokes at his expense. Though, they always think about that one cowboy from the tower when they do so.

But all in all, it’s not bad. The closest thing that Hana can equivocate it to are the large class field trips that her grade school teachers used to take her on or the family outings that she always glimpsed at different places. She’s never really been on a family outing herself, but she thinks that this must be like the illegal version of a family outing.

It’s nice in a way.

“You know what I just realized?” Hana asks.

Hana watches as Hanzo’s eyes flick over to her before returning to look through the window. The European countryside flashes by, and the dull hum of the anti-gravity locks beneath the train fills the silence. They’re all packed in a small train compartment with small bugs attached to the top of the car and to the door to ensure that none of the sound in comes out. Their destination is some castle in Germany according to Soldier 76. If his intel was correct, there would be some people there that may have more connections to Genji than any of them currently did. Soldier 76 also added that they would have to time their visit on a certain day and time exactly or otherwise, they would miss the people entirely.

Hana doesn’t wait for a reply as she says, “We left our civilian clothes there in the gardens. They’re probably burned and destroyed.” A small smile curves across her lips as she cheekily says, “You can’t wear those pants with the dragon on the ass anymore.”

Hanzo tsks and absent-mindedly says, “No matter, I can always order more online.”

Hana replies, “But are we going to stay in a location long enough for it to arrive on time without giving us away?”

“Fake identification, careful usage of private networks, and a special bank account,” Hanzo lists off. A smug smirk lazily curls across his lips as he states, “I was not trained to be an assassin for nothing.”

And that comment alone sets Hana’s mind back on the track where it was at Lijiang Tower. A quick glance to her left shows that the train door to their private compartment is shut tightly. A glance to the side of the door shows Soldier 76 lolling against the seat with his mouth slightly open and snoring. He doesn’t have his visor on; it’s too distinctive. Instead, he has darkened sunglasses that cover up his eyes. Now that his visor and mask don’t cover up most of his face, Hana can see a dark and puckered scar bisecting his face diagonally along with traces of wrinkles along his forehead as well as fading burn scars lining the sides of his face. Signs of stress, she thinks. Normally, wrinkles would be deeper for a man of his estimated age, but if her suspicions are right, she thinks that the lighter wrinkles are merited. Signs of wear and tear and the stresses of a position that he’s long left. Hana also has to wonder if his sight is compromised to the point where he needs visual aids all the time or if it is a necessity of staying on the run. Perhaps it is both.

“So,” she says evenly as she turns her attention back on Hanzo. “An assassin.” She’s been turning the thought over and over in her head until it feels like she’s worn away so much of it to the point where it’s only round and smooth and not as foreign of a thought to her. First and foremost, she is a strategist. That’s how she started: with strategy on virtual battlefields. This, to her, is more complicated since it’s Hanzo that she’s dealing with, but still. Thought is still at the center of it.

“So,” Hanzo says wearily as he tears his gaze away from the window to look at Hana straight in the eyes. His voice is soft and barely audible, but it’s enough for Hana to hear. Hana cranes her head around the train compartment even though she knows that they’ve already checked the perimeter and added bugs of their own to prevent them from being recorded. She even glances at Soldier’s sleeping body again just for precautions. She settles back down and leans back against her cushioned seat as she states, “I have questions, and you are going to answer them.” Her voice is firm and brooks no arguments.

It shakes Hanzo to see her marked by such things like war and military and blood. This is not Hana Song that he is looking at right now; it is thoroughly and utterly D.Va.

“Answers are all I can offer now,” Hanzo says. “And… I am sorry for putting you in so much danger.”

D.Va snorts slightly as she says, “Hanzo, look at me. I chose to come with you. I am also the top mech pilot that South Korea has to offer. I’ve been in more danger before this, and I’ve been in the military for two years. I can take care of myself.”

“Aren’t you nineteen?” Hanzo asks.

“I was drafted into the military when I turned seventeen,” D.Va says lightly. The way she says it makes it seem like not a big deal, but Hanzo says more loudly, “That is illegal .”

She raises an eyebrow and asks, “Then what were you doing at seventeen? I thought you were part of the Shimada clan. Aren't they a clan of mercenaries and criminals? Besides, the country was at stake. The government wouldn’t leave people to die if they had a chance with me. Neither would I.” Her expression grows grim as she says simply, “Age doesn’t matter to the omnics.”

Hanzo sighs, “Very well. Ask away.”

“Why did you kill your own brother?”

And there it was. The crux of his life for the past ten years. The culmination of years of resent as well as the legacy of a thousand generations. His face twists up into a bitter grimace as he begins to explain, “In order to understand, you need to understand from where we came from. My family’s legacy is centuries long, a clan of assassins that only grew in power over the years. We grew and expanded into an empire of shadows, controlling and pulling strings and lifelines like it was nothing.”

Hanzo remembers his tutor like it was yesterday. The samurai looked down on us, his tutor said with a curl of his lip. They sneered at us behind their false masks of honor. Where was their honor when their lords abandoned them? Where was their honor when they were left to wander the roads as ronin? His tutor’s hands spread out and gestured to his right and left. To his left were the shoji doors and to his left were the old wooden walls of the Shimada castle. They lost theirs, but we, the shinobi, endured for time immemorial. You are a continuation of that honor, Shimada-sama. You must never forget that.

Hanzo bites his lip as he thinks about that. Bitterly, he wonders what his father would think of him now. Sitting on a maglev train with a false younger sister and a mechanical ghost of a younger brother far off along some distant shore.

“I was bound by duty to succeed my father and rule the Shimada empire,” he continues. “I was trained for it since I was a child.” A small, smug smirk curls lazily across his lips as he says, “And I did well. I learned strategy and tactics for warfare quickly. Archery, swordplay, martial arts. I learned it all and learned it quickly.”

“And not without an ego either,” D.Va snorts as she twists a lock of her hair around with her index finger.

“You cannot fault me for having a large ego when you have one as well,” Hanzo counters.

D.Va blinks at him, clearly affronted, and retorts, “I do not. ”

“You just gloated about winning all five gold medals and getting play of the game and getting all upvotes from every member of your team and the enemy’s team during your gaming session last night,” Hanzo says dryly. “You told me about it this morning as well.”

“Okay, fine ,” D.Va reluctantly concedes. “We’ve both got big egos at least as big as the sun, okay?” She sticks her tongue out at him as a final word before nudging him to continue.

Hanzo looks down at his hands and sifts through the years and years of memory. Nostalgia and brighter memories settle a gentle smile on his face as he speaks.

“When Genji was born… My father called him sparrow and the nickname seemed to stick well. He was always laughing, always smiling, always getting into some kind of fun trouble that he usually tried to drag me into as well. He loved living, loved life. That did not change when he grew up.”

“Isn’t that not a bad thing though? Life is good, he should have been able to live it.”

Hanzo shakes his head, “Not when you are second in line for the throne of a criminal empire. The elders were furious. So was my father. When my father finally died, I had to assume the role I had been trained for. I agreed to do so. Genji… Did not.”

D.Va leans forward and props her head up with her hands, elbows firmly on the bolted table between their seats. She keeps her voice low, but genuine confusion laces its way across her face. “Why does it matter so much?” she asks. “You were the oldest. It’s not like he was the oldest one.”

Hanzo regards her carefully before saying slowly, “But the clan does not tolerate disobedience.” A curl of wariness goes down his spine, and he wonders if he really should be saying all of this. Why is he so comfortable saying to her? He tries to rationalize it by considering the fact that there are four different ways to kill her right now, but another part of him tells him that he wouldn’t be able to. He has already killed a sibling once. He cannot do it again. And besides, he owes her this much. At least this much.

“And so you killed him,” she comments, tone even and blank of anything like accusation or guilt or fear.

“And so I did,” Hanzo confirms.

“How? It was your brother,” she asks in that same tone. He's grateful for the seeming lack of judgement even though he knows nothing of the thoughts that lie behind her unpenetrable expression.

Hanzo almost feels defensive, and that bleeds into his voice as he says, “You must understand. The pressure. The rules. The honor of a thousand generations worth of ancestors to uphold.” He inhales slightly before saying slowly, “I… resented my brother. I resented him deeply. He was able to roam the streets of Hanamura with money and reputation to pad his way. He was the youngest, able to get out of troubles and situations within our family that would have earned me punishment instead.”

“Was it really enough for you to do it?” D.Va asks, eyes drilling into his own.

“Evidently,” he says almost helplessly. “It was.”

“Do you regret it?”

Soldier 76 stirs slightly in his sleep, and the two immediately freeze and flick their eyes over to him. The old man simply shifts slightly in his seat and resumes his snoring. Hanzo relaxes and leans back against his seat against as he continues, “Every day.”

He remembers it too well.

Blood on the concrete, both his own and his brother’s. Punctures and wounds skidding across his arms and legs from shuriken and sword slashes. Genji’s bright green hair under the throbbing city lights. You’re better than this, brother, I know you are, Genji chokes out. He lost all of his shuriken and his blade lies too far away behind Hanzo. We do not have to accept our fate. Can’t you see? .

“I killed my brother that day and left his body bleeding out in the alleys of Hanamura,” Hanzo says bitterly. “I could not even bring myself to dispose of his body myself. I threw away the sword that I used to kill him. Never again will I ever touch another sword.”

“Is that why you use a bow?” D.Va inquires. Her expression grew darker as Hanzo tells his story, and he cannot fathom what she is thinking. He knows not to expect the best. Even he does not.

“My skill with a bow is just as much as with a sword,” he answers. “That is to say, excellent .” That earns him a small snort and a giggle from D.Va, but she asks once again, “So, you left the clan.”

“How could I live with myself after that?” Hanzo says helplessly. His gaze slides back to the window as he says, “I committed the ultimate crime in their eyes. Not by killing my brother, no. By leaving. I abandoned them, left the seat of my father and my grandfather and everyone else before me, betrayed them by leaving.” He lifts up his arm, and even though none of them can see the tattoo beneath his jacket, Hanzo can still feel the pull of the dragons rippling down his arm. “The only thing I have left to mark me as a Shimada is my family’s spirit dragons and the limited shreds of honor I have left.”

He expects D.Va to start asking more questions, to prod more at his past, his dragons, the legacy he left behind, his honor, whatever she can find and overturn for information. Because if there is anything about her, it is that she is keen and cunning and employs tactics to get what she wants on the battlefield. He’s seen her in action in her mech; she should be no different outside of it. But he’s surprised when she leans back against her seat and the glint drains from her eyes until she’s just regular Hana Song again. Instead, there’s the sudden growth of pity and sympathy that Hanzo does not want. He was not raised to need pity, but before he can say a word, Hana stands up. She doesn’t even bother going around and clambers over the table until she’s on his side of the train compartment. Without even a single word, she just wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace.

Hanzo’s taken aback, but in the silence, Hana whispers softly in Korean, “I’m sorry.” Hanzo slowly lifts his arms to reciprocate the embrace, and he replies with the same language, “It is nothing.”

Hana pulls away from him slightly and frowns, “That is not nothing.”

And it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. That night was the loss of everything he once knew and more. He just wasn’t built to deal with this kind of sympathy and pity though. Although part of him wants to reject it, Hana’s hug is strangely reassuring. Supportive. Kind.

Hana slumps into the extra seat next to him so that she’s in the middle of Hanzo and Soldier 76, and she slowly breathes out, now in English, “We really are a… Ah, how do you say it? Broken up? Messed up? Strange? Something like that. But still, we’re that kind of a family, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Hanzo asks as his brow furrows with confusion.

“Family,” Hana tries to explain as she lifts her hands to gesture slightly to him and Soldier. “I know that we’re really not, and I know that we haven’t traveled together that long. But it’s been a couple of weeks, and it feels like that. Family. Not leaving anyone behind. Watching out for each other. You know. And now, we’re going to get your brother back.” She drops her hands back in her lap and repeats, “Family.”

Hanzo rolls that thought over and over again in his mind until he finally says, “You are right, in a way. This is not how my family worked, but I can see what you mean.”

And Soldier 76, as he lies there on the seat with his mouth still slightly open to keep up the illusion, realizes that neither of them really had a proper family if this is something that they can relate to. He never really thought about their families and how they might perceive this. His heart twinges slightly as he thinks about the two, displaced and seemingly lost without further connections in the world except for the one that they’re searching for.

He remembers a distant farm in Indiana with meadow-green fields and pue-blue skies where the soil was dark and rich and the people were complacent and charming. He loves his family, that’s for sure, but this kind of running and watching and fighting now and then reminds him of another found family he loved.

That is what he supposes this is for now.

Found family. Not one that you were born in, but one that you made along the way.

Chapter Text

“Wake up, kids, we’re here.”

Hana stirs in her sleep and finds herself leaning on Hanzo with Soldier 76’s jacket settled over them like a blanket. “Huh?” she yawns out as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. Hanzo stirs beside her as well and wakes up to the setting sun bleeding red and orange light in their train compartment.

Soldier 76 laughs softly and repeats, “We’re here in Stuttgart, Germany. Get ready to hike through the forest.”

Hanzo lets out a soft yawn before his brow furrows with confusion. “Excuse me, what?” he asks a bit snappishly.

Hana glances at Hanzo; it looks like he’s one of those types to be snappy after waking up. Definitely not a morning type. Neither is she. Hana rubs her eyes blearily once more and pokes Hanzo for good measure. “Hiking?” she asks as well. “I thought we were going to meet your friends?”

“And that’s where we’re going,” Soldier confirms. “Pack up your bags and let’s head out.”

Hanzo sighs as he gets up to tuck a slim notebook and pen back in his duffel bag where his bow and arrows are already packed away. Hana grabs Soldier’s jacket and hands it back to him before she tucks her laptop, mouse, and headphones away in a small backpack that Hanzo bought her. She smiles as she glances at the small sticker that the omnic in Russia put on the laptop. It’s a sticker of a small rabbit, and she appreciates the thought. Her pistol is hidden safely away in an inside pocket of her bomber jacket, and it's already so puffy that barely anybody can tell that it's there. Besides, it's a fairly slim and small pistol compared to other models out there. And if anyone catches her, Hana plans to pass herself off as a D.Va fan with a model pistol. 

Stuttgart looks charming. At least, Stuttgart looks charming in the pictures that slide by in the never-ending stream of picturesque fountains and gardens and buildings in the holograms along the walls of the train station. Soldier 76 shakes his head when he catches Hana looking longingly at the pictures and says, “We’re going to go hiking through the Black Forest.”

Hana sighs, “I know, dad, I know.” Soldier 76 grumbles slightly at the new epithet, but he lets it slide.

Soldier 76 seems to know his way well around here, and Hanzo and Hana are the ones left to look around with wide eyes and take in all the sights. Well, Hanzo doesn’t really do the whole “eyes wide with newness and amazement” thing. He has a tendency to look more bored by the entire thing, but Hana knows that he’s interested and that he’s taking the time to think of possible escape routes through the way that his eyes flick around their surroundings. She hopes that he's getting some fun out of it at least. Soldier manages to avoid attention and get them all closer to the forest via his veteran dad trick again, and Hana and Hanzo assume their roles with ease. It doesn’t feel like pretending anymore. Hana doesn't know what real family feels like, but she thinks that it must have been something like this.

And then, it’s only when they reach the Black Forest is when Hanzo’s bored expression transforms into something else entirely.
The forest is old and looming, and the name suits it. The tree trunks are ink-black under the shadows of the canopy, and light filters in through the branches in a dim manner. Sunset passes, and the forest becomes faded and misty with twilight. Everything is grey and shadowed, and soon, not even the lights of the city will drown out the delicate moonlight. It sets chills down Hana’s spine, especially when they start hiking through swathes of the forest where the devastation from years ago still hasn’t grown over.
Metal carcasses, old bullets, and broken chassis litter the forest floor: remnants of old Bastion units that used to comprise the legions of the omnics during the Crisis. Grass and plants and mushrooms and whatnot have begun to grow over them, but Hana can still see the peeling and cracking paint and the lusterless metal beneath. The scars of war lay heavy on the forest from the broken and fallen tree trunks.

Soldier 76 reaches into his backpack and hands out hiking helmets with flashlights attached to the front of them. Hana gratefully takes it and flicks the light on. Night makes the forest look even eerier than ever, but Soldier 76 seems to still know where he’s going despite the general lack of paths in the direction that he’s taking.

They hike in silence, but when the silence grows too stifling, Hana comments, “This reminds me of home a bit.” She pauses before clarifying, “The wreckage, not the trees.”
“Really?” Hanzo asks, intrigue curling the tone in his voice.
“South Korea, isn’t it?” Soldier asks as well. “That area is being hit hard, right? Tell me if I’m wrong, but Siberia’s omnium is more active than Korea’s right now, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hana says as her face grows more solemn as she thinks about that menacing threat still lying beneath the shores. “The omnic in the sea has gone dormant to repair its wounds and losses. It’s probably building more and more to get ready for the next wave. That was the only reason why I was in Japan and not on the battlefield. They didn’t need me just yet. I’m sure they’ll need me much more in the future once our time’s up.” Time goes on inexorably, and as much as Hana wishes that she could have control at least some part of it, she can’t. The omnic will continue to build more and more soldiers for its mechanized army, and she cannot slow that down via time or anything else.

“I heard that Russia was building new mechs,” Soldier says. Hana can’t tell if this is from genuine interest or in an effort to continue on the conversation. She suspects the former; Soldier doesn’t seem like the type of man to do that. “I saw that in the news also,” Hanzo adds. “They’re improving the Svyagotors.” He stumbles slightly over the foreign word, but Hana knows what he’s talking about. Everyone in the world knows, and she, as a mech pilot herself, should know especially so.

With a slight frown of displeasure, she says almost resentfully, “Mmm, they’re big, but size doesn’t mean everything. The pilot’s skill matters more than the tech.”
Soldier pauses to switch his sunglasses for his usual visor and faceplate, and the red light of his visor is even more of a stark contrast compared to the Black Forest. “I would think that having particle beams and a shield generator would help,” he points out just as he clicks on the faceplate.
“Yeah, but what are you going to do when god code starts overriding your functions?” Hana prods. “At least for MEKA pilots, we can override and counter some of those moves by manually doing it. My defense matrix doesn’t actually exist. I just shoot down every bullet. But if a Russian guidance system gets hacked, they can barely do anything.”

“Excuse me, are you saying that you shoot down every bullet?” Hanzo asks with disbelief. “I have seen you fight. There were countless machine guns, and you deflected everything by shooting at it?”

“Yeah,” Hana says nonchalantly. “I have the world record for APM.” After a moment too long of silence, she sighs and figures that it would have been expecting too much to expect the two of them to know what it meant. “APM stands for actions per minute. You know, things like clicking, pressing buttons, all that sort of stuff. I’ve always had good reflexes and quick thinking. Every MEKA pilot can perform defense matrix to a point, but I’ve always been the best.”
She gestures slightly to herself and continues, “There’s a reason why my country only chose pro gamers instead of soldiers. We’ve got the best aim and APM and reflexes and hand-eye coordination when it comes to things like that. Being in my mech isn’t much different than controlling a character in an FPS game. It’s like a hybrid between Starcraft and FPS almost, but I don’t know how else to describe it.” She flushes slightly with pride as she adds on, “There is a reason why I am the best and why I have not lost a single member of my team. It all comes down to skill, not the amount of tech or guidance systems or what size you have.”

Soldier and Hanzo nod, but Hana can barely tell in the quickly descending night. They trudge along in the forest, and after they’ve gone a few miles more, Soldier suddenly says, “Okay, so I’ve got trail mix and extra water if you need it. If you’re tired, you need to tell me right away so that we can rest and recharge without wasting more time. Forcing yourself to keep going when you’re exhausted isn’t the best. You should conserve your energy.”

“Okay, dad,” Hana says jokingly.
“Hmph,” Soldier grunts. “If you’re going to call me dad, why don’t you listen to me?”
“What do you mean?” Hana interjects. “I’m not tired at all. And I do!”
Hanzo snorts beside her, “He said to wear clothing to blend in with crowds. You went and bought a pink bomber jacket instead.”
“Oh come on,” Hana protests. “It was cute , and most girls my age do wear that kind of stuff.”
Hanzo rolls his eyes. “You must admit, a pink bomber jacket is easier to identify you with.”
“I have an aesthetic , okay?” Hana insists. “It’s cute .” She huffs out a small laugh and zips up her bomber jacket as she says, “But whatever you say. Soldier's going ahead, let’s catch up. And you know what? I’m fine .”

Hana Song has not gone through military training for nothing. She snorts to herself as she remembers the arduous training that she and her fellow mech pilots all went through during basic. It's almost laughable now when she reflects back on it. A group of gamers in basic? She would have laughed. Now, she thinks that it gave her some important skills. Such as the stamina to follow a ridiculously energetic old man in the middle of a forest at night.

Soldier 76 sighs as the two conclude their bickering. It’s all too familiar to him, but he says, “At least you all agreed when I asked you to buy comfortable and practical hiking shoes.” He tosses each of them a small packet of trail mix, and Hana tears it open to start picking out the raisins in it. She deposits each and every one into Hanzo’s bag and eats the chocolate chips first. Hanzo glares at her but says nothing about it.

As Hana munches on a peanut, she suddenly thinks of something and blurts out, “Hey, 76?”
“Hmm?” Soldier absent-mindedly replies as he tears open his own bag of trail mix.
“Are you actually okay with me calling you dad?” she asks. “I’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Soldier shakes his head, “No, it doesn’t bother me.”
Hana now turns to Hanzo who’s trying to pick through the now-excessive number of raisins to ask, “And Hanzo? You okay with me calling you oppa? ”
“No, I do not mind,” Hanzo replies. “But will you stop giving me all of your raisins?”

Hana lets out a soft, trilling laugh before she says, “Nope.” And she continues along with a small smile to herself.

Honestly, it feels like time passes much faster than it actually does to Hana. It doesn’t feel as lonely or eerie anymore, not when Soldier and Hanzo are there to fuss and fret and trade stories.

Soldier 76 tells them stories about the Omnic Crisis, and as dull or bloody as that may sound, Hana thinks that it’s surprisingly familiar to her. The tactics used and the ways that people coped were still the same among her squad; only the people in Soldier’s stories were different. He tells her about a woman who could shoot through the weak points in an omnic from miles and miles away with only her sniper rifle as well as a man who wielded shotguns with surprising accuracy despite the spray of the bullets.
Hanzo tells much different stories. The first one he tells is about the parks in Japan bursting with color and vibrancy in springtime as the cherry blossoms bloomed with full brilliance. Hana thinks that she was lucky enough to see them despite the strange heat of the spring day. Now, it’s summer, and at this point, Hana doubts that she’ll be back in Japan in time to see the trees bloom again. The next story that Hanzo tells is one about a drunken gang leader who fell through a shoji screen door and left a human-shaped hole in the middle of it.
Hana tells her own stories as well. Stories about games played with squadmates late into the night, the streams that they would do, and the jokes that they would make. Hana tries to explain some gaming terminology to them, but she can just tell that they’re flying right over Hanzo’s and Soldier’s heads. Instead, she shifts the stories back over to the soju that she and the other pilots used to drink at night as well as the ways they tried to send messages and letters and whatever else they could back to their families.

Hana does not mention her own family.

Soldier and Hanzo look at her curiously, but they do not press or ask.

Soldier keeps handing them trail mix and guides them on the right path. Hana continues to pick out the raisins until Hanzo finally gives up and stuffs all of the raisins in a leftover bag to put away in his pocket. It’s comforting, and even though Hana can’t really see the skies from within the forest, she imagines that the stars are brilliant and bright in the clear skies above. The night air is crisp and chilly against her skin, so she wraps her arms around herself just a tad bit tighter. But then, they emerge out from the treeline, and Hana’s jaw drops as she sees a huge castle looming against the dark horizon. Hanzo blinks at the castle, seemingly out of nowhere, and Soldier tucks his trail mix back into his bag.

“Welcome to Eichenwalde,” he says simply.

Chapter Text

They creep into the castle, and Hana’s eyes grow wide as she looks around at the crumbling stone and wreckage left behind. The scars of war are still marked on this castle as surely as the surrounding forest is. The OR15 and Bastion units lie around the castle, and Hana half-expects them to jitter back to life. A side-effect of constantly fighting omnics, she supposes.

Soldier 76 guides them to the center of the castle into some kind of throne room where a giant, towering suit of armor lies on the throne. Like a king, Hana thinks. A king with no more subjects left.

They settle down near the throne with their silver emergency blankets that crackle too loudly in the almost-reverent silence. Hanzo is the first to go to bed — if you could even call this a proper bed — but Hana stays up and pulls her laptop out of her bag.

“Go to sleep, Hana,” Soldier says wearily. Hana doesn’t even bother to speak; she shakes her head and pulls up the files that she saved beforehand. She didn’t know if she was going to a castle in the middle of a forest, but she saved everything that she could of Overwatch beforehand. All of her old history teacher’s powerpoints and the news articles and even the complete download of Wikipedia on her hard drive. It was the full download of it with pictures and everything.

She starts by looking up Eichenwalde, and her eyes widen with horror as she reads about the carnage. Hana bites her lip and then glances behind her at the suit of armor on the throne. Balderich von Adler, she assumes. Every last Crusader dead. What would it feel like to know that every member of your squadron would die? She shudders at the thought; it hits too close to home. But as she reads further, she finds out that not every Crusader died. Only one survived. Reinhardt Wilhelm.

But then, Hana moves on systematically through her files to find information on the men that were once the commanders of Overwatch and Blackwatch. Technically, all of her information on Blackwatch was tenuous at best. There was only that one leak and nothing more about what Blackwatch was. No names, no numbers, only the knowledge that the once-pristine organization was doing horrible things. Things like murder and blackmail and interrogation and assassinations. All in the name of peace, of course, but still. Horrifying. Most of the information seems to be pure speculation, but only one thing remains clear.

The commander of Blackwatch was a man by the name of Gabriel Reyes.

She then moves on to studying Gabriel Reyes. A man from Los Angeles, and in Hana’s opinion, he looks like he could bust out a sarcastic or dry quip at almost any given time. As she peers at the picture, she realizes it’s because he has the same expression Hanzo makes whenever he’s saying something particularly dry. She has to stifle the laughter, and Soldier 76 glances up from his night watch to look curiously at her. Hana gives Soldier a thumbs-up, and he settles back down.

Then, it’s time to look up the Strike-Commander himself: Jack Morrison.

She knows most of the information already; he was a skilled man in the American military before he was drafted in Overwatch. The simple stuff, really. The face of almost every Overwatch advertisement in addition to that British woman and Reinhardt. The Egyptian woman with the cool hat came on the more solemn notices about Overwatch and then stopped showing up on ads at all. Hana remembers how her history teacher droned on and on about this era of history after the Omnic Crisis. Overwatch was supposed to be a lesson on how not to deal with the aftermath of a war. Or at least, how to not deal with the world. A lesson on how good things could eventually be corrupted by power or greed or whatever else the human race could muster up.

Hana opens one file with the Strike-Commander’s profile in it. In this photo, he’s wearing some kind of visor while holding a large rifle in his hands. He’s facing left with determination and steel written across his brow. Hana thinks that it’s so achingly familiar until she looks up and sees the same outline on Soldier 76’s face. She honestly thinks that it’s impossible and that her mind is just playing tricks on her.

Men don’t miraculously live after an explosion.

When Hana opens her eyes again, she doesn’t open them again until morning.

Soldier 76 glances over to look at Hana again and just rubs his temples when he sees her slumped over her still-open laptop. The dim light from the screen illuminates her face, and it clearly shows that she’s fast asleep. He gets up and strides over to the girl in order to ease the laptop out of her grip. When he sees the screen, he grimaces.

It’s a picture of Jack Morrison.

Jack Morrison is long dead — killed in a blast in Switzerland with the pressure of another person’s body on top of him — but some vestiges still remain. Soldier 76 isn’t sure how to reconcile his current self with his past. He made mistakes and blamed the wrong people. He doesn’t know if he’s doing the same now. He hopes not.
He shuts the screen firmly, and the younger face of Jack Morrison disappears from his view. Then, he eases Hana down on top of the tarpaulins they’ve set down earlier and pulls an emergency blanket over her. It crackles loudly in the silence, and Hana stirs slightly. Soldier 76 waits for a moment before he pulls off his jacket and settles that over her for good measure.

As he looks over Hanzo and Hana’s sleeping forms, he thinks that they’re not so different from the subordinates — no, friends — he used to take care of. Watch over. Overwatch.

With that thought still swirling around in his head, he resumes his watch. But, at some point in the middle of the night, he forgets to pass the night watch off and falls asleep under the dead gaze of Balderich von Adler.

Morning comes with the brilliance of another new day. But for Reinhardt Wilhelm, it is a day that he will never forget. As he trudges towards the entrance of Eichenwalde, he remembers how the omnics bore down on him and his fellow Crusaders. Today is the anniversary of the Crusaders’ last stand in Eichenwalde. He has never missed a single year. He does not intend to ever miss it until death takes him as well.

Torbjörn and his daughter, Brigitte, follow behind him as they trade word for word in their native Swedish. They don’t try to involve him in the conversation; they already know from experience. For once, Reinhardt falls completely silent as he walks into the castle with memories dogging his footsteps.

He used to come here with Jack and Gabriel and Ana and Torbjörn in the good days. Then, Ana died. Then, Jack and Gabriel died. Torbjörn was the only left after the years took their toll on them all.

Reinhardt follows the winding path towards the throne room where he knows his former commander lies. He can’t bring himself to remove Balderich’s remains out of this place for some unshakeable reason, so he still comes. Actually, he thinks that he would still come to this castle year after year regardless of whether or not the bones were still here. It was not about the physical remains but the memories that were left behind.

However, when he rounds the corner, he sees three slumped figures near the throne. Two of them are covered with silver emergency blankets, and the smaller of the two has a jacket over them as well. Nearby, propped up by the throne, lies another person. They have a visor and some sort of mask over their face, so Reinhardt can’t exactly tell who it is. Still, their mask glows a faint red in the shadows cast over him by Balderich’s suit of armor.

“Who are these people?” Reinhardt says loudly and curiously. He tries to modulate his voice for the sake of the sleeping people, but he’s never been really able to get his voice to be perfectly soft. “Do they have no homes? Were they lost in the forest for all this time? How terrifying for them! We must get them to safety, my friends!”

“Now, hold on, Reinhardt,” Torbjörn cautions. He takes a few step further, and his eyes narrow on the mask of the one beside the throne. “Isn’t that Soldier 76, the vigilante?”

“You’re right, dad,” Brigitte comments as she stands beside Reinhardt. She eyes their weapons and their armor with a practiced eye.

“What?” Reinhardt says aghast. “Why would he be here? There is nothing of worth here!” And truly, there is nothing except the empty shells of broken omnics and crumbling stone. Unless he was here to steal Balderich’s armor and disturb his resting place , a small voice says in the back of his mind.

But then, the people near the throne stir, and as they stir, the paper-thin covers rustle around them. The smallest person pushes the jacket off them and reveals itself to be a girl. To Reinhardt, she looks younger than Brigitte. Then again, he’s never been the best gauge for age considering his own, but still, she looks too young to be here among the wreckage left by a war long before her time.

Two men, the one by the throne and the one underneath a blanket, glance up at them and then immediately dive for their weapons. Even the small girl draws a pistol that’s clipped to her belt and points it straight at Reinhardt.

“Who. Are. You,” the girl grits out as she keeps her pistol trained on Reinhardt.

Hana dreams, and she dreams violently.

She’s on the beach, and she’s seventeen years old again. Fresh out of training, but not fresh to battle. It’s her fifth so far, but this time, she has cameras rigged to her mech. An idea from the higher-ups.

Hana wants to cry, to stop, but she’s in the middle of a battle, and she can not afford to stop. Not now, especially when millions of people worldwide are watching this livestream. The tides have turned red beneath her mech’s feet, and the legions of metal that the giant omnic sends continue to march towards the shore. Thankfully, none of the red is anyone from MEKA, but the red comes from their own troops regardless. After all, omnics do not bleed.

She needs to get herself together, and her mind flies faster than her fingers do as she activates her defense matrix. If she sends a squad to the left and one to the right, perhaps they can flank a particularly troublesome group of omnics that the giant omnic has assembled before them. She pastes on a vicious grin; this is a livestream and she must perform to the usual standard. She can’t afford to be Hana Song anymore. She’s only D.Va now.

“MEKA Squad 1, left! Squad 2, right!” D.Va calls out through her comm and through the speakers of her viewers. “Initiate flank sequence, now!” Her grin turns sharper as she says with confidence brimming from her voice, “Sensitive viewers may not want to watch now! Please avert your eyes!” And with that warning aside, she launches her rockets and hurtles into the midst of the fray.

Her eyes open, and she’s left staring at a high vaulted ceiling that is most definitely not blue sky or red water. She can feel the paper-thin blanket and the heavier padded jacket on top of her, but then, she hears the voice that woke her up in the first place. With the same kind of adrenaline from her dream, she reaches for her pistol and raises it up automatically. Her eyes narrow on the figures in front of her, and she snarls out, just like and unlike D.Va, “Who. Are. You.”

Hana focuses in on her main target: an aging man that is so tall and ripped that she feels like he could break her in half. What was it with aging men and muscles? She swears that Soldier 76 and the huge man and the man beside him could all break her despite their whitening hair and wrinkles on their brows.

She can hear Hanzo lunging for his bow beside her and the sound of Soldier 76 picking up his pulse rifle. However, she can also hear Soldier’s soft sigh of relief.

“Reinhardt. Torbjörn. Brigitte,” Soldier 76 says evenly.

Recognition flashes in Hana’s eyes. The last Crusader left after the attack on Eichenwalde. The face on Wikipedia, the face on all of those anti-bullying campaigns endorsed by Overwatch. She’s looking at a physical legend himself.

“What is your business, criminal?” Reinhardt booms loudly. Hana winces slightly at the volume; the news broadcasts and videos never really quite captured the volume and tone and timbre of his voice right.

“Technically,” Soldier points out. “I’m a vigilante.”

“And what difference does that make?” Reinhardt asks, still in that same booming tone, as he crosses his arms.

“Actually,” the girl — Hana assumes that she’s Brigitte — interjects. “A vigilante is a person who undertakes law enforcement without legal authority usually because they think that the legal agencies are inadequate. A criminal breaks laws without that kind of rationalization.”

The other man beside her pats the girl as he says proudly, “I knew I raised a smart girl.” Hana assumes that he would have to be “Torbjörn.”

“Well, yeah,” she replies. “I’ve got to be smart enough to keep you all in line and correct your mistakes whether it be actual mistakes or patches on your armor. And speaking of armor and weapons, I know I said that you shouldn’t have brought them, but I’m regretting that now.”

Reinhardt takes a single step forward, and Hana and Hanzo tense. Hana’s finger is ready to press down. If he makes a single hostile move towards any of them, she is ready.

“But wait…” Reinhardt says slowly and painfully. “I would recognize that voice from anywhere. Tell me I am wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” his companion says as he scratches his beard. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny hammer. After he glances down at his hand, he lets out a loud sigh and complains, “See, Brigitte, this is why I should have brought my nice hammer.”

“State your business,” Hanzo says, voice low and tense with threat. “We can settle this from there.” When Hana hazards a glance in his direction, she winces slightly when she sees him pull his bowstring slightly more taut: a complete opposite to what he’s implying.

“State my business?” Reinhardt asks incredulously. “When you are the ones that were trespassing? Well, unless you were lost in the woods and had to come here for shelter. In that case, I would be happy to take you back to Stuttgart with my friends, Torbjörn and Brigitte.”

Brigitte frowns, “But lost people generally don’t carry around high-grade weapons and travel with armor underneath their clothes. The girl doesn’t have anything, but Soldier 76 has armor underneath, probably some kind of ceramic composite with Kevlar para-aramid backing since it seems to have a regular shape with standard armor. Or, it could be something special that Helix Security cooked up.” She raises an eyebrow as she nods towards the pulse rifle. “Of course,” she comments. “That’s if you stole armor along with that rifle, Soldier 76.” She glances over to Hanzo and says, “And the other guy doesn’t have as much either, but his legs are definitely reinforced or prosthetics with something like titanium or aluminum alloys or carbon-fiber.”

“How do you know that?” Hana asks with awe.

Brigitte shrugs, “After working  with so much armor and military equipment, you get the hang of it.” She also gestures to Reinhardt as she laughs, “And this old man’s stupidly large Crusader armor taught me a lot about different kinds of alloys and metals to use for patches and resolderings.”

Well, fuck , Hana thinks.

Reinhardt looks angry and ready to charge at them, and frankly, Hana thinks that the old man could take a few bullets and arrows while taking her or Hanzo down. Torbjörn is brandishing his tiny hammer threateningly, and although it’s tiny in comparison to her pistol or Hanzo’s bow or even Reinhardt’s fist, the way he glares at her makes her think that he could probably kill them all with a single hammer. And Brigitte? Her arms are absolutely ripped .

Hana inhales and prepares herself for the impending attack.

And it’s just around then that the sound and screech of gunfire and battle start echoing in the high, vaulted chambers of Eichenwalde. “Not this again,” Hana mutters under her breath in bitter Korean. “I’ve had enough of explosions and gun-battles without my mech.”

Chapter Text

Fighting.

That’s all that there really is to it. At some point, all of the bullets and gunfire and constant presses of the triggers blend together in a cocktail of fear, adrenaline, and pounding, heaving breaths. The absence of Hana’s mech make the battle stand out though. Her fingers twitch as if she were manipulating her controls, but no, she’s on the ground, sprinting towards the entrance of Eichenwalde.

Reinhardt vaults over a banister and Brigitte screams out behind him, “Reinhardt! You can’t! You don’t have armor!” Torbjörn snarls something under his breath and follows after Reinhardt in an attempt to drag the larger man back.

Soldier 76 and Hanzo immediately move to their various positions. After too many weeks of running away together, the three — Soldier 76, Hanzo, and Hana — have developed their own style and system. It works, but Hana thinks that it would be so much better if only she had her damn mech .

Soldier is left to be the main damage dealer as Hanzo scales the wall with his near-superhuman ability to get the high ground. Hana stops to make sure that Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Brigitte are safely near the throne where they can dive behind walls for cover if necessary. Then, with a heavy sigh, she circles around to try and deal as much damage as she could with her tiny pistol.

At first, it seems like they’re making decent ground. The three bodies on the floor are the black-clad operatives with the discreet white logo printed along the edge of their breastplates. Talon. Hana curls her lip as she steps over the bodies and gets a better angle to aim her gun with. Soldier 76 tears through the few operatives that remain while Hanzo takes down the few people in the back. Hana doesn’t deal as much damage, but she does take down a person who thinks that flanking Soldier is a good idea. It really wasn’t.

But then, the last soldier left standing puts away their weapon, and they all pause, utterly confused. The soldier lets out a high, chilling laugh as they toss out a small object towards Hana. Before Hana can move, she sees Soldier 76 dive in front of her. Her voice reacts faster, and she screams, “Soldier!"

The blast of the grenade drowns most of her voice out.

Hana is thrown to the floor, and when she struggles to get up, she sees Soldier 76 on the ground. The red light of his visor is barely on, flickering between red and black. However, her mouth curves with grim satisfaction as she sees an arrow land straight in the soldier’s neck. The soldier falls, and Hana’s gut churns at the thought of so much death. The scent of blood and smoke is heavy — oh, how she hates that smell — but she is no stranger to battlefields. She shouldn't be distracted by the sight of blood and death anymore. She shouldn't. Besides, her own discomfort is nothing compared to the bloom of terrifying worry in her chest for Soldier 76.

She can hear Reinhardt’s heavy footsteps and the sound of Brigitte’s voice behind her, but Hana gives them no heed and struggles to make her way towards Soldier 76. She forces her body up and prays that he isn't dead. The blast didn’t hit her, thanks to him, so she’s able to totter her way over without falling on her face. When Hana reaches him, her hands shake. She quickly checks his breathing and sags with relief when she sees his pulse still going and his lungs still breathing. The numerous shards of shrapnel embedded in his body armor and the black marks from the explosion don’t bode well though. She has absolutely no idea how Soldier 76 is still alive, but she thanks a god that she doesn’t believe in for the small mercy.

She scrabbles at Soldier’s pockets, and when she finds an undeployed biotic field in his pocket, she hurriedly opens its tabs with shaky fingers. Once she has it open and ready to deploy, she slams it down on the ground with more force than necessary. However, her basic military training can’t take her any much further than that. He’s still breathing, he’s still alive, but he needs medical attention for the rest. Hana doesn’t even know if his visor is still salvageable with the way that it flickers erratically.

Reinhardt and Torbjörn and Brigitte all gather around her to try and help, but Hana pushes them away from Soldier’s body, trying to shield him out of pure irrationality. “Come on, come on, come on,” she whispers urgently in Korean. She knows that none of them nor Soldier can understand it, but she repeats it just for luck.

“More incoming!” Hanzo barks out loudly from his perch.

Reinhardt swears and says bitterly, “I should have brought my armor.”

Torbjörn growls, “Who would have expected a vigilante and Talon ?”

“Nobody,” Brigitte replies, her voice shaking despite her attempt to stay calm. “Nobody would have ever expected it. Especially in a castle like this. It was supposed to stop being a battlefield after the Omnic Crisis ended.”

Reinhardt freezes beside Hana, and she thinks that she can hear the old man suck in a sharp intake of breath. “The Crusaders,” Reinhardt breathes out almost reverently. Then, he surges up and starts bounding back to the throne room. Torbjörn and Brigitte call out after him before they vainly try to keep up with him.

Hana is left with Soldier 76.

“Soldier?” she whispers again. She glances around her and then upwards towards Hanzo. He looks down at her and gives her a brusque nod as well as three fingers. Three minutes then. Hana has three minutes before the next wave comes. She apologizes softly, over and over and over again, and judging by Soldier’s pained groan, he knows. With gentle fingers, Hana leans over Soldier’s face and carefully removes the damaged visor. Her hair falls forward to shield his face from view, but Hana already sees it.

The lines and structure of Soldier 76's face is undeniably that of Jack Morrison.

His face is scrunched up in a terrible grimace of pain, but Hana grabs the biotic field to push it closer to him. It wouldn’t do anything to speed up the already-accelerated healing process, but she tries regardless.

“Hana,” Soldier wheezes out. “You okay?”

Tears well out of Hana’s eyes as she tries to chide, “Okay? Look at yourself.”

Soldier ( 76, Jack Morrison, whoever he was ) weakly smiles, but his jaw clenches when he tries to move too much. “I’ll be fine,” he gets out. “I’ve survived worse than this.”

And truly, it looks like he has. His eyes are a pale milky blue, almost as brilliantly blue as they once were, and long, puckered scars run across his face. Faint burn scars line the sides of his face and stretch down his neck. Now , Hana supposes, he’ll have more scars to add to the collection.

A single shout from Hanzo is all the warning that Hana has. Before she can say anything more, purple mist swirls around her. She grits her teeth and pulls out her pistol. She won’t get up though: not when Soldier is still incapacitated. Reaper solidifies right in front of them, on his knee and peering curiously at Soldier.

“So,” Reaper rasps. “It’s come back to this, old friend. Couldn’t take the blast for you this time, huh?” He laughs bitterly, but somehow, Hana thinks that it’s not nearly as menacing as before. His rasp sounds less harsh and grating than it was at Lijiang Tower, but it still has that same similar quality and accent to it.

“And you tell me that I’m sentimental?” Soldier wheezes as he doubles over with a cough. His eyes flitter back and forth, trying to focus on Reaper properly.

Reaper shrugs, “We both are. Never denied it, cabrón.”

Harsh, pounding footsteps sound behind and then almost beside them, and Reinhardt’s voice gasps out, “No… It cannot be.”

Reaper glances up, and the light gleams off of his polished mask. He tilts his head slightly and asks wryly, “Still sticking to those ideals, Reinhardt?”

Soldier only coughs out, “Aren’t we all?”

An arrow hurtles its way into Reaper’s body, but he doesn’t even seem fazed. With misty fingers, he reaches over to pluck the arrow and wave it at Hanzo. “This isn’t going to work, Shimada. I suggest you stop trying and stop wasting arrows on me.”

Hana can just picture Hanzo’s venomous gaze in her mind’s eye as she keeps her pistol trained on Reaper. Reaper only sighs and tosses the arrow to the side.

Hana is ready to retort something, but the glistening sheen and accompanying swoosh sound distracts her. She glances over and sees Reinhardt brandishing an ancient-looking and rusty rocket hammer as well as a faintly flickering but relatively stable shield. She gapes slightly as she realizes that Reinhardt must have torn them off the suit of armor from the throne.

“But you are not the only one, Reaper,” Reinhardt bellows. “Stand up and face me like a true man!” He hefts the hammer in his grip with a practiced ease despite his age and scars.

Torbjörn growls, “ Ja , put down your guns now , Reaper.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me with guns that you don’t have?” Reaper shifts slightly into mist as he faces Soldier 76 again. “If only you listened to me sooner,” he tuts.

Soldier 76 now gains enough energy to prop himself up, and he only replies back, “If only I didn’t let you become what you are now.”

Reinhardt and Torbjörn gasp slightly when they see Soldier 76’s exposed face, but Soldier 76 and Reaper both ignore them for the moment. Instead, Reaper shoots back, “You were too busy following orders for something that changed long before any of us.” He idly examines his gloves and pulls out a single shotgun from his holster as he comments, “Well, I’m feeling more healthy and bright today, unlike you, Jackie. Thanks for the surprise and for leading more people to here. Targets should be arriving not long now.”

Hana’s mind races; if Reaper meant different targets, then what was he here for? She grows desperate, and her mind sifts through more strategies. She just doesn’t have as many options as she normally would. Hanzo can’t spare any arrows and she can’t shoot worth a damn with a bow anyways. She doesn’t think that she’s ever even touched a real, physical bow before. Soldier 76’s pulse rifle is too heavy for her to use accurately. She can use her pistol decently, but it won't be enough against a wave of reinforcements.

A sudden warning cry from Hanzo makes her jolt, and Soldier 76 tries to get up at the sound. The biotic field has done enough for him to the point where he can stand up, but he still sways on his feet. Reaper laughs hollowly, “And so, the others arrive. El trabajo es pan comido. Not what I was planning, but it still works anyways.” He turns to Hana and says rather balefully, “Now, get out of the way. This time, I’ll finish the job.”

Soldier 76 tries to protest, but Reaper only surges forward in a wave of fog. “This was how it should have been,” he says thinly. “You always did have a high opinion of yourself.”

“One of these days,” Soldier growls back. “Someone is going to put an end to you.”

Reaper solidifies just enough to spread his hands out and say, “I invite them to try.”

Hana glares daggers at Reaper, and she swears that she can physically feel the seconds draining by. In her moment of desperation, she fishes into her zip-up pocket and presses down firmly on her recall, praying and hoping with every fiber of her soul. A few more seconds pass by, and then suddenly, her mind clicks a few more pieces of the puzzle in place. With a deep breath, she steps forward and snarls, “Get away from dad, Gabriel Reyes.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Then, Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Brigitte gasp behind Reinhardt’s shield. Torbjörn says haltingly, “Do you mean…? No, it can’t be. Gabriel Reyes died in the explosion in Switzerland!”

Reinhardt steps forward and the shield crackles. “No, no, the Reyes I knew would not turn to terrorism ,” he insists loudly. “No, it cannot be!”

Brigitte’s eyes dart between Reaper and Soldier 76 as she says softly, “But if Jack Morrison… If that’s really him, who’s to say that Commander Reyes didn’t die as well?”

Soldier 76 runs a hand weakly through his whitening hair and says softly, “You thought you were doing good.”

Reaper inclines his head and replies, “Good to see that you’re catching on, boy scout. I could say the same to you.”

Then, the mech slams down between Reaper and Hana with a loud thud against the cobblestones, cutting him off from everyone’s view. Her beloved mech, with all of its cannons and boosters and cockpit and whatever else intact, is now in front of her, facing her with a boundless horizon of chances and opportunities waiting for her on the controls. A pure miracle that Hana doesn't want to waste time on wondering why.

“Rematch, you and me, Reaper, Reyes, whatever you want to call yourself,” D.Va challenges as Hana Song fades away and D.Va steps forward in a burst of courage. She can’t see Reaper, but she can still see the mist and fog behind her mech, and she can still hear him say with cold amusement, “Careful what you wish for, hija .”

D,Va lunges for her mech and slides in securely in her seat. The mech smells like new with fresh upholstery, and it thrums with fully charged power. She mentally thanks the engineers back home and the gods and whoever else is left in the world for this miracle. It even has the same taegeukgi  painted brilliantly on the sides as if the events before never happened. It’s not as easy of a fit like her bodysuit lended her; the bomber jacket is too puffy and gets in her way. It’s not enough to deter her though. She slams her thumbs on the buttons and yanks the mech sideways to collide with Reaper. At least, she would have collided with Reaper if he was corporeal.

Reinhardt cries out and tries to move forward to shield her, but D.Va refuses to let herself be shielded. “ Oppa! Keep an eye out for other Talon people for me!” she yells in her cockpit as loud as she can. She can’t hear Hanzo’s reply, but she stomps forward in her mech with brimming confidence and pride. She doesn’t have to hide and fight with her pistol anymore. She can go in with guns blazing.

Reaper circles around her with that same mist, but she can see the faint outline of him drawing his guns and floating closer to her. D.Va only activates her defense matrix just in time to prevent his shotguns from taking out a huge chunk of health and power from her mech. He stumbles back slightly, and D.Va uses the opportunity to use her boosters to slam his body to the wall while it’s still solid.

And so starts the battle between the two. D.Va quickly figures out that there’s no use in shooting at Reaper when he’s in his wraith-like form, but she also hypothesizes that he cannot retreat back in his wraith form all the time. However, he manages to take some solid hits on her mech from time to time. It seems endless, this constant battle of gunfire and dark fog, but to D.Va, it feels exhilarating. She forgot how powerful she felt in her mech, and she uses every bit of her skill to gain an advantage. But just when she has Reaper cornered, she feels a sudden impact to her left side and stumbles. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see her mech health decreasing too quickly for her own liking.

A blast from a rocket knocks Reaper away, and D.Va knows without even looking that it’s one of Soldier’s rockets. He must be feeling well enough to wield it, and she sighs with relief. But the fight isn’t over yet. When she focuses on Reaper again, she sees that his mask is completely blown off. That reveals a mangled mess of flesh and blood vessels with a pair of eyes, a nose, and a mouth barely held together by dark, regenerating mist. The part of her that’s Hana Song wants to stop and retch at the sight, but the part of her that is D.Va keeps her grounded.

A healing stream of biotic light suddenly locks on to Reaper’s body, and before D.Va’s eyes, his flesh starts reknitting itself together and the skin of his face begins to resurface. Reaper’s eyes widen and lose their maddened quality, and he freezes under the biotic light. “What… What is this?” he breathes out. “I forgot what it felt like to be whole again.” As the last of his face comes together properly, D.Va can finally recognize him as the man who was once Gabriel Reyes. He smiles wryly, “That must be Mercy.”

A blur of white beside her and the click of boots against the cobblestones makes D.Va jerk over to check who just landed beside her. It’s a woman in a sleek white combat suit with wings , and D.Va instantly recognizes her as one of the famous icons of Overwatch: Dr. Angela “Mercy” Ziegler in her Valkyrie suit.

The doctor stands there, mouth agape and blue eyes wide and hurt, and she struggles to form words. Her Caduceus staff is still active in her limp hands, and she chokes out, “Gabriel? Gabriel, is that really you?”

In response, Reaper tries to dissolve into his wraith smoke, but only his arms and legs slightly oblige. His face and his torso remain the same: human as it was before.

Dr. Ziegler finally raises her staff and lets her healing beam go in order to heal D,Va, and it’s only then that Reaper begins to fully dissolve. However, his face remains the same for the longest, and in a normal voice, he says, “You’re a smart girl. You’ve figured out this much.” His skin slowly starts to peel away into wisps as he finishes, “Careful how much you try to find out though.” With that, he disappears far far away before D.Va can even blast after him with her rockets.

D.Va glances over to the doctor who still looks stricken and insists, “No, I’m fine. Help dad instead!” She uses her mech arm to point over to Soldier 76 who's struggling to stand up and hold onto his pulse rifle. Reinhardt steadily keeps his shield up to keep her missiles and bullets or Reaper’s shots from harming their small group, but he calls out, "Angela! Always in at the right time, my friend!"
The doctor looks in that direction, and her face blanches even more than D.Va ever would have expected. She only nods briefly though, and the wings on her back unfurl even more as she glides over to them with her staff outstretched.

Hanzo drops down from his perch and dashes over to D.Va. Even in her mech, she can hear the tap-tap of his steps which means so much more to Hana. He could have gone silently with less speed, but this shows how desperate he is to get to her. She really does appreciates the gesture, and she watches as his stern, sharp face comes into view of her side-cams and her front cockpit.

“Are you okay?” he immediately asks. His eyes flick over her more-battered mech, but D.Va gives him a thumbs-up. He nods once, but D.Va can tell that he’s relieved by the way the tension drops from his shoulders. Hanzo then glances over his shoulder and informs her, “Reinforcements have arrived, both Talon and some other group. They have been engaging them outside the castle gates while you and Reaper have been fighting.”

D.Va nods and jerks her mech arm towards the gate. Hanzo doesn’t respond but turns to dash over to the doors leading out to the castle. D.Va doesn’t intend to be overshadowed, so she activates her mech to blast forward much farther than Hanzo can run. The heavy feet of her mech stomp loudly against the stone, and she emerges out of the castle to see a veritable battle occurring along the bridge that leads towards the gates.

Among the bodies and the blood, D.Va can make out bright blue trails of light as well as an actual gorilla fighting through the black-armored operatives. She even catches a glimpse of a bright red serape and old hat that she remembers all too well along with the owner’s country drawl. She takes a single step forward in her mech, but the crunching sound beneath her makes her recoil. She just stepped on a body.

Her stomach rebels and so does her conscience, and her fingers shake slightly on the controls. You’re too young to die , she hurriedly thinks to herself. You can’t afford to lose control, not now, not when you have a battle to win. If you stop playing, you die. You play to win.

Hanzo comes up beside her and sees the mangled body on the ground. He lowers his bow and arrow and tucks the arrow back in order to circle around her mech. He peers at her face through the thick clear shield of the cockpit and sees her wild eyes.

“Hana,” he tries.

D.Va firmly shakes her head and says, “No. I’m D.Va. Move out of the way, Hanzo, we have a fight to win.”

Hanzo’s eyes flash, dark and sharp, but he steps aside and allows her to land squarely in the battle to begin firing. However, as D.Va fights, she knows that the conversation never ended; she only postpones it.

She loses herself in the adrenaline of battle.

Chapter Text

When D.Va lands heavily in battle, she bats aside a Talon operative with her mech arm and fires off a couple of warning missiles. Unsurprisingly, no one takes it. She grits her teeth and starts raining bullets down on them.

The same, hulking gorilla that she spotted earlier lumbers up beside her and takes out someone trying to attack her from behind with his strange laser gun. With that, all the enemies on this side of the bridge are dead. “Tesla cannon,” he comments when he sees D.Va gape at him. He pushes up a pair of glasses perched on his nose and shrugs, “Hi, I’m Winston. Nice to meet you.”

A young woman zips up beside Winston and gives a small wave to D.Va with her pistol still in her hand. D.Va’s seen too many advertisements and posters with her signature grin and wink to not recognize her. “Hello, love!” Tracer pipes up. “Lovely to see you’re on our side.” During the brief moment of calm, McCree dips his hat towards her much like the first time they met.

D.Va spares a moment to wave with her mech arm, and Hanzo emerges out of his small nook to greet them as well.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Shimada and his lil sister,” McCree says blithely. “Nice to see that y’all got out of China safely. I heard that you blew up quite a lot of stuff though. Shame, really. I wanted to visit those gardens again when I was off-duty.” He leans in slightly and winks, “Just kidding. But really, glad to see that y'all are alive.”

Tracer furrows her brow and gasps, “You were the one behind the explosion! Jesse was telling me all about it, and I couldn’t believe it!”

Winston sighs, “We can all chat later, Tracer, McCree. Hanzo Shimada and Hana Song, yes? Again, nice to meet you, but we have enemies incoming.”

D.Va nods and says, “I can act as a dive tank with my mech. I’ll go in first after Talon.”

Tracer claps her hands and says cheerily, “Excellent, I’ll be flickering in and out to use these bad boys. Don’t hit me!” She holds up her pistols and wags them slightly in D.Va’s direction. D.Va can’t help but let out a small laugh; it’s just that Tracer is so effervescent and cheery just like her advertisements. She doesn’t know why she expected anything else.

D.Va has to wonder whether or not that’s purely because of her own experiences in the spotlight.

Hanzo sighs, “Be careful out there, Hana.” He adds an emphasis to her name, and D.Va tries to salvage the mood by giving him a thumbs-up. “We’ll be fine, oppa ,” she says. “D.Va’s got your back. Get ready to keep score. So far, it’s one for D.Va and none for you.”

Hanzo cracks a small smile at that, and he shakes his head, “It’s only because you don’t notice over your flashes and fire.”

D.Va then yanks up her controls and blasts her boosters to launch her mech in the air, and she sails over the bridge to land squarely on the other side. There, she can see the new operatives advancing with Reaper in their midst. A frown laces its way across her face, and she quickly moves forward. She spots another building, maybe an extension or addition to the castle, and ducks inside. There, she waits and scans for any possible openings. Tracer blinks in at the opposite end of the room that she’s in, and the British woman jerks her head towards the front opening. Then, she makes a small circling motion with her left hand. D.Va immediately understands: keep the front busy while Tracer takes them out in the back. With that, she activates her boosters again to careen around the corner and slam into the closest bodies she sees.

Reaper rises up right beside her, but D.Va already knows that he’s coming from the telltale curls of mist that she can see at the edges of her peripheral vision. She slides her controls to her right and activates her defense matrix just as he starts shooting. Through the cockpit, she can see him toss his shotguns to the ground and pull out more from somewhere in the mist. Her eyes are already strained from shooting down each bullet from his guns, so he manages to get a few shots before she can retaliate.

Tracer bounces in with brilliant light trailing from her body, and the large, mechanical thing on her chest whirs and hums with the same shade of light. “Gotcha!” she sings out as she sprays him with bullets. Then, she disappears from view and reappears to blast more bullets at him.

Winston leaps over Tracer and begins to wreak havoc with his Tesla cannon, and when D.Va turns to fire her missiles, the men are already dead with either arrows sprouting from their prone bodies or a bullet that she knows is embedded somewhere deep and vital. Hanzo and McCree, she assumes.

D.Va checks her power gauge and winces; it’s not good at all. However, a voice cries out, “I will watch over you!” D.Va’s power gauge rises, and she can feel the soothing rush of nanobiotics through her mech as Mercy flies in with her Caduceus staff raised. Reinhardt’s heavy footsteps and loud bellows follow soon after, and D.Va sees a small hammer hit the last man in front her with a solid thud. “Take that, ya bastard,” Torbjörn yells behind her.

“ Hana!” Soldier 76 cries out. His voice isn’t as loud as it usually is, and it’s decidedly more wheezy, but he sounds so much better than he did before. D.Va smiles to herself as she maneuvers her mech around.

Reaper is now thoroughly surrounded. Tracer and Winston are to his left, McCree and Hanzo are to his right, Mercy and D.Va are to his front, and Soldier, Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Brigitte are to his back. Reaper himself staggers around to see all of them. Soldier 76 has his battered visor on, and although it flickers slightly, he raises his pulse rifle at Reaper.

“You’ve run out of time and men,” he says tiredly.

Reaper shakes his head, “I’ve got all the time in the world.” He tosses his guns to the ground again, but this time, he does not draw more of his guns out. Instead, he raises a single hand that dissolves into mist and says, “The grave can’t hold me.” And with that, he fully dissolves away. Everyone reacts by firing at the space that Reaper used to occupy, but it’s too late. Their bullets and arrows and missiles all go through thin air, and the mist departs and fades into the shadows cast by the tall, crumbling walls. They do manage to make a significantly large, scorched crater in the ground though.

Only Mercy does not draw her gun. She keeps her Caduceus staff active but not locked on, and she stares at the departing shadows with a stricken expression still etched on her pretty face.

Soldier 76 sighs heavily and lowers his gun. “Get over here, kids,” he says. “Let me take a look at you.” D.Va and Hanzo oblige, and the other Overwatch agents watch as he sets his pulse rifle down on the ground. Soldier 76 starts with Hanzo first, checking him over for any wounds or bruises. Hanzo endures without a single snide comment or sharp glare. He even lifts his arms and allows Soldier to check him over completely. When Mercy tries to walk over with her staff, he only shakes his head and drops a biotic field. The faintly glowing loop surrounds the three of them, and D.Va sighs with relief at the cool sensation. Once Soldier 76 is satisfied, he moves on to D.Va.

“Out of your mech,” he tuts. She obliges and clambers out of her mech. When she exits her mech, she sways slightly on her feet as the reality of all of her actions crashes back down on her again. She’s Hana Song again, and she isn’t sure if she’s ready to face people quite yet after a battle. She tries to crack a smile though for Soldier’s and Hanzo’s sakes and raises her arms up just like Hanzo did. Soldier 76 reaches out to clasp both her shoulder and Hanzo’s as he exhales, “Good. Both of you are safe.”

“‘Course they are!” Tracer says, only slightly softer than her bright tone before. “They did great! Your kids?”

Reinhardt and Torbjörn fold their arms and examine Soldier 76 with solemn, grim looks while Brigitte only runs a hand through her hair. “In a way,” Soldier finally says. Hana shrugs, “He makes a good dad if that’s what you mean.” Hanzo regards Soldier 76 for a moment before he nods as well.

“So,” Tracer says as she rubs her hands decisively. “Guess it’s time for formal introductions, huh? I’m Tracer.”

McCree rolls his eyes slightly and says, “I think it’s pretty hard to not recognize you, Tracer. Same for you, Winston, and Angie too. Reinhardt and Torby as well. Y’all are all too iconic.”

“Agreed,” Dr. Ziegler softly says. “Overwatch was well-known, not easily forgotten.”

“And so was its commanders,” Reinhardt finally says as he unfolds his arms. “Why did you hide for so long then, Jack?” His voice cracks with pain, and Torbjörn frowns even more. The short man bends over to pick up his hammer again as he complains loudly, “Bawled for nothing at that damn funeral then. Who would ever guess that Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes were still alive? You bastards, both of you.”

“Commander Morrison?” Tracer wavers as she flicks her gaze between Reinhardt and Torbjörn. “What do you mean?”

Winston stays silent, but he examines Soldier 76 with more intensity than Hana would have expected. “It can’t be,” he says incredulously. “Didn’t Angela find DNA evidence at the explosion site?”

Dr. Ziegler bites her lip before she hesitantly asks, “May I heal you with my staff?” She extends her hand with the staff in it, but the staff’s panels don’t open up yet. Soldier glances at her and considers it for a while before saying simply, “You know what will show up. You’ve locked that thing on me before.”

Tracer gasps, “No. If the commander was still alive, he’d come back to us. He’d find us. We were his friends.”

Soldier 76 glances at Hana and Hanzo. Even though they can’t see his face underneath the visor and faceplate, the tension in his shoulders and the tightly clenched fists indicate more than enough. Hanzo inclines his head as he says, “It is your choice.” Hana nods along.

With slow hesitation, Soldier 76 reaches up to unlatch the red visor from his face. The other half of his face is still covered, but now, everyone can see his milky blue eyes and the puckered scars along his face.

Tracer flickers blue along the edges of her outline as she shakily steps forward. Hana steps aside for her, and Tracer comes face to face with Soldier 76. “Blimey,” she breathes out. “It is you. Where were you for all this time?”

Dr. Ziegler regards him with a pained expression. Winston lumbers forward and leans in closer to get a better look at Soldier’s face. McCree only exhales sharply, “Damn.”

Soldier sighs, “I came with Hanzo and Hana to find Reinhardt. He always visits Eichenwalde on the same day every single year without fail. I thought it would be the best and quietest way to re-establish contact with someone from the old days. I didn’t expect… All of you to come here as well. Didn’t expect Talon as well.”

Hana and Hanzo step back to allow the former Overwatch agents to get closer to their former commander. Tracer carefully loops her arms around Soldier to give him a hug while Reinhardt waits to swoop Soldier into a much longer and harder hug than Tracer gives. The doctor now activates her healing stream on her staff, and the soft glow surrounds them all even after Soldier’s biotic field fades. Winston leans in closer to Soldier 76, and Torbjörn keeps his arms resolutely crossed. Brigitte rubs a hand against her father’s back, and McCree slides his revolver back into its holster as he moves forward to talk with Soldier. Everyone’s voices are hushed, as if they were speaking with a ghost.

In a manner of speaking, they were.

Hana and Hanzo exchange glances as they wait along the sidelines, and Hanzo sighs heavily, “I do not know what will happen now.”

“Yeah,” Hana replies softly. “I don’t know either.” She’s still swaying slightly; her joints feel too loose and her conscience feels too heavy. Hanzo glances at her, and she can see that same dark worry flash through his eyes. He lays a hand on her shoulder and widens his eyes when he feels her shaking. He reaches over to clasp her hand, and she whispers a strained thank you in Japanese.

Hanzo carefully says in the same language, “Are you alright?”

Hana doesn’t have the same grasp of Japanese like Hanzo does for Korean, but she tries, “I don’t know, brother, I don’t know.”

“You are not hurt,” he ponders. “Is it… Is it because you’ve killed?”

Hana searches for the right words for the language and says haltingly, “I shouldn’t be. I’ve done this a lot now. Killed, to kill, will kill… Oh, how do I say it?” She raises her hands up and stares at them. One is empty while the other still has Hanzo’s hand tightly entwined hers. They look normal, but Hana imagines that she can see the blood on her hands.

Hanzo nudges her slightly, and Hana glances up. “You are young,” he says. “Unused to killing.” He switches to Korean mostly for her benefit and continues, “It’s good that you still have your conscience. Better than enjoying it. It is alright.”

Hana murmurs, “I’m a military soldier. Have been for two years. It shouldn’t be so bad.”

Hanzo pulls her hand and turns her around so that she faces him and not at some far-off point. He waits until her eyes focus on his, and he says firmly in English, “You are not wrong or broken or worse off for feeling.” His eyes crinkle slightly and his mouth turns down into a small frown. “Murder is not something that you get over within a night. It is something that you may spend years contemplating. But that does not make you any lesser or weaker of a person,” he continues. His grip tightens, and Hana stares at Hanzo with wide eyes as he finishes, “You are strong. You can do this. I am always here to talk if you require it.”

Hana looks down at her feet and wonders just how much she tamped down over the years. She never talks about it, was never expected to talk about it. Mental health was never really a thing she spared the time to consider before in her hectic, adrenaline-fueled life. She bites her lip as Hanzo waits patiently.

How did Hanzo do it? How did he live with himself after killing someone, even his own brother? Was it from being raised in a clan of assassins? Had he done this before, so much earlier than she ever had? She always thought that fighting in MEKA would be just like a game. After all, she’s played games with animated blood and gore before. But it’s just so so much worse than that.

“Thank you,” she shakily says in English. She repeats the phrase in both Japanese and in Korean, as if the different languages would make a difference. Hanzo squeezes her hand once, and she squeezes back. “I will talk if I need it,” she promises. Then, she lets go of Hanzo and takes a step back to shut her eyes and inhale a deep, grounding breath.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, just like she does before competitions.

Then, before she loses her nerve, she leans in to hug Hanzo. “Thank you,” she repeats again. She steps back again to look at Hanzo, and Hanzo nods. He looks like he wants to say something, but he shuts his mouth and rubs Hana’s back in reassuring circles.

“Hana, Hanzo,” Soldier 76 calls out. Or is it Jack Morrison? Hana doesn’t know what he wants to be called, but in her mind, she keeps the label of friend, safe, soldier, securely on him. The group of former agents steps aside so that Hana and Hanzo can have room as well. Hana glances back at Hanzo who starts stepping forward. With that, she strides forward as well, only taking a sliver of her D.Va persona with her to smooth over whatever emotion must be on her face right now.

“I’ve asked them why they were all here at Eichenwalde,” Soldier 76 explains as he gestures to the agents. “Overwatch has activated its recall once again.” The lines on his forehead creases as he says sourly, “Not that I think that’s a good idea. Talon knows it, and they came here looking for targets. The rest of these agents came to protect Reinhardt, Torbjörn and his daughter.”

Winston interjects, “McCree has told us about what happened at Lijiang Tower. He said that you were looking for our friend, Genji.”

McCree raises his hands up apologetically as he says, “Hope ya don’t mind. Have to report everything back, you know?” He places a hand on his hip and continues, “Well, we have an offer for y’all.”

Mercy elbows him sharply and says, “Let Winston finish, Jesse.” McCree laughs and pats her on the shoulder as he says, “Alright, Angie, careful with those elbows. I’ll shut up.”

Winston sighs and finishes, “We want to extend you all an offer for a place with us. A place with Overwatch.”

Soldier 76 looks decidedly dour about the entire thing, and he grumbles, “There was a reason why it crumbled apart from the beginning. A thing like Overwatch never lasts long.” He pins Hana and Hanzo with his gaze and says, “But the decision is up to you. What would you like to do?”

Hana looks over each and every agent as they wait with bated breaths and bright eyes. She stares down at her hands again and wonders how many more she’ll have to kill if she joins Overwatch. At least in MEKA, she only destroyed omnics that were overridden with god code to the point where they were unsaveable. She’ll still be protecting people, but she doesn’t know what the cost to herself will be.

Hanzo murmurs gently in Korean, “The choice is up to you.”

Hana jerks her gaze to Hanzo as he regards her carefully. His eyes are dark, and his mouth is set in that firm, stern expression of his. She knows that he’ll do the same as her no matter what she says. The burden of the choice feels heavy on her shoulders, but as she opens her mouth to say no , she thinks of Genji. The silver gleam of his chrome plating, the green glow of his cybernetics, and the broken tone of Hanzo’s voice as he explained the past to her.

Hana Song refuses to be selfish enough to take such a chance away from Hanzo. Not when he has trusted her with his past and offered her comfort. Not from her brother .

The word on her tongue fades from an “n” sound to a bold and simple yes.

Soldier 76’s shoulders seem to tense, but the furrow in his brow smoothes out. He raises his hand up to unlatch the faceplate, and he reveals his full face to Hana. And it’s an expression of utter understanding. The corners of Hana’s twitch hesitantly up, and Soldier nods back.

A grin splits Tracer’s lips as she trills, “Welcome to Overwatch!”

Chapter Text

Hanzo thoroughly dislikes how events have turned out so far.

It started from the very beginning when he made the foolish decision to leave Hana alone in the tower, when he watched her struggle to get out of her mech as the metal burned red-hot and thrummed around her, and when he saw her almost die by the hands of a ghost. He feels so helpless which is not normally how situations turn out. His arrow is always the first to strike and the first to draw blood.

His heart feels like it’s going to crack every time he sees Hana build up her walls and slide on a persona that is her and yet not her at the same time. She seemed devoid of something integral without her mech, but when she had it and went out into battle with it, her eyes seemed emptier.

Hanzo Shimada is not a fool; he knows when someone is hiding something that they should not be. He was not trained to ignore these things, but rather, he was taught to identify those small factors within the span of a single minute. And Hana Song is hiding too many things beneath that arrogant smile of hers. He knows it all too well because he wore the same kind of arrogance and the same kind of mask.

He thinks that he figured part of the secrets that comprise Hana and D.Va when he sees the way she physically recoils inside her mech at Eichenwalde just before diving into the fray. He reaches out to hold her hand because it is like seeing a younger version of him from ten years ago and because it is Hana .

Even though his arrows find their marks, he remains furious with himself for not being of more use. When Soldier 76 throws himself in front of Hana, he sees it all from his high perch above the ground. When he fires an arrow at Reaper, it slides harmlessly through the mist. When he sees the Talon operative behind Hana’s mech, the gorilla reaches her faster with his Tesla cannon. He supposes that is the curse of the sniper (or in his case, the archer). When someone falls or when everything fails, he is the first and the last one to see it happen from his high perch. There is little he can do to prevent or circumvent this sober fact.

Hanzo knows this, but he still does not like it one bit.

He frowns deeply, and McCree clucks his tongue at him across the cramped space in the cargo plane. “You look madder than a wet hen, Hanzo,” he drawls. Currently, Hanzo is wedged between Reinhardt and Hana, and across from him, McCree looks relaxed despite his cramped position between Winston and Torbjörn.

Tracer — Lena Oxton , Hanzo reminds himself — is flying a tiny and battered cargo plane that they used to get to Eichenwalde. Apparently, as Jesse McCree snidely comments, the cargo plane had more than enough room for two people and a gorilla in the back. Now, with far more people, the space is tight and cramped. Hanzo highly dislikes the way he’s pressed between Reinhardt and Hana, but he figures that it would be more comfortable for Hana to be between himself and Soldier 76 than other people.

Soldier 76. Hanzo doesn’t know whether to refer to him as Soldier 76 or Jack Morrison. The old man has put on his visor again, so Hanzo can’t glance over to him and gauge his expression like he does for other people. Still, he guesses that Soldier 76 himself does not know which name to assume now.

“Oh, Hanzo,” Lena sings out over the intercom. “Don’t worry about Jesse. He’s all mouth and no trousers! No need to get in a kerfuffle back there! Space is tight enough!”

“I do not even know what that means,” Hanzo grumbles right back. His eyes narrow on Jesse McCree, but the cowboy only winks back.

Hana lets out a soft laugh as she leans against Soldier 76. “You look pissed,” she comments lightly in Korean. “Relax, no one is going to kill you here. Otherwise, they’d kill someone else in these cramped quarters.”

Winston sighs, “We’ll be fine, Lena.”

Reinhardt enthusiastically chimes in, “Yes! We are having a grand time back here!” Surprisingly, the man regained most of his cheer and exuberance shortly after settling all the details with Soldier 76 and after their impromptu induction into Overwatch. His eyes still darken slightly when he glances over at Soldier 76, but otherwise, his manner is much like Lena’s: brilliantly cheerful.

Torbjörn only settles further into the seat and complains about something with his daughter in his own language. Something European, Hanzo thinks. Danish or Norwegian or Swedish, something of the three.

“We’ll be arriving at Gibraltar soon,” Dr. Ziegler tries in a vain attempt to soothe everyone’s nerves. “Just a little while longer, ja , Lena?”

“Yep!” Lena trills. “Ladies and gentlemen and gorilla, welcome to Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Local time is 4:15 in the afternoon, and the temperature is around 23 degrees Celsius. That’s around 73 degrees for you American nobs. Oh, sorry, Commander! That’s only you.” She lets out a giggle that’s audible through the intercom and finishes, “For your safety and comfort, please remain seated while holding on to the people around you because we don’t have seat belts on this plane! On behalf of Tracer Airlines and the entire crew which is me, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and I’ll be looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future! Have a nice day!!”

McCree laughs, “Oxton, you’ve got that perfectly memorized.”

Torbjörn says dryly, “She hasn’t changed at all.”

So, they land in this Watchpoint: Gibraltar, and Hanzo is oh so thankful to be able to escape the plane and stretch his arms. He’ll check on his legs later in private.

“Welcome to Watchpoint: Gibraltar,” a disembodied voice says. It rings through the hangar with a distinctly feminine and metallic tone, and Winston glances up. “Hello, Athena,” he replies back.

“Running biometrics,” the voice says. “Identifying: Agent Tracer, Agent Winston, Agent Mercy, Agent McCree, Agent — “ The voice (Athena?) cuts off slightly before resuming again, “Strike-Commander Morrison, welcome back.”

Soldier 76 lifts up a hand to take off his visor and faceplate as he slightly smiles. “Hello, Athena,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” Athena agrees. “Two unknown persons present in Hangar A. Identification?”

“Athena is our AI,” Winston explains. “Don’t worry, she has restrictions in her code that prevent her from becoming like an omnium or a god code. She’s perfectly safe.”

Hana fidgets slightly before stating, “Hana Song, also known as D.Va, affiliated with the Korean Mobile Exo-Force.” Her mouth twitches into a bitter smile as she says wryly, “I don’t think I’m part of MEKA anymore though. I’m part of Overwatch apparently.”

“Welcome, Agent D.Va, to Watchpoint: Gibraltar,” Athena amiably replies.

Silence falls as everyone waits for Hanzo. He sighs before glancing at the metal-burnished walls and saying, “Hanzo Shimada.”

Athena doesn’t lose a beat as she repeats, “Welcome, Agent Hanzo Shimada, to Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Please come to Lab A to get your formal cards and biometric IDs established. Thank you, and have a nice day.”

Dr. Ziegler smiles at Hana and Hanzo, “Once you’re done with your main files, please come to the medical bay so that I can give you both a formal check-up and make medical records for both of you.” Her gaze drifts over to Soldier 76 and her mouth twists slightly. “And Jack? Please come to the medical bay later after Hana and Hanzo finish up so that I can update your records and take a look at you.” She hefts her Caduceus staff in her hand as she strides out of the hangar.

From there, the Overwatch agents disperse until only Soldier 76 and McCree remain in the hangar. McCree tips his hat back slightly as he says, “Well, welcome home, Commander. We missed ya.”

Soldier 76 inhales slightly when McCree says “Commander,” but Soldier 76 says softly, “I know, McCree.” His milky eyes drift over to McCree, but they never focus quite right.

McCree twiddles his thumbs slightly as he rocks back and forth on his heels. He seems uncomfortable under the Strike-Commander’s gaze, and Hanzo wonders why. Then, McCree says, “I can show Hana and Hanzo around and get their records all settled. I think Reinhardt and Torby would like to talk to ya.”

Soldier 76 shakes his head slightly as he says, “I can’t imagine. I’m sure they do.” He glances up at the ceiling again and gruffly says, “I don’t know why you all thought a recall was the right thing to do. Overwatch died for a reason.” Before McCree can get in a word, Soldier 76 seals the visor over his face again, and the red light flickers back up. He shakes and stretches his shoulders out slightly before he steps out of the hangar. He looks like he knows where he’s going judging from the way he turns the corner so decisively, and Hanzo supposes that there would be no reason for them to not be. Soldier 76 must have been at this Watchpoint numerous times during the golden days of Overwatch.

“So,” McCree starts off. “Better get your records and IDs all set up, huh?”

“It appears so,” Hanzo replies stiffly.

Hana swings her arms slightly and shifts around, but she says nothing. Her silence is new to Hanzo, and as he glances at her with worry creeping up on him, he notices the way her eyes are automatically flicking around the room and the way she holds her stance. It’s a habit ingrained in both of them; Hanzo’s done that for ten years while Hana’s gained it along with the adventure that they’ve both undertaken. Hana’s eyes drift over to McCree, and she absent-mindedly says, “Guess we’ll have to get that done first.”

McCree’s eyes pin on Hana, and Hanzo knows that the cowboy has noticed it as well. That man possess a keen pair of eyes, and Hanzo feels like there’s something more to it than just quick observation. He still can’t figure out what it is, but it’s that same niggling feeling that he got from the man in Lijiang tower.

However, McCree doesn’t comment on it and instead, turns on his heel to stride out of the hangar as well. Hana and Hanzo follow after him, and during the entire way to Winston’s office, Hanzo manages to learn more about Southern phrases and sayings and stupid things that McCree has done than he ever wished to know. He certainly did not need to know about the one time McCree got his underwear stuck in the laundry machine and broke the lid off. But was it entertaining? Hanzo would never admit it openly, but to himself, he grudgingly concedes that it was.

At Winston’s office, they get their fingerprints and irises scanned. Hanzo looks on stoically as Hana claps with glee; Winston personalizes her ID card with pink and white and bunny decals. McCree catches his glance and snickers, “Should we get you one like that one too? Think ‘bout it, gold and blue with a giant dragon on it.”

Hanzo doesn’t want to admit that that actually sounds nice, but he doesn’t have to. Hana glances up sharply and springs on McCree, prodding him to tell her more about the hypothetical design. Eventually, with Hana’s firm insistence, Winston gets Hanzo’s ID card customized as well. Hana elbows Hanzo in the side and whispers in Japanese, “ You’re welcome .”

Hanzo only raises an eyebrow and replies back equally, “For what? Having a good sense of aesthetic?” Hana squints at him, trying to parse the Japanese words to make proper sense, but when she gets it, she snorts and says, “In your dreams.”

McCree bends over Hanzo’s new ID card and holds it up to the light, turning it this way and that. “Mighty fine,” he says before fishing in his pocket for his own card. He holds it up rather triumphantly and crows, “But mine’s better!” Hana and Hanzo both lean in to look at his card. It’s red with the same pattern that’s on his serape, and there are faint, white outlines of cacti and tumbleweeds and a cowboy hat in the bottom corners of the card. Hana wrinkles her nose and raises her own card as she says in English again, “No, I don’t think so. Mine is cuter.”

“Okay, okay,” Winston interrupts before it can turn into a full-on brawl over which card is cuter. “McCree, can you show them to their rooms and a tour while you’re at it?”

McCree winks at Hanzo and Hana as he says, “It’ll be my pleasure.”

I think Reinhardt and Torby would like to talk to ya.

They certainly did.

The man who was once Jack Morrison walks slowly out of the small office room that used to be Reinhardt’s. Reinhardt himself stands at the door, watching him leave.

“You know, Jack,” the aging Crusader calls out behind him. “I will always be here to talk, my old friend.” His voices cracks slightly as he continues, “No matter what.”

Soldier 76 — or is he Jack now? — raises his hand behind him. Reinhardt will know what it means. He can hear Reinhardt sigh and turn to shut the door behind him.

Torbjörn had already left, back to his own workshop where his daughter waits for him. For the first five minutes, the entire “talk” was purely Torbjörn with quite a few Swedish swear words sprinkled in as well as a tirade about how the dead were supposed to stay dead instead of hiding like a fool for so many years. When Torbjörn ran out of steam, he slumped down in his chair and looked at Jack with so many years of exhaustion. “We missed you,” he finished.

Jack sighs to himself as he remembers that look. The same expression was mirrored on Reinhardt’s scarred and aging face as well. Reinhardt’s portion of “the talk” was much more guilt-inducing than Torby’s tirade. Jack can’t think of a time when Reinhardt wore a more saddened and worn-out look on his face other than at Ana’s funeral and at his own. Gabe’s and mine , he amends in his mind. Ironic, especially when none of the coffins were ever filled.

Jack follows the familiar path up to the med bay. He nostalgically remembers how he always seemed to trail into the medical bay with bloodstain and soot stains everywhere. Angela was so young back then, but she already had that battle-hardened look in her eyes whenever she suited up or whenever she snapped on her gloves to pick out the shrapnel in his arms. In a way, Jack thinks that Angela was a casualty of the war: a brilliant young woman who was touched by the Crisis in a way that only young people can. Scars of war don’t fade quickly, especially if you get hit young. Jack also has to wonder if that’s the reason why he feels so protective over Hanzo and Hana. Hanzo is well beyond the age that Jack could theoretically call him a child, and Hana is past her childhood days, but both seem like people who never fully had the chance to enjoy the peace that Jack and the others bought them. Instead, they received their own scars, and Jack deeply regrets it, even though he had no way of fixing it.

He finds himself in front of the medical bay again, and he can’t help but smile sadly underneath his visor and mask. Just on cue, Angela opens the door and arches an eyebrow at him as she comments, “Well, you certainly took your time.”

He apologetically shrugs and says gruffly, “Reinhardt and Torby had some words.”

She clicks her tongue disapprovingly and says, “Of course they did. I have some words for you too.” With that, Angela turns on her heel and strides back into her med bay. Jack follows, just like he always did.

“So,” she says once he gets situated. “Are you going to let me take a look at those eyes?” When Jack doesn’t reply, she gives him a withering look and says, “You know I have the nanotech to fix them, right?” She slumps down into a nearby chair and rubs her hands over her eyes before she says brokenly, “I checked. I checked the site and sifted through the explosions. I tried to find DNA evidence, tried to analyze everything that I could find, tried to bring you and Gabriel back but not finding enough to work with. And to find out that you were alive all this time?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack weakly offers up.

Angela raises her head and searches Jack’s visor. He doesn’t know what she sees, but he sighs, “I couldn’t, Angela.”

“Why?” she asks, expression open and bare. She raises her hands slightly before dropping them into her lap again, and she breathes out, “I saw the biometrics. On my Caduceus staff. Both Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes are alive.”

Jack leans back slightly and huffs out, “So you found out. Of course, I should have thought of that before.” He didn’t expect Angela to keep that data on her staff for so long after so many years. But she was the sentimental type. He should have known. He wonders if she still has Ana’s biometrics still online and active as well.

“As for your question,” he sighs heavily. “Overwatch was long gone before Gabriel or I ever did. Corruption. Power struggles. Lies. And not just in Blackwatch.”

Before Angela can say another word, Jack reaches up to unlatch the visor from his face, and with his other hand, he removes the faceplate beneath it. He squints slightly when the light hits his bare eyes; it’s not like he can see it perfectly, but it’s still a jarring difference compared to the vision that the visor grants him. Angela sucks in a sharp intake of breath, and in the clean, white light of the med bay, Jack knows that she can see his milky eyes in startling clarity.

“I match with Reinhardt’s eye now,” he tries to joke.

He can’t see Angela’s face exactly, but he can tell that she’s shaking her head based on the way that her blurry outline moves. “That isn’t even funny, Jack,” she chides softly before she leans in closer. “May I?”

Jack nods, and Angela shines some sort of light at his eyes. She doesn’t say a word, but at this close range, he can barely make out her pursed lips and the way her expression looks tight with worry.

“The explosion?” she asks suddenly as she snaps off the light. She steps back, and Jack can no longer make out her facial features other than the colors of her face and hair. Jack shrugs, “What else?”

Angela makes a slight hmm sound before she walks away; the sound of her shoes clicking against the smooth, sterile floor aids Jack in locating her general location. “I can run a surgery and try to repair some of your eyesight,” she says. “You still have light perception, and your accelerated healing took care of the worst parts. I’ve got nanobots that can fix most of the damage.”

Jack exhales slowly. He’s become so used to this kind of life, and at this point, he’s not exactly sure if he wants to or not. Logically, he knows that the answer should be yes, of course, Angela, fix my eyes right now. Hell, he’s always been the type to spring for the fastest cure. Anything to get back out there on the field to make a real impact instead of constantly sitting behind his desk and watching the papers pile up. But now?

“I’ll think about it,” he hedges instead, hoping to buy some more time. “The visor augments my vision, fills in the gaps where I need it. It’s like I have my regular eyes back with that. Even better than my old eyes whether it be before or after SEP.” He cracks the smallest grin as he says, “Besides, it covers up my ugly face so that you all don’t have to see it.”

“Oh, Jack,” Angela huffs out with a slight lilt of laughter. “Just let me know when you want to. That way, I can prepare the nanobots and my tools.”

Jack slides his visor on again but not the mask. His vision returns, muted and slightly tinged red as always. The one bright side of that was that sunsets and sunrises looked much more striking with the slight film of red over them. Angela comes back into focus, and she’s biting her lip as she looks over his medical records. She glances up and sees him with his visor on. A corner of her lip quirks slightly, and she comments, “Well, time to get on with the rest of your physical. We need to get your records updated and keep you in top shape, Strike-Commander.”

Jack winces at the sound of the title. He never liked the sound of it even in the golden days, and now in the aftermath, it struck a chord too close to the heart. Angela cringes slightly when she sees the momentary disgust flicker across his expression, and she rushes to say, “Sorry, it’s a habit.”

Jack shakes his head and raises up his hand as he says, “No, it’s fine. Get on with the physical, doc.”

“Right away,” she says. As she gestures over to the scale in the far corner, she smiles with a touch of melancholy and jokes, “Well, at least I can check up on one dead man. Any other dead people hiding, Jack?” She laughs hollowly at her own flat joke and strides over to the scale to zero it out. Jack pads over to follow her, but as he walks, he can’t help but think of Ana when Angela says that.

Chapter Text

There is a meeting.

Hana and Hanzo are in Hana’s room, slumped on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, when their custom-issued comm units suddenly buzz in their pockets. Hana digs in her pocket and pulls out her comm to hold it up. There’s Winston’s ID on the screen, flashing on and off. Hanzo reaches over to swipe it open, and Hana presses her thumb down on the fingerprint scanner to unlock it. When it opens, a small notice about the meeting pops up.

“A meeting, hmm?” Hanzo murmurs. “I thought that they would have held it sooner.”

“Maybe they wanted to give us enough time to get situated?” Hana suggests. Honestly, she’s tired out from everything that’s been going on, but at least they’re clean again and they have actual beds.

Hana shudders slightly when she thinks about how many showers that she’s taken over the past several weeks. The answer is: not enough. At one point, the three of them were so tired of being filthy that they decided to take matters into their own hands. Soldier 76 and Hanzo broke into a house and kept watch while she took a shower. She traded places with Hanzo, and then Hanzo traded places with Soldier once he was done showering.

“Perhaps,” Hanzo concedes. He rolls over and sits up on the bed, but he doesn’t stand up right away. Instead, he reaches down to fiddle with his legs. Hana sits up as well and asks, “Can I look?” Hanzo only nods briefly, so Hana takes the opportunity to look closer. Hanzo always fiddled with his legs after a fight and every night before he went to bed, but out of privacy, Hana and Soldier left him alone.

He pops off the plates at the very top that cover his knees, and the plates covering the backs of his knees slip off without the front plates to keep them on. They hiss slightly with the released pressure, and Hana can hear some clicks as the prosthetics adjust to the new change. When they come off, Hana sees that there’s still skin beneath it. Skin that is scarred and calloused. She looks up and starts to ask a question, but Hanzo already cuts to the chase and answers, “They are not completely prosthetic. I still have flesh and bone underneath all of the metal, but they are greatly weakened without them.”

The rest of his prosthetics seem to be some sort of flexible and metallic silicone material. Hanzo peels them off carefully to reveal the rest of his legs. Hana’s breath catches in her throat when she sees the extent of the scars left on his legs. There appears to be long, wire-thin supports running down his legs.

“They help brace against impact and calibrate what’s left of my nerves to the prosthetics,” Hanzo supplies. He bends over to adjust the wires slightly and keep them straight. “They are somewhat embedded in my legs but not entirely,” he says lightly. “It would be disastrous if they were tangled or loosened.”

Hanzo’s feet look fine; the padding along the soles and the metal casing of it only appears to add extra support and aid with his silent steps.

Hana’s mouth is wide open as she stares at his legs. She’s seen prosthetics before, but she’s never seen an integration like this. “Where… How did you manage to get this done on you? I don’t think that there’s a single doctor out there that would dare to try and integrate omnic technology with humans,” she asks, still awe-struck and slightly horrified.

Hanzo shrugs, “My clan is rich from illegal activities. Something like this is like nothing in the underworld. Well, the clan elders did pay a great deal of money for my surgeries.”

“Were they supposed to enhance you?” Hana asks with an aghast expression.

Hanzo shakes his head. “No,” he admits as his face twists slightly with regret and bitter sadness. “My brother did not wish to kill me, but he was never one to take hits without a single word. He tried to prevent me from chasing after him by hobbling my legs. It did not stop me, but they were beyond conventional medical care when I arrived back to the clan.”

Hana feels like Hanzo has given her far too many secrets, far too many stories about his past, and she wonders if she should repay the debt. Tell him a few of her own. However, she bites her lips and thinks that all of her stories pale in comparison to his. Who was Hana Song? She only knows that Hana Song was only a girl with good reflexes and a good mind. Nothing in comparison to the heir of a criminal empire. Sure, she won trophies, but she was never asked to kill her own brother. Not that she had any family to speak of, but still.

Hana tries to say something to alleviate the sudden shadow that’s fallen over their conversation, but their comms vibrate insistently. With a sigh, she grabs her own comm and shoves it back in her pocket. Hanzo quickly manages his own prosthetics and puts all the wires and supports and silicone and plates all back together. They hiss and click as they close up completely, and Hanzo stands up again. His steps are silent as he heads towards the door, and he glances back when Hana doesn’t follow right away. His brow furrows slightly, and he says, “Come, we will be late.”

Hana nods wordlessly and trails after him.

It takes them a few times to find the meeting room. By which, it actually means that Athena, the omnipresent AI, finally speaks up through their comms and guides them to the right move. Both Hana and Hanzo jolt when Athena finally spoke to them, but everything works out.

Everyone is in the meeting room, and when Hana and Hanzo step inside, all eyes turn towards them. It’s strange, really, to see all of these relics from an organization that Hana spent her formative years learning about alongside facts and dates from the Omnic Crisis and World War II. Tracer gives her a small salute with her hand, and her accelerator glows a dim blue as she does so. McCree waves at them as he leans back in his chair with an unlit cigar in his mouth and his wide-brimmed hat still perched on his head. Reinhardt looks like he’s trying very hard to shrink himself down to a size where he will adequately fit into his own chair, but unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work. Hana deeply suspects that the chair will simply give out during the middle of the meeting.

At the front of the conference room, Winston clears his throat and gestures over to two empty seats next to Soldier 76. “We saved spots for you next to Jack,” he says. “Come on in, let’s get this meeting started.”

Up above, a screen flickers to life with Athena’s logo clearly emblazoned across it. It then transitions into the Overwatch logo before an image of Eichenwalde pops up. “Eichenwalde,” Athena intones. “Casualties: some injuries, no fatalities. Source of enemies: Talon operatives, Reaper.”

“Thank you, Athena,” Winston says as he pushes up his glasses. “Our original intent was because Athena intercepted a small message with a few coordinates in it for Eichenwalde. We think that it was meant to be a trap so that Reaper could come in and take us down.”

McCree frowns and leans in closer to peer at the screen as he says lowly, “Reaper was after us in Lijiang Tower. Was just me and Genji though.”

Lena cocks her head and says quizzically, “You know, wasn’t Genji supposed to be at Eichenwalde?” She pouts and huffs out, “That was the only reason Winston allowed me to go with you lot instead of waiting in the plane!”

Hanzo’s expression darkens, and he mutters something under his breath in sharp and pointed Japanese. Hana thinks that she caught a few swear words sprinkled in his words, but it’s too soft for her to understand fully.

Soldier 76 suddenly rises up and strides over to the screen. “Athena, do you have footage of the fight at either Eichenwalde or Lijiang Tower?” he asks as he makes his way up.

Everyone in the room falls silent as he now stands beside the screen. “Yes, Strike-Commander,” Athena replies smoothly. Without a single hitch, Hana notes. Then again, it is an AI no matter how they treat her. A silent video clip now pops up on the screen, and Hana realizes that it’s a dimmed and blurry video of Lijiang Tower.

“This is a video extracted from the security cameras at Lijiang Tower,” Athena intones. Her modulated voice quirks with what Hana swears to be a curl of amusement as she says, “There was an attempt to control the security cameras with a loop of continued footage. I have taken all the footage possible and adjusted the cameras to be properly hacked.”

“Come on,” Hana grumbles. “I’m just a video game player, not a hacker.”

The video is specifically of Hana and Reaper within the small office, and she cringes when she sees the look on her face. It’s a mixture of adamant arrogance and false confidence twisted in with fear. It’s the fear that Hana doesn’t want to see again. That was supposed to be D.Va’s face, not hers. D.Va wasn’t the type to be afraid of dying, but Hana Song deeply did not want to die so young. The mech crashes down and lands heavily on Reaper in the video, and events turn out very much the way that Hana remembers. But then, Soldier 76 suddenly says, “Pause and zoom in on the data that Genji’s extracting.”

Athena obliges, and now, everyone can see the blurry outlines of the monitor screen and the disk drive that’s in Genji’s hands. “What was he sent to do?” Soldier asks, expectantly waiting for an answer.

Torbjörn shrugs, “Don’t look at me, Jack. I was comfortably in retirement with my daughter and my wife and the rest of my wonderful, beautiful family.” Reinhardt snorts at that and says, “Why not tell the truth, Torby, my good, old, lying friend? Brigitte was with me and repaired my armor while you were off in Russia or something in order to hit one of your old creations with your hammer!”

Torbjörn turns to Reinhardt and frowns, “Reinhardt. They did not need to know that. Besides, you can’t judge me, old man. You were, ah, ‘taking matters into your own hands’, was it? Just admit it, we were both trying to do our old jobs again.”

Dr. Ziegler buries her face into her hands as she groans, “I knew that the news stories were both about the two of you. I thought I told you to take care of your health especially considering your ages.”

Next to Torbjörn, Brigitte shrugs and says, "I was trying to keep him out of trouble, and it worked better than expected if that makes you feel better. I was his shield and kept him out of as much trouble as I could."

Dr. Ziegler sighs, "But considering how stubborn he is, I doubt that it worked all the time." Reinhardt sheepishly shrugs and says something in what Hana assumes to be German. The good doctor takes none of it and replies in icy, sharp German in response. The small kerfuffle subsides, and Hana decides to clear her throat and add something in to the discussion. “He said that he came for data on Horizon Lunar Colony,” she pipes up.

McCree groans, “Aw, shit, I forgot to tell Winston about that.”

Winston sighs heavily and says wearily, “Genji spilled the mission details? To you? Jesse, you could have mentioned this sooner. In your mission report. Where you're required to state everything that happened on the mission.”

It's at this time that Reinhardt's chair finally breaks with a loud crash and heavy landing. Everyone in the room swivels to Reinhardt as he sheepishly picks up the pieces of the chair and goes over to sit down on the floor and lean against the wall.

Hana feels a bit guilty for spilling the details and replies rather evasively, “Well, it’s hard to ignore when the data is right there in front of you.”

“Wait,” McCree says suddenly. “So, if Reaper was there at both Lijiang and Eichenwalde, places where Genji and I were both supposed to be, does that mean…”

Hanzo grips the table with a white-knuckled grip, and Hana glances over at him with confusion. He clears his throat and says, “Then, this Reaper has been targeting my brother.” Something like wrath and fury crosses and twists his expression for only a moment before it subsides into a smooth and somehow more terrifying mask of utter composure.

“Yes,” Soldier 76 confirms. He crosses his arms as he says, “As you all know, Reaper has been targeting specific former agents of Overwatch.” He nods to McCree as he says, “Even Blackwatch.”

McCree swears harshly before he snaps out, “And what the hell would a terrorist like that want with us? How can he even know who Blackwatch agents are?” Sudden realization dawns across his face, and he blanches slightly as he mumbles, “Didn’t Torbjörn mention something ‘bout how… How both our commanders were alive?”

Torbjörn leans back in his chair and dryly says, “Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes are back at it again.”

McCree's gaze jerks over to Torbjörn, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Dr. Ziegler beats him to it. She  sucks in a deep breath as she stands up and strides over to the screen. “Athena,” she calls out. “Please switch over to the biometric data I gathered before the meeting.”

Images of body scans appear on the screen, replacing the blurry video files. There are two bodies, one that’s slightly taller than the other while one is slightly more muscular than the other. “As you all may know,” the doctor begins to explain. “I keep biometric data scans of all of you on my Caduceus staff to facilitate better healing.” She bites her lip, and even from the back of the room, Hana and Hanzo can see the sadness and grief color her expression.

She gestures to Soldier 76 and says, “I saw Jack’s biometrics pop up on my staff after I healed him. And when I was trying to fly over to Hana to heal her, my staff automatically locked on to Reaper instead of Hana.” Text along with profile photos appear next to the scans, and almost everyone in the room gasps when they see one image beneath a scan. The doctor wearily finishes, “The terrorist known as Reaper is the man we once knew as Gabriel Reyes.”

The entire room explodes with sound as everyone raises their voice to say something, add in their own input, and express their absolute shock and disgust. Reinhardt looks down at his hands, face drawn taut with worry and sadness while Torbjörn frowns heavily. Brigitte pats her father’s back, and Soldier 76 remains quiet as he surveys the absolute chaos that the meeting has dissolved into. Hanzo narrows his eyes as he examines the photo of Gabriel Reyes, and Hana looks down at her hands as well. They all knew this before the meeting even started, and neither know what to do about it.

She managed to connect the pieces, but for what now? Hana was never a part of Overwatch before its fall and neither was Hanzo. Neither of them have any connection to the man before Reaper, and they have no personal connections attaching them to the man. Well , Hana amends mentally. He’s indirectly and directly responsible for the destruction of my mech. Which I take personally .

“So,” Soldier finally says. “Where is Genji?”

The other Overwatch agents exchange glances before Lena pipes up, “Well, he’s gone to Nepal, hasn’t he?”

“Alone?” Hanzo suddenly asks loudly. Hana glances over at Hanzo, and she sees that his brow is furrowed and he has a stormy expression on his face. She thinks that it could be interpreted as anger, but to Hana in that very moment, it seems like intense worry. “Why would he go to Nepal?” Hanzo asks as well.

Lena shrugs, “He’s got his teacher there, and I suppose he wanted to have a chat with him. And yeah, he just went off and promised to be back soon. We can’t really keep him here, so Winston just let Genji go with the promise of contacting us again.”

Winston nods, “He’s been sending in regular updates on his movement and activity, so Athena’s been able to run her safety diagnostics on his current situation at nearly all times.”

The AI’s voice rings in, “The omnics of the Shambali are alright with allowing me to access their visitor files. They understand the importance of keeping one of our friends to stay safe.”

Soldier interrupts the conversation by gravely saying, “Are you sure about that, Athena? Re— Reaper has been tracking down almost every single Blackwatch member, even the ones more affiliated with the main headquarters.” He swivels his gaze over to McCree and solemnly says, “Even you and Genji, Jesse.”

The sound of a chair screeching against the floor sharply resounds in the room as Hanzo abruptly pushes his chair back to stand up. “We must find my brother before Reaper finds him,” he declares. Hana gapes at him and so does the rest of the group, but the truth remains bare and simple.

Genji is in danger. For how long, no one really knows.

Chapter Text

Hanzo always liked efficiency. Clean, easy, and simple efficiency. And now, to his utmost chagrin, the mission to “save” his younger brother is not advancing at the speed that he wishes to proceed at. Instead, it feels like they are all stepping through loops and holes and whatnot in order to avoid the attention of the entire world as well as Talon. Ultimately, everyone decided on not informing Genji since that could arouse suspicions among any spies or contacts that Talon possessed in their arsenal. Instead, Athena is deployed to look more closely through the database of visitors arriving at Shambali Monastery in Nepal.

Hanzo Shimada is not satisfied at all with the way events are turning out. Then again, that’s nothing new. It’s only been a few days, but it feels like eternity to him in this godforsaken watchpoint. He’s stuck here in Gibraltar, firing arrows at practice bots that are not good enough for him. Nothing really seems to be.

He notches another arrow and prepares to fire it again, but a sudden jingle behind him startles him into whirling around and aiming the arrow right at the source of the sound. Hanzo’s eyes narrow as he focuses on McCree’s face. McCree only smiles a lopsided grin and shrugs before stepping forward and making that same jingling noise. It’s the man’s damn spurs that make the sound.

“No need to shoot me in the throat or anything,” McCree jokes. “Target practice? Looks like you’ve got a good handle on it.” He nods toward the practice bots that all have arrows lodged perfectly in the vital areas.
“There is no such thing as too much practice,” Hanzo sniffs. He turns and fires at the last robot left in the row. It lodges the area where a human’s heart would be, and the bot obligingly lets out a long beep and lies down, pretending to be dead.
“You know, you’re just like your brother,” McCree observes. “He used to practice throwing his shuriken all the time when he first came here. Shut up and stayed in the practice range all the time.” He squints at the number painted along the wall and comments, “Pretty sure that it was this exact range. Practice Range 5.”

Hanzo lowers his bow ever so slowly and wonders if he should ask. Ask more. See what his brother was like in the aftermath. He reaches back for another arrow, but his fingers only grasp air.
“Seems like you’ve run out of arrows, partner,” McCree chuckles.
“I did not know we were partners,” Hanzo retorts tartly as he swings his bow back on his back. He turns on his heel and brushes past McCree. He even makes it to the sliding doors when he abruptly asks, “What was Genji like?”
Hanzo doesn’t even allow himself to look around but instead, focuses on the cool sheen of the metal door. He bites his lip, all too aware of the growing silence, and wonders with a hot and burning curiosity fueled mostly by guilt. Eventually, the silence and the guilt eats away at his resolve enough for him to turn slowly around and repeat, “What was Genji like?”

McCree looks him up and down, and his eyes are keen and bright. His lips are pursed as he leans back slightly with his arms crossed. “Wouldn’t you know more?” he asks in his lazy drawl. His tone is taut with tension though, almost defensive. “You’re his brother, you should know more than me.”

Hanzo exhales sharply: a sudden rushing tumble of air. “I know my brother, but we were children,” he says, almost hissing the words out too aggressively. He knows that this isn’t the way to get information; he should have wheedled it out of the cowboy with subtler methods like alcohol or careful leading questions. Not this blunt and obvious method. Hanzo hates the way that his voice cracks as he says, “I wish to know more about my brother after he died— After he joined Overwatch.”

McCree’s expression softens, and he gestures slightly to the bots. “Like I said, Genji practiced here for ages. Always throwing those blades of his and testing how far he could jump and dash with his new body,” he says. He snickers as he continues, “Hell, he was like a newborn chick for the first couple of weeks. He’d underestimate how much strength he had and his reaction speed, and he’d trip over his own feet and accidentally break the chairs and tables. Bless his awkward, emo heart. He wouldn’t socialize with other Blackwatch members until Reyes pounded some sense into him during a sparring match and forced him to hang out with the rest of us.”

He pulls out his comm and opens it to scroll through a series of pictures. Hanzo can’t help but lean in closer to try and peer at some of them, and McCree finally lands on a certain one. It was a picture of people dressed in black and red uniforms. In the far corner of the room in the photo, he can see Genji with tubes and cybernetics supplanting his limbs and legs.
“Just look at him,” McCree chortles. “We couldn’t get him to wear a shirt for so damn long. A few of us cracked bare tiddy jokes about it about how he wasn’t willing to work with us but willing to flash us his nipple.”
Hanzo’s lips twitch into the smallest of smiles; Hana still won’t stop cracking jokes about his combat outfit. Some things just don’t change. McCree catches a glimpse of his smile before Hanzo can wipe it off his face, and the damn cowboy grins from ear to ear.

“That’s not all though,” he crows. “Look at this one!”
Here, Genji still has half his chest bare and heavily scarred, and at this range in the photo, Hanzo can clearly see the mechanics and prosthetics. It’s horrifying to see, and he can’t tell if his brother’s eyes are red because of the flash of the camera or if it’s from some sort of hardware within. He’s frowning at the camera, but a much younger McCree is grinning brightly and has an arm slung around his shoulders.
“Grumpy as hell,” McCree reminisces. “Still socially awkward. But at least he didn’t try to kill us all every time we tried to take a step closer or some shit like that.”

Hanzo exhales slowly. That… Did not sound like the Genji he knew. The Genji he knew was like a sparrow, always dancing and always fluttering around. Genji was, by far, the more social between the two of them, and he was always the popular one with the most friends. God, if Hanzo ever found Genji properly practicing and studying and doing what he was supposed to be doing in the old days, he thinks that he might’ve actually teared up a bit. Strange to think about how things had changed.

“Angela worked day and night with another doctor we had in Blackwatch. Her name was Dr. O’Deorain,” McCree says. He wrinkles his nose and grimaces, “Damn, always thought hiring O’Deorain was a mistake, but she helped a lot with the process. Angela looked like she was dead on her feet, but she spent so much time in the medical bay to patch him up. I remember Reyes and Morrison spent days arguing over whether or not — “
McCree hesitates, and Hanzo demands, “Well, out with it!”
McCree looks up at Hanzo to say flatly, “They were arguing about whether or not they could use him as a weapon and if they could use him as a weapon against his own family.”

Hanzo freezes and a thought flashes through his mind like lightning. They were planning to use him as a weapon. Like I once did to him. The thought is revolting, and the revulsion slides across his expression marring the normal stoic face that he tends to keep. McCree winces but still, he continues, “In the end, we asked Genji. Angie and me, mind you, not Reyes and Morrison. We asked him while they were arguing with the higher-ups. He… He looked at himself in the mirror, and he couldn’t believe that this was his body now. But in the end, he agreed.”

So that was what Genji was doing. In the brief months of Hanzo’s convalescence, he would receive reports about a mysterious figure who moved inhumanly fast and tracked Shimada-associated patrols with deadly accuracy. Several routes that no one ever should have know about were taken down within a night. The clan elders were in a panic over it nearly day and night. Only a Shimada could have known that much detail about their routes and targets. A fitting weapon for Overwatch to utilize, Hanzo muses. If he were in their place, he would not have denied the efficacy of such a move.
He can’t even blame Genji completely. After Hanzo recovered fully and fled, he himself still interfered with family matters every now and then. Hell, his entire involvement with Hana was a complete interference: blocking one of his clan’s targets.

“Well,” McCree says as he shoves his comm back in his pocket. “That was Genji for you. He warmed up a lot over the years though. Probably one of my best friends now. Really mellowed out after his time with the Shambali though. I could barely recognize him after he came back from there to meet me in a godforsaken diner in the States.”
Hanzo dips his head and says, “Thank you for telling me about my brother.”

For a moment, McCree’s eyes lock too long with Hanzo’s, and Hanzo can’t help but wonder what McCree sees when he looks at him. McCree’s mouth quirks into a smile as he drawls, “Anytime. I love sharing embarrassing stories of Genji with people. You can come over to my dorm, or we can come here to drink a few glasses of whiskey. Chat a while about old times, huh?”
“Whiskey,” Hanzo says derisively. “I will bring sake. A much more sophisticated and refined taste for the palette.”
“That’s the attitude I’m lookin’ for, partner,” McCree laughs. “Whiskey, sake, they’re both alcohol. Only thing is, I’d love to know some more embarrassing stories of Genji when he was younger. That way, I can use a little blackmail on him when he comes home, huh?”

“Oh, trust me,” Hanzo snorts. “I have many.”
“Oh?” McCree asks with a raise of his eyebrows. “What about Hana then? I still gotta pay her back for the outfit comments she gives me. Got any funny stories ‘bout her?”

Hanzo hesitates and with a sinking stomach, he realizes he knows little to none about Hana. He knows her favorite color and her favorite games, but he knows nothing about her family or her friends. She could have a family in mourning after her false death. She could have friends laying flowers down for her at her funeral. He knows nothing of who they are or what they were like. He doesn’t know where she lives in Korea nor what her life was like when she was young.

The momentary blank expression on Hanzo’s face must have given McCree more than enough information on the topic. He makes a slight clicking noise with his tongue as he pats Hanzo on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll find more than enough stories from her. She’s a lil spitfire, she is. Besides, y’all seem close enough already,” he says.

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves the practice range, spurs jingling behind him just as they did when he first walked in. Hanzo is left to stare at McCree’s back before the door slides securely shut. A few moments of silence pass before Athena asks, “Would you like me to reset the bots?”
Hanzo sighs, “No, this is enough. Thank you.” He slowly trudges towards the bots to retrieve his arrows, and a question spirals over and over in his head.

Who is Hana Song?

Hana hesitates in front of the lab door. Should she really be bothering Winston right now? She hasn’t even contacted him ahead of time or asked him via comm or at the dinner table. He could be busy with some other important thing right now. After all, he’s a scientist despite all appearances, and he looks frazzled and worn-out almost every single day from keeping tabs on Genji, possible threats, and other agents who have yet to answer the call.

Still, she steels her nerve and presses the button. The door swooshes open, and she steps into Winston’s laboratory. It’s become decidedly messier since she was last in here. Empty peanut butter jars litter the counters and floor, and along every monitor screen, there’s a map with some diagnostics running beside it. Hana steps around a precarious stack of files and tablets to see a peculiar sight.

Tracer is sitting on a reclining seat, almost like she’s getting ready for a dentist appointment. However, she’s strapped down securely with numerous straps criss-crossing her arms and legs and torso. The accelerator on her chest is barely on her; the harness is loose and connected to Tracer with only one strap. Wires connect the accelerator to various machines set up beside her chair. It looks like some horrifying scene from some science-fiction movie. Hana swears she’s played numerous games where something terrible happens to the person in the seat, and the entire set-up sets her on edge.

“Tracer!” Hana yelps out. “Are you okay?!”
Lena, Hana reminds herself. Her name is Lena. Still, it’s hard not to associate her famous face with her callsign.

“Oh, hello,” Tracer tries with a forced smile. “How are you doing today, love?”
Winston lumbers out beside the seat and adjusts his glasses before he squints at Hana. “Oh, hi there,” he says. “Did you need something? Can it wait for a bit?”

“What… Are you doing?” Hana chooses to say. It really doesn’t look good at all.
“Hmm?” Tracer says absent-mindedly. “Oh, oh! I know, it must look bad, but it’s just a quick check-up!”
“Do you really need to be strapped down for it?” Hana asks as she squints at the straps that loop up and down Tracer’s arms and legs.

“Tracer has a condition called chronal disassociation,” Winston explains as he begins to type something into a monitor. “If she doesn’t have the accelerator on or if it malfunctions, she runs the risk of getting lost in space-time. We’re running some simple check-ups on her accelerator since it got hit a few times mid-battle at Eichenwalde. It shouldn’t be anything major, but just in case, we’re strapping her down and keeping the accelerator in contact with her.”
A machine next to the reclining chair begins to hum, and as it does, the accelerator on Tracer’s chest starts to hum and exude a dull blue glow.

The glow begins to build and build as Winston runs some more diagnostics on his monitor screen. The hum of the machines also grows louder and louder, but suddenly, the sound and light abruptly drops off. At first, nothing happens, and Winston sighs with relief. He lumbers over to check the reading on a few other machines before going back to the original monitor.

Just as he arrives to the other monitor, Tracer’s eyes widen, and she cries out, “Winston, change it back, change it back! You’re losing me!” The outline of her body turn pale and blue, and she starts to flicker in and out. Winston lunges for a different monitor, and his large fingers fumble across the touchscreen.
“Lena, hold on!” he bellows.
Hana watches, transfixed but horrified, with her hands covering her mouth with shock. Tracer lets out a sharp scream as the electricity in the room runs higher and higher. The machines all rumble with a sharp thrum, and Tracer’s knuckles turn white as she grips onto the seat as if her life depended on it. And in a way, it did.

Hana’s seen Tracer zip around the battlefield. She never expected the price of such a gift was this.

However, the thrum of the machines begins to dwindle down to the regular, sedentary rhythm that they once were before. Tracer’s accelerator glows a sharp blue before returning back to normal, and Tracer’s body turns solid and safe within the straps of the reclining seat.
Tracer lets out a long, shuddering breath and sinks back down in the seat. She huffs out a breath and blows a few stray strands of her hair out of her face before she leans her head back. Her hands still remain tightly clenched to the arm seats.

Winston sighs with relief as he finishes up a few more algorithms on his monitor before moving back to his old one. “Sorry, Lena,” he apologizes, eyes wide and still scared. He turns to face Tracer, scanning her up and down as if her body was going to flicker out of existence again. “I thought the accelerator could last a little longer with little power. I didn’t mean to lose you.”
“I know, big guy,” Tracer says softly. “I know.”

In that moment, Tracer loses her exuberance, her effervescence, and Hana can truly see the woman behind the callsign. Lena Oxton looks weary and exhausted. The set of her lips is tight and thin, and her skin looks unhealthily pale under the sterile light of the laboratory. A few beads of sweat roll down her brow, and her chest is heaving with the effort to stay here in the present. Without the bright laughter and trill of her voice to distract from her appearance, Lena looks like she’s wearing out.

Hana takes a step back as she realizes that’s exactly what she must be like. Living behind a name or a callsign to mask the true problems beneath. She never could have imagined that Tracer, Lena, lived with something like this. It hits a little too close to home.

“Sorry you had to see that, love,” Tracer pipes up weakly. “I didn’t want you to see that. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Isn’t it hard?” Hana asks suddenly as she looks up to pin Tracer with her gaze.
“What do you mean?” Tracer asks as she tries to evade the question.

“Living like that.”

“Well,” Tracer says as she jerks her head downwards to indicate her accelerator. “Life was a lot worse without the accelerator. I’ve got Winston to thank for that. And see here, I wouldn’t have met you lot without this entire thing. Found family, I guess, and everything’s okay when I think about that.”

“Family,” Hana echoes. “Are you willing to go through this for Overwatch?”
“Not the name of the organization, no,” Tracer corrects. “But for the friends I’ve got in it? For the people that we all protect? Yes. I’d get blood on my hands over and over again and hell, I’d fly the Slipstream over and over again if it meant that I could protect everyone.” She smiles — another weak version of the former brilliant grin — and says, “After all, the world could always use some more heroes.”

Winston finishes up the last of his check-ups on the monitor and carefully starts to remove the wires from Tracer’s accelerator. “That should be everything, Lena,” he says. “Again, I’m really sorry about it.”
Tracer shakes her head and says, “What did I tell you? It’s fine. I’m still here, aren’t I? And my accelerator is good as new again.” Once Winston gets her right arm freed, she starts unstrapping herself as well. Within minutes, she’s free from the chair. She bounces on the balls of her feet a little bit before experimentally zipping around the lab. With another flash of light, she’s back at the chair to flash Winston a thumbs-up. “All good!” she trills.

Hana can’t help but wonder how much of it is false bravado.

She starts rolling some of the machines back to the perimeter of the lab, and Hana hurries to help her.
“Thanks, love,” Tracer says as Hana pushes the chair. “And ah, hate to be a bother, but would you mind not mentioning this to anyone? I’d rather not have everyone know about this and waste their time worrying.”

Hana stops and looks up at Tracer with shock. “Then what are you going to do when it gets to be too much?” she asks dumbfoundedly.
Tracer waves her hand dismissively as she says, “Aw, don’t worry about me, love. I’ve got friends to chat to, Winston to check in with, Athena to talk with, and someone special back home to call often. I’m doing fine, I’ve got a support network. The world knows about Tracer, but all of my friends know who I really am, who Lena Oxton is. And we all cope together. Sure, it’s hard, but there’s always a friend here for me,” Her gaze turns softer as she asks, “What about you, Hana? It’s good to have a chat with friends now and then, and I know that the whole world thinks you’re dead. You can’t exactly reach out to old friends like you used to, huh?”

“Yes,” Winston butts in. “If you ever need someone to talk to, we are always here. Angela’s good to talk to as well. Actually, she might be the most qualified out of all of us because she’s the actual doctor, but again, we’re all here to support each other. I know we don’t know each other as well as others, but the offer stands.”

A tight lump forms in Hana’s throat as she nods, unable to reply.

Tracer looks at Hana, really looks at her with a glint of something sharper and more observant in her eye, and reaches over to pat her on her shoulder. Once, twice, light pats that are barely taps. “You look like you’d do well with a little chat,” she says softly. “Everyone needs it now and then. No shame in it.”

“And oh,” Winston says. “What did you need?”

Hana exhales and tries to regain her composure. She can’t exactly remember what she came in for after what she just saw, but as she glances to the side, she catches sight of her reflection. She still looks like regular Hana Song except for the fact that she wears old clothes with an Overwatch logo embroidered on it rather than the MEKA logo. And oh, that was it.

“I came in to ask about possible mech repairs,” Hana says. “I was going to go to the workshop and ask Torbjörn about it, but he had the doors locked and set to ‘do not disturb.’ Athena thought it would be a better idea to ask you about it next.”
Winston wrinkles his brow and says, “Oh, I should have kept that in mind. I’ll schedule your mech for repairs along with the other armor and weapon requisitions with Athena. Thank you, Hana. Are there any special specifications or requirements that your mech needs?”
Hana shrugs, “The mech runs on MEKA technology, in particular, its recall function. You might need special MEKA access to fix parts of the mech that correspond to those.”
Winston pushes his glasses up as he smiles, “Well, I guess we’ll have to ask Athena to take a look into those, you know?”

Hana shakes her head ruefully. Of course. What could stop an AI from hacking into MEKA, a program specifically designed to fight against an AI?
“Please let me know when you’re all done or if you need anything from me,” she says. “Thank you very much. I’ll leave now.” She dips her head in a bow before she leaves, and both Tracer and Winston wave goodbye.

The door clicks shut behind her, and Hana sags against the cool metal of the door.

“Do you require assistance, Agent Song?” Athena’s voice says from above.

Hana shakes her head without saying a word.
The only thing she wonders if she looks just as worn out as Tracer did. And most importantly, if it was as obvious. That experience and conversation was just too familiar and hit too close to home to shake her.

Hana Song — and D.Va — cannot afford to falter. Not now, not ever. But how long will she last like this? She’s lasted this long, but she doesn’t know how much more she can take.

Chapter Text

Hana stands outside Winston’s lab for what seems like too long, but when she checks her comm, it tells her that she’s only been there for a minute.

Again, Athena tries, “Do you require assistance, Agent Song?”

She genuinely doesn’t know anymore. At this point, she feels so out-of-sorts, and nothing sits right with her anymore. Half of her misses the days when she was just a simple pro-gamer (if anything like that could ever be called simple), and half of her misses the frantic, laughter-filled days on the run with Hanzo and Soldier 76. Hanzo. Maybe talking with Hanzo would settle things.

Hana tips her head up to stare at the ceiling and asks, “Do you know where Hanzo is?”

“Agent Hanzo is currently walking back to his room from Practice Range 5,” Athena obligingly replies.

“Thanks,” Hana says as she starts running down the hall.

The watchpoint is large and expansive — slightly dingy, but still expansive — and after a week of wandering, Hana likes to think that she has the layout almost exactly memorized. She’s still not allowed to go into certain areas, so in her mental map of the watchpoint, she’s got a few gaps and holes. Still, it’s not bad. Hana follows a path that she’s memorized: left, right, left, right, up the stairs, and another left.

Her destination is a certain hallway lined with empty agent dorms. The only rooms here are hers, Hanzo’s, and Soldier’s. Surprisingly, Soldier refused to stay in his old rooms when he was Jack Morrison. He moved in next to Hanzo’s room, and Hanzo chose the room next to hers.

Hana skids around the corner and pants slightly, winded from the exertion. Hanzo is on the other end of the hallway with Soldier, and he tilts his head bemusedly.

“Hana!” Soldier calls out. “Where are you going?”

“Looking for you,” Hana replies back as she tries to catch her breath.

“Did something happen?” Hanzo asks as he jogs to meet her. When he reaches her, he waits for her to regain a modicum of her composure before he continues, “Is there something wrong? New alerts?”

Hana shakes her head, but her cheeks color with bright crimson when she realizes how stupid her response would sound. I wanted to find you and tell you something. I wanted to tell you the truth. How laughable. How weak of her to even think of trying.
But, Tracer’s tired and worn expression and her sharp scream is too recent in her memory to give it up. Hana doesn’t want to reach that point and realize that there isn’t anything or anyone left to catch the pieces of her. She doesn’t even have a family to catch her. Never even knew one at all.

“I wanted to talk,” she struggles to get out.

Soldier and Hanzo’s faces both twist with worry as they lean in closer. Hanzo pauses before he extends his hand to her. “Let’s go back to your room,” he says. He tries to say it soothingly, but Hana can tell by the tightness of his tone that it’s not working either for him or for her.

She mindlessly pulls out her id card and swipes it to get into her room. The sensor on her door handle flashes a bright green, and Hana can hear the click as the door unlocks itself. She pushes open the door, and the scent of musty air hits her head-on. This room hadn’t been used in ages, and despite Hana’s attempts at opening the window, the room still stubbornly held on to its mustiness.

Hana strides over to open the window again and flips the windowblinds up. Dimming sunlight filters through the windowpanes, and she can see the reddening tinge of the skies. Sunset at the Watchpoint was glorious and incandescent, but she didn’t have the time to spare more than a glance at it. Hanzo and Soldier stood awkwardly in her room until she gestures over to her bed.

“You can sit on the bed or we can all sit together on the floor. I don’t really have chairs except for the one at my desk,” Hana says apologetically. “Winston hasn’t gotten most of my requisitions in yet.”

“That’s alright,” Soldier tells her as he sits down on the floor and leans against her bed for back support. Hanzo settles down as well, and Hana only hesitates for a moment before she darts in to sit between them. They sit there in silence for a while before Hanzo clears his throat and asks, “So, is there anything you wish to talk about?”

Hana opens her mouth and shuts it just as quickly. She doesn’t know how to start. It’s just so terribly awkward to drop such a conversation topic in the middle of nowhere, so she settles on asking, “I know what your family was like, but what was yours like?”

Soldier blinks at her, surprised at the sudden question, but he mildly says, “They were nice. Farmers, all of them. We lived in Indiana on a farm.”

Hana leans back against her bed and tilts her head up to stare at the ceiling. “Can you tell me more about them?” she asks as she keeps her eyes trained upward. She can feel Soldier shifting against her, and she assumes that he’s looking at her. Probably with confusion.

“Sure,” he concedes. “Like I said, they were farmers. We had chickens and cows and a few dogs. We raised mostly corn out there, and I did farm chores along with everyone else.”

“It must have been peaceful,” Hanzo comments.

“It was,” Soldier agrees. “The most violent thing we ever did was to help slaughter the neighbor’s pigs and pluck the chickens after we killed them for meat. My mother was kind, good at making little things last for long times, and stretching money as far as it could. My father was strong and did more work than anyone else on the farm.”

“Oh,” Hana says as she tries to imagine it. She can picture the wide, blue skies, and the fields of corn with a breeze slowly meandering its way across the tall stalks. She can’t imagine the actual family though. What would a caring mother and father feel like? She’s only ever seen it from the outside. “I’ve never had one,” she finally chokes out.

“A farm?” Soldier chuckles, amusement curling the edges of his voice. “I’d imagine you wouldn’t. You’re a gamer, aren’t you? Most gamers don’t have farms.”

Hanzo shifts next to her and softly nudges her in the side. “What do you mean, Hana?” he asks.

“I… I wanted to talk to you because I wanted to tell the truth,” Hana confesses as she lifts her head up to look at Hanzo and then Soldier. “I feel… I know what happened to both of you and what you lived through, but I’ve never told anything about myself. Nothing more than what was needed because I was scared .” She takes in a deep, shuddering breath as she soldiers on, “I… I had a talk with Tracer — Lena — and she told me to reach out to people. And I don’t know how. I’ve never really tried.”

Soldier opens his mouth to say something, but Hana doesn’t let him. Instead, she blurts out, “I’m an orphan. From the war. I don’t have a family, no mother, no father, no siblings. I don’t know if who they are. The omnic in the sea killed everyone before I was old enough to know them. I don’t know what it’s like to really live outside of studying or gaming or fighting. I’m scared to fight. I’m terrified of killing people. I don’t know how you two do it, always fighting and always pushing on. D.Va knows how, but I don’t. I’m just regular Hana who likes to play games.”

And it’s true. She doesn’t really have any skills that are applicable or useful to life. Her talents lie solely with video games and a machine of war.

Soldier 76 sucks in a sharp intake of breath, and Hanzo stares at Hana who’s starting to tear up slightly. She’s shaking, ever so slightly, but still shaking.

“Why are you in MEKA then?” Hanzo challenges, voice tight and angry. “Why would you join the military? The Korean government drafted you at seventeen .”

Not at me , Hana tries to think rationally. He’s not angry at me. It still stings though.

Soldier 76 pulls off his visor to look at her head on with his milky blue eyes. “They did not ,” he says darkly. “They can’t . That’s illegal.”

Hana says helplessly, “Age doesn’t matter to the omnics. It never did, and it never will. The omnic in the sea will continue to kill off the soldiers that my country sends at them. None of us ever had a choice. Saying no means living with the fact that I could have helped but I didn’t. And that's not my point. It never was.”

Hanzo bites his lip and keeps himself from saying anything more. She can tell that he wants to say something, but he’s waiting for her to finish. Soldier 76 swears under his breath and mutters, “I’ve been fighting my entire life to make sure that children wouldn’t become products of the Crisis, of the war. What’s the point if they’re going to draft children. ”

“I wasn’t a child,” Hana disagrees. “Not really. I had to fend for myself early on. I think I stopped being a child a long time ago. Korea is… We consider education to be one of the highest priorities. We have tuition centers all over the country, and school is mandatory. But for me, there was barely any money to pay for my school supplies, my uniform, or even any tuition centers. No one was there to pay and no one was there to take care of me. The orphanage was too full and too busy to spare more people or resources or money. I had to do nearly everything myself.”

Soldier 76’s expression softens and he leans in to put his arm around her in a side-hug. It’s warm and it’s a strong hug, and somehow, it’s more comforting with than without. Hana leans into him and stares at the wall opposite her as she dully continues, “I spent most of my afternoons after school in PC cafes. No one was there to stop me, and besides, going to PC cafes meant that I could use the computers to study with online resources rather than paying more money to go to the tuition center. It was farther away from the orphanage too. The other kids would have more of a chance to use the laptop in the office room without me to constantly use it.”

Hanzo reaches over to wipe away a tear that Hana didn’t know was rolling down her cheek. She shakes her head and swipes at her eyes; she can’t afford to cry. Hanzo looks at her, tracking her motions, but he looks away and asks, “Is that where you started gaming?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Someone used to play video games there, and the strategy aspect of Starcraft drew me in. I was never an idiot. I was smart enough to know where to go and what to do, and my reflexes were fast. I got better and better quickly. Soon enough, I ended up going pro and won championships when I was sixteen. I started playing different genres too, and I was good at them.”

“Sixteen,” Soldier 76 breathes out. “You were so young.”

Hana shrugs and sighs out, “It was better than writing essays for my history class.”

“And that was when you got the attention of the government, wasn’t it?” Hanzo says flatly, anger still brewing in the corners of his eyes. “When they wanted you to join their military.”

Hana nods. She lowers her head and whispers, “The country was at stake. They couldn’t use my family against me because I didn’t have any, but they were able to use the entire population. I love my country, and I would have done anything to keep it from drowning under the waves of omnics that would attack. And I was popular. It was good for their public image. I was the face of so many of their advertising campaigns. They even wanted me to livestream some of the combat training and battles out by the coast.”

“They wanted you to what?” Soldier exclaims incredulously. “Livestream a physical battle?”

“They made sure to leave warnings for young people,” Hana laughs bitterly. “And they wouldn’t let me go into some of the more active zones when I livestreamed. It wouldn’t do to have the streamer die in the middle of the stream. But I streamed it. My viewers could see me taking down omnics, and I had to grit my teeth and smile for the camera even when I got private notices of mechs going down further away from me. I could’ve done something, flown in and try to save them, but I couldn’t because I was live and on camera. The viewers were never allowed to see that, and so, I would never be allowed to do something, even when I could. I don’t know how I did it. It was all D.Va, not me.”

Hanzo and Soldier 76 now stare at her with horror, and Hanzo reaches over to grab her hand. He squeezes her hand firmly, just like he did at Eichenwalde, and Hana hunches her shoulders as she starts to curl up against Soldier. She shuts her eyes tightly and tries to control her breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Calming her nerves. Just like before a tournament match.

“It was popular,” she whispers, her words barely making their way off her tongue. “People all over the world watched me in my mech, fighting a losing battle that they barely knew half of. I got so many sponsors, and the money all went to the government, to MEKA. Advertising campaigns grew more successful. I became famous.”

A weak smile lifts her lips as she says, “I even starred in a movie once. That was fun. I liked it.”
“But,” she says with finality. “I’m so tired. I’m so sick of destroying and killing. I’ve killed so many people now. I have so much blood on my hands. And I don’t want to die young. I don’t want to die like this.” Hana glances up at Soldier and says, “Like you said, I’m a product of the war.”

“And that’s hurting you. You’re having a hard time coping with it,” Hanzo finishes.

Hana nods, but then, she breaks and buries her face in her hands to hide her tears. “But I shouldn’t be like this!” she bursts out in a muffled voice. “I need to be better. So many people are relying on me.”

“No, you don’t,” Soldier says firmly as he tightens his arm around her. “The only person you have to be is yourself. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to cry.”

Hana looks up, and her cheeks are red while her eyes are watery. “But, I can’t. I’m just regular Hana Song while D.Va is the one that’s able to fight and smile while doing it.”

Hanzo squeezes her hand and insists, “You do not have to force yourself to do something.”

“An entire country relies on me,” Hana bursts out. “What do you expect me to do?!”

Hanzo places his hands on Hana’s shoulders and looks her squarely in the eye as he says, “You are Hana Song and you are D.Va. Those are not separate things. Hana is just as brave as D.Va and D.Va is just as kind as Hana. The two are one and the same.”

“No, D.Va is a mask, she’s fake, ” Hana cries out, voice cracking. “I’m not… I’m not really her.”

Hanzo grips her shoulders tighter and says firmly, “But you are, Hana. You are.”

Hana can’t bear to look at Hanzo anymore, and she casts her gaze away. “Don’t lie to me,” she finally says. “I don’t need that kind of pity.”

Behind her, Soldier starts rubbing her back soothingly as he says, “Hanzo isn’t lying, Hana. You’re strong. So much stronger than anyone could imagine.”

“I’m sorry,” Hana says quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Shame floods her chest, hot and heavy, and she can feel the way embarrassment colors her cheeks. Her eyes are still teary, and now, her nose is clogged up. Hanzo gets up and goes to her bathroom to bring the roll of toilet paper to her. He holds it out to her, and Hana stares at the toilet paper with confusion.

Hanzo frowns and shakes the roll of toilet paper in front of her face. “For your nose,” he clarifies.

Hana laughs, laughs until her stomach and her cheeks hurt, at the sheer oddity of it all. Hanzo still extends the roll of toilet paper out to her, but his frown lightens a bit. He sits back down, tears off a few sheets, and hands them to her. Hana accepts them gratefully and blows her nose.

“There isn’t anything for you to be sorry for,” Hanzo says abruptly. “You are loved. You are welcome here. With me.”

“With us,” Soldier corrects. “Fighting is hard. You don’t have to bear it alone.”

“Thank you,” Hana says. Her breaths are still shuddering, still sparse, but she’s making it work. She blows her nose again, and Hanzo wordlessly hands her more toilet paper. She wipes her eyes and says again, “Thank you. Truly, thank you.”

Chapter Text

The sunset has long since passed, and the three of them sit in Hana’s room in relative darkness. Soldier 76’s visor still glows dull red on the floor, but Hana finds it easier to settle down and get her breathing back to normal in the shadows. She can’t see Hanzo’s or Soldier’s face as clearly, but she can still feel their warmth as they hug her and hold her hand. There’s always been something comforting about the darkness and the night: quiet and undemanding, as cool as the undisturbed waters of a lake. It was always her favorite time to stream for a reason. Silence passes for a long time before Hana can finally muster up the energy to get up and pad over to the light switch.

The light flickers on and illuminates the room in harsh, white light. Hanzo stands up and gathers up all of the used sheets of toilet paper as well as the roll. Hana winces when she sees him do it; how embarrassing. Still, she can’t help but giggle softly when she thinks about the roll of toilet paper.

“You know,” Hana says. “The box of tissues was right there.”

“The toilet paper was closer,” Hanzo replies from the bathroom. He steps out and shuts off the bathroom light. “Do you need any more? I can get you some.”

“No, thank you,” Hana says as she shakes her head.

But in all honesty, Hana feels… Relieved. Lighter. She’s not miraculously changed or anything, but just talking about it and being honest with herself and to other people about this has done more than enough to lift the heavy burden off her shoulders for a little while. She wouldn’t call it refreshing, but in a way, it was.

Soldier 76 bends down to pick up his visor and fits it back on his face before he turns to face Hana. “Thank you,” he says honestly. “Thank you for having the bravery to tell us. Don’t hesitate to stop me if you ever need to chat.”

His comm rings, and Soldier grimaces when he sees the alert on his phone. “I have to go to a meeting,” he grouses. “We won’t get anything important done as per usual. Nothing’s really changed since the last Overwatch.”

He shoves his comm back in his pocket and reaches over to give Hana a brief but tight embrace. Hana reaches up to reciprocate, and when Soldier pulls back, he looks like he’s about to say something more. But instead, he shakes his head and leaves with sharp, short strides.

On one hand, Hanzo feels decidedly less uncomfortable with the fact that he dragged a girl away from her home to go find his brother. Even if she did agree, it remained an constant worry in the back of his head. Who knew who she had grieving for her back home? Well, the entire world was grieving for her if the funeral fansites were of any importance. Hana even told him once that his brother was one of the moderators for one of the largest and most popular fansites. However, instead of discomfort, Hanzo feels furious. They took a girl and made a weapon out of her.

He casts his gaze to the window in Hana’s room. The dull lights of the watchpoint glow, and the dimming sunset has aged into a fine-tuned evening where the sky has become a black expanse where stars lie. Hanzo squints at the window, but he can’t make out any against the watchpoint lights. He lets out a long and heavy sigh before sitting down on the bed to adjust his prosthetics.

It’s been a long ten years, and his clan elders did pay a good deal of money to get the best prosthetics that money could buy. Still, Hanzo can feel a twinge of phantom pain every now and then, and this is one of those times. His thighs throb where his brother once slashed his sword, and his knees ache with the pain of supporting his weight and movement. Hanzo grits his teeth and bends over to adjust the wires and plates.  Cybernetic integration was truly a wonder, and as he aligns the wire supports back in place and checks the nerve connectors, he wonders how it must have felt for his brother. An entire body of this.

The Shimada brothers were always forged for this, a product of war and crime for an underground empire that stretched across Japan. In a sense, Hana was too. But instead of crime and hidden secrets and cybernetics, she was built to be a machine of war in front of the world’s eyes. And even then, no one stopped it.
A bitter, sour taste grows on the back of Hanzo’s tongue as he thinks about it more, and he worries about Hana, more so than before.

Hana putters about with her laptop as she tries to get an old movie up on the screen. “Hey, feel free to get comfy,” she says. “Let’s watch on the bed instead of the floor.”
Hanzo stares at the unmade bed before reaching out to nudge one pillow a fraction of a degree from where it used to be. The pillowcases are white, but Tracer and McCree had dug out a soft, pink comforter from the watchpoint storage rooms for Hana. Winston hadn’t been able to get most of their requisitions, but he did try to paint the walls from their former cool grey to a gentle cream color.

Hana finally finds the file that she wanted and flops down on the bed next to Hanzo. “Hero of My Storm,” she comments as she sets the laptop down. “It’s the movie I starred in. It’s about a place called the Nexus where you can travel to different worlds and places, and it’s about fighting for peace and safety.”
Hanzo glances over just in time to see the ghost of a bitter smile pass across Hana’s face. “Even in a movie, I have to be the hero,” she says.

“Do you not want that?” Hanzo hesitantly asks.
Hana burrows under her blankets and fluffs her pillows up before using one to lean against the wall with. She pats the space next to her, and Hanzo moves over to awkwardly get under the blankets as well. The intro music of the movie blares loudly as Hana admits, “That’s the sad thing. I like the fame and the attention. I like playing video games, and in all honesty, I like piloting my mech. Public speaking doesn’t bother me as much, and picking and choosing the advertisement campaigns and sponsorships that I want is fine. And to be honest, I joined because I wanted to. No hesitations, no doubts. I love my country, and I would do anything to protect it. If I could apply my skills to something like that, everything would be fine. It’s just when they force me to do military shows, when they make me wear the skintight bodysuit for the perverted fans, when they make me livestream those battles, when I watch people die—“ Hana’s voice breaks as she talks and she subsides and lets the movie play in silence. She reaches over to grab Hanzo’s hand and holds it tightly as she tries to regain her composure. Hanzo waits for her and offers a reassuring squeeze in return.

On the screen, Hana bursts out, rolling to the side with a gun in her hand at the ready. She has a trench coat on that billows out behind her as the breeze picks up, and a monologue in Hana's voice starts playing as the scene shifts to a city that veritably sprawls out. The camera pans out to show omnics and humans together on the streets, and then, he can see Hana, dressed in the same coat, striding down the street.

“I loved that coat,” Hana confides. “I wish they let me keep it.”

“You know,” Hanzo starts, voice careful and slow. “There are therapy sessions that you can go to. Meditation and breathing techniques. Ways to try and ground yourself.”
He remembers one day when he and his tutor went out to accompany a group of Shimada assassins on a mission. Nothing big, just a simple escort mission with nothing too big at stake. However, that was the first day he killed someone, and he remembers standing there in the alleys of Osaka with the bloodied blade still in his hand. His head was light, and the world seemed to be spinning around him in dizzying circles that spiraled over and over again. That night never quite left his memory, and of course, the night he killed his brother never left him as well. Still, his tutor stopped him when they boarded the shinkansen. Hanzo prepared himself for another lecture on how he should have been better. But instead, his tutor told him that he would teach him breathing techniques, coping mechanisms, to soothe the constant lightheaded dizziness.

“Yeah,” Hana breathes out. “I guess so.”

The movie plays for a while, but then, Hana’s stomach rumbles loudly. Hanzo can’t help but snort a little bit with amusement when he hears it. She sticks her tongue out at him, and for once, Hanzo’s grateful to see it. Hana’s resilient, and he’s glad to see that she’s feeling a little better than before. He pulls out his comm and checks the time; if they run, they might be able to get some leftovers from dinner that are still warm.

“Do you think we can make it to dinner on time?” Hana wonders out loud.

“Only if we run,” Hanzo replies.

A sparkle twinkles in Hana’s eyes, and as much as Hanzo appreciates the fact that it’s still there after Hana’s well-needed outburst, it makes him wary.

“Let’s race to see who gets there first.”

“Genji’s status?” Soldier asks as he leans forward at the table. All of the agents from the original Overwatch sit around the table, waiting for the answer. The conference room is dimmed into soothing shadow, and the only light is from the projected holoscreen that Athena pulled up. On it, a map of the Shambali monastery glows, and green dots mark the location of omnic and human inhabitants. The largest green dot is simply labeled “G” for Genji.

“Genji has no idea yet,” Winston says as he pushes up his glasses and fidgets in his seat. “We still think it’s for the best so that the enemy doesn’t notice.”
Jesse frowns and sinks down lower in his seat. “I still don’t think that’s a great idea,” he grumbles. “He’s smarter than that, ya know.”
“We can’t risk it,” Angela tries to say soothingly. The tension in her voice betrays her worry though.

Soldier waits and watches as Winston goes through the usual rundown. Athena also lists off some new security threats and possible configurations of new security measures in the monastery. The Shambali welcomed Athena’s help with security, especially since Mondatta’s recent demise, but they still would not let her access everything and anything. So, the dark splotches absent of any dots were the inner sanctum and certain rooms and areas beyond Athena’s reach.

Either way, Soldier isn’t satisfied with the way things are going. He knows Gabriel too well to know that he must be doing the same thing: scanning through the building and laying down points to break through and manipulate. Blackwatch worked so well for a reason. Soldier personally thinks that Genji should have been told. He was a Blackwatch agent back in the old days, and despite his initial reluctance and reticence, Genji soon became one of Reyes’s top agents. He must have at least some idea of what’s to come for him.

Soldier remembers when he first discovered the pattern. He was in the middle of uncovering the darkest secrets that Overwatch still had left to yield when he checked over the usual network of agents. He hates admitting it, but he still kept tabs on the agents that he could. The high-profile ones were usually fine — the ones in bright and gleaming Overwatch — but the ones in Blackwatch were harder. He never knew every single agent in Blackwatch, not like Gabriel ever did, but he tried for the ones that he knew. People like Jesse, Genji, and others.

Then, he found that one of them never came back from a bar named Calaveras in Castillo, near Dorado. He stopped by to briefly check in, but he only found details of dark mist and shadowy tendrils from a blubbering middle-aged man who was an accidental bystander. From there, he connected the dots to Reaper, the mysterious terrorist in leagues with Talon. Agent after agent winked out of sight, almost as if they had never existed, and the only connection that Soldier could find between all of them were that they were former Blackwatch agents.

Soldier watches on as the remnants of what was once Overwatch debate and bicker over what steps to take next. Underneath his visor, his mouth twists into a bitter grimace, and he wonders if things ever changed.

However, the topic soon shifts to other pertinent issues, and one particular issue catches Soldier’s complete attention. South Korea is in a complete uproar over the supposed death of Hana Song during a diplomatic conference over the omnic issue in the sea. The Japanese government denies any involvement with the assassination while the Korean government insists that there must be something more. Amidst all of that political bickering, the whole world mourns over one of its brightest stars.

Athena scrolls through the largest fan site where they have a special song dedicated to the idol by some famous Brazilian musician, Lúcio Correia dos Santos, on the very first page along with a line of Hana’s photos.

Soldier’s breath catches in his throat when he sees pure brilliance and joy in Hana’s triumphant smile as she holds up a tournament trophy. In another picture, she’s laughing on the beach in a fluttering sundress while the tides come rolling in gently behind her. One picture shows her next to her mech as she flashes a V sign at the camera with a wink. She looks so happy in the photos. It hurts his heart when he thinks about her breaking down in the fading light of her room with too many expectations and too many burdens on her slim shoulders. They made her into a soldier at seventeen, and the sheer injustice of that still burns low near the bottom of his heart.

He grits his teeth and tries to hold back his anger. He went to war and fought for so long, fights even now, to keep people like her out of the battlefields. He fought to ensure that people could live peaceful lives, unmarked and unharmed by the fires and the machine-gun bullets of warfare. They took a young girl, a rising star, and forged her into a weapon. Bitterness rises up in his throat like bile, and Soldier abruptly yanks his gaze away from the screen.

“At this point, tensions between Japan and South Korea are so high that it could pose a danger to the limited intel we were planning to set up in Hanamura,” Winston says as he gestures to the fansite. “We know that it was the Shimada clan who ordered the assassination, but it doesn’t seem entirely like them based on past information we had on their usual target sites.”

Angela nods and adds, “They tended to prefer quiet, secluded places that are harder to find bodies in. However, they went after Hana in a high-profile and high-security place.”

“Almost as if they were begging for the attention,” Jesse says under his breath. He clears his throat and says louder, “Hanzo might know more. He’s a Shimada, ain’t he?”

“We don’t know if we can trust him,” Winston says tightly.

“I don't trust the bloke either,” Lena muses. "But what's your opinion, Commander? You've traveled with him longer than we've known him.”

Soldier stirs in his seat and replies sharply, “I’m not your commander anymore, Lena. Haven’t been the commander of anything in a long time. And yes, Hanzo is trustworthy based on my travels with him.”

“Trustworthy for now. His goals still give him enough reason to cooperate with us, but I don’t want to make ourselves vulnerable with that trust,” Winston says abruptly as he pushes his glasses up again. A common habit for him, almost like fidgeting and shaking one’s leg when sitting. It’s endearing to watch, and Soldier realizes how much he missed everyone. But Winston’s words show him how much everyone has… Changed. Not exactly who they were all those years ago. Soldier has to admit that it’s the same for him as well.

Lena reaches up to pat Winston’s arm as she says soothingly, “It was one time, and you possibly couldn’t have expected Reaper to show up and steal agents’ old recall data.”

“Either way, our initial plans for Hanamura are disrupted, and Genji knows that,” Angela interjects. “He’s trying to figure out a way to fix the situation, and I think that’s what he went back to the Shambali to try and do. Help other omnics too as well.”

“Help the omnics, hah!” Torbjörn snorts derisively. “You’d be more likely to get replacement parts for broken machines from their kind rather than anything like peace or help.”

“Torbjörn,” Angela says warningly with a single raised eyebrow. Torbjörn subsides into grumbles but he doesn’t offer anything more than that.

“And what of Hana?” Reinhardt says. “I used to watch— ahem! I know a friend of mine who watches her tournaments from time to time! Brigitte used to watch her streams as well. What are we going to do when the world thinks she’s dead?”

“We might have to keep it like that,” Jesse muses. “Damn hard to get anything done if you’re famous. Press never lets ya loose.” He snorts a little bit and jerks his chin over to Soldier as he says, “You know that, right?”

Soldier wrinkles his nose and grumbles, “Don’t remind me.”
Truly, the press was a nightmare. Insistent and full of questions and absolutely zero sense of privacy and tact. Well, for most of the time. Jack Morrison’s face was in the news too often for his own liking anyways. He wonders if Hana ever felt the same. Probably , he thinks to himself.

The meeting adjourns without much progress made: just as he expected. But when he leaves the meeting, Reinhardt stops him with a heavy hand on his shoulder. For a moment, Soldier thinks that Reinhardt will try to drag him into another “friendship bonding session over beer” but the look on his face is uncharacteristically somber.

“My old friend,” Reinhardt begins, voice still loud but as soft as he can make it. “Take care of your kids while you can. It looks like we have another battle before us.” He looks down, and his lips twitch up into a ghost of a smile. “We can always try to be their shield, and I know that I will die doing that.”

He can't argue with Reinhardt about the usage of "your kids." Both of them already know that it's achingly obvious that Hana and Hanzo are more of his kids than anyone else at the watchpoint.
“You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?” Soldier — Jack — blurts out in a tumble of words. It’s just so unlike Reinhardt that he can’t help but ask.

Reinhardt pauses, and his expression cracks into the widest grin. He bursts out in his classically loud laughter and says, “Oh, nein , Brigitte would never let me sacrifice myself no matter how much I wanted. She’s very good at keeping me alive, that is for sure. I just wanted to let you know that so that you don’t lose sight of the important people.”

“Again,” Soldier dryly tacks on.

Reinhardt shakes his head. “ Nein , you were always trying to protect us all. You just let that blind you sometimes. But to be fair, I do not think any of us foresaw the explosion in Switzerland.”

Soldier pulls off his visor and stares at Reinhardt with his milky blue eyes. “You’re absolutely right. But hey, I match your eye now,” he says in a deadpan voice.

Reinhardt freezes when he sees Jack’s eyes, and for a moment, Jack can see the glimmer of sadness in his friend’s eyes. But then, he bursts into laughter at the (terrible) joke, and it echoes in the hallways of the watchpoint. For a minute, Soldier 76 — Jack Morrison — feels young again as he laughs until his stomach hurts. He forgot what it was like to laugh with old friends.

Chapter Text

“ Så gott som ny ,” Brigitte says with satisfaction as she brushes her hands on her apron. “As good as new.”

Hana and Hanzo watch with awe as Brigitte unveils Hana’s mech. It’s bright and gleaming, almost as if it were new, and the hull of the mech is now a burnished black. Hana claps her hands together with joy as she exclaims, “Thank you so much!”

Brigitte tosses Torbjörn a small hammer as she passes by him, and he grumbles, “Sure, fine, don’t let the actual official engineer of Overwatch touch your precious mech. But the daughter of said engineer? Fine, fine, you children can fix your own mechs.” Brigitte bubbles with soft laughter as she pats her father’s shoulder, and she leans over to grab a small rag from her workshop desk. In all honesty, it looks like a complete mess with her tools laid out on the desk, her toolbox open and extended, and a pile of drafting paper laid haphazardly close to the edge of the desk. Brigitte huffs out a small laugh as she pushes the paper closer towards the center of the desk.

As she strides back to the mech and wipes some dust off, she explains, “I got the blueprints and the general material overview of the mech from Athena. From there, I added additional carbon fiber plating to the exterior of the mech so that it’s more protected. I’ve also adjusted the inside of the mech so that you don’t necessarily have to wear a skin-tight bodysuit all the time.”

She pauses and glances at Hanzo as she hesitantly asks, “I think it was your brother? Your friend? Hanzo, wasn’t it? He was the one who suggested that idea to me while we were washing dishes after lunch.”

Hana glances at Hanzo with wide eyes, and Hanzo only shrugs. “If you’re going to insist on wearing things like puffy bomber jackets for the sake of aesthetic,” he says stoically. “You must be able to easily operate your mech regardless of attire.”

Hana’s throat tightens and she can’t seem to get words out, but she’s so incredibly grateful. No more bodysuits, she thinks to herself. I can’t believe he actually remembered that. Frankly, she thinks that she’ll probably end up in a bodysuit anyways because of the sheer simplicity and ease of it, but it makes her feel better to know that Hanzo remembered something as inconsequential like that.

Brigitte gestures to the mech and says apologetically, “Winston told me your favorite color was pink, and I did look up images of your old mech and rewatched your old streams to get a sense of what it used to be like before I started repairing and adjusting it. I didn’t have pink paint though, so we’ll have to do with black for now. Athena also mentioned that it might be safer to go with black because pink was so distinctive and iconically you.”

“Honestly, I think that a mech is pretty hard to ignore,” Hana snorts.
“We did manage to sneak that mech past security so many times though,” Hanzo points out.
Hana shrugs and replies, “Well, I guess you’re right. The color is fine, Brigitte. Thank you so much! My mech means a lot to me. And did you say ‘rewatched?’ I didn’t know you would watch my streams too.”

Brigitte flashes her a bright grin and says, “Yeah, I used to love watching your streams. And don’t worry, I’m so used to working on Reinhardt’s armor now. It’s nice to try fixing up something new.”
Torbjörn calls out behind her, “No more spending time on building jetpacks for the cats, ja ?”
Brigitte flushes pink as she retorts, “They were functional and actually worked. And the cats liked it.”

“Jetpacks for cats?” Hana asks confusedly. She shakes her head and turns her attention back to her mech. Underneath the light, the black is dark and rich. Even though it’s not her signature pink, the carbon fiber material looks gorgeous, and it feels perfect under her fingertips when she reaches out to touch it.

“Oh!” Brigitte exclaims. “I also worked with Athena to get your mech hooked up to Overwatch instead of back to MEKA. I know that you turned off your recording devices and whatever else you had in there, but it’s all connected to Overwatch now just in case MEKA tries to reclaim the mech. You should be able to use your recordings and cameras and audio and everything without worrying.”

From above, Athena says smoothly, “I will be happy to integrate your mech in with my network in order to achieve the highest possible circumstances for success, Agent Song.”

The look on Hana’s face freezes, and Hanzo casts a worried glance on her. However, Hana shakes herself out of it and says firmly but politely, “Thank you for the offer, but I prefer to be the only one in control of my mech.”
Athena replies, “I apologize, I may have generated a misunderstanding. I will not be piloting your mech for you, Agent Song. You simply now have access to my database and my capabilities in addition to your usual mech functions.”
Hana’s shoulders relax and she smiles up at the ceiling. “Thanks,” she says simply.

Brigitte cracks her knuckles before she says, “I’ll get your mech a place in the armory. Or maybe the hangar would be a better and more open place to put it? Either way, Pappa and I will handle that, and I’ll send the location over to your comm.”

Hana dips her head into a small bow as she says earnestly, “Thank you so much, Brigitte, for all the work that you’ve done with fixing the mech.” Hanzo dips his head slightly beside her, and the two leave the workshop.

As they walk down the hall, Hanzo comments, “Black might be good for night missions. White and pink are easier to see.”

Hana makes a non-committal hum under her breath as she considers her improved mech. “I love pink, but I guess that you’re right,” she muses. “And I’m grateful for all of the upgrades and improvements that Brigitte and Torbjörn put in.”

“How are you doing lately?” Hanzo asks. His voice and tone are light and nonchalant, but Hana clearly hears the implication in his voice. She smiles at that and nudges him in the side teasingly as she says, “What, are you worried about me? That’s nice. Thank you for asking, and I’m fine. I’m doing fine, I really am.”

Hanzo lets out a small sigh, and Hana laughs, light and airy. “You really were that worried, huh? Sorry for making you worry so much,” she says.
“No, I am simply glad that you are alright,” Hanzo replies back.

Instead of taking a right to get to the main common and the dining area of the watchpoint, Hana and Hanzo take a sharp left. Hanzo glances up at the ceiling and says under his breath, “And you are sure that the AI will not report us?”

“Strike Commander Morrison has overridden some of my commands,” Athena replies almost sullenly from above. “And I am trustworthy. That quality is written into my code.”

“Hanzo just wanted to make sure of that, Athena. Thank you very much for the help,” Hana says soothingly as they pad down the hallways, silently and swiftly. They take more twisting turns and Athena opens some old, locked doors for them as well. Their steps take them further below the watchpoint until they’re finally at the last door. It slides open after clicking green, and Hana and Hanzo step into the old records room of the watchpoint.

Every Overwatch watchpoint had an archival room where physical copies of data and hard drives remained in the case of an emergency or issue with the global organizational network. No one ever had a use for them, and because they were restricted access, the U.N. never really shut down all of them. Watchpoint: Gibraltar was one of the ones that they neglected to fully wipe. And the Strike Commander himself was there to grant access with his codes.

When Hana and Hanzo walk in, Soldier is already there at a desk, rifling through files and paper copies of news articles. He glances up at them and says, “Oh, good, you’re here. How did the mech repairs go, Hana?”

“Brigitte is wonderful, and I still don’t know how Athena managed to hack into the MEKA database to get those plans,” Hana replies honestly. She slides into the seat next to Soldier as Hanzo sits down in the chair beside her.

“Anything new?” Hanzo inquires as he picks up an outdated tablet and activates it.

Soldier sets down his files and says, “I’ve been looking into every record of Horizon Lunar Colony that we had in the old days. It’s just the usual; scientists try to make monkeys smarter, and it backfired on them. Monkeys start a revolution, scientists die, and the lunar colony goes black.”

“Is Winston from there?” Hanzo asks. “I cannot think of another place where he could have come from.”

Soldier nods, “He escaped the colony after his caretaker was murdered. There wasn’t really a place for an intelligent gorilla like Winston back them, so we recruited him into Overwatch, specially our lab and research team.”

Hana bites her lips for a moment before she sighs out, “Well, Genji got that data from Horizon Lunar Colony for a reason, and Talon must have wanted that data for a reason too.”

Hanzo flicks through some files on his tablet as he mentally tries to envision the timeline that he has right now. It’s been a week and a half since he’s been here at the watchpoint, and they’ve spent about three days more than that, trawling through the sheer amount of data that Overwatch has collected during its time. Soldier spends the most of his time here followed by him, but Hana’s been out and about, spending more time with the other agents. Frankly, he thinks that’s better off for Hana. She needs some more laughter in her life, and if that means spending more time in the archives, then he’ll do it.

The usual schedule for him has been fairly static.

Wake up, check on Genji and Hana, stretch and go through morning exercises, and eat breakfast. Check on Genji and Hana, go through archives, archery practice, eat lunch. Check on Genji and Hana, go through archives, get forced out to socialize by Hana, and eat dinner. Check on Genji and Hana, go through archives, and sleep.

It’s certainly much more static than his usual routine on the run, but it’s not bad. The same, safe green dot on Athena’s maps and monitors makes him sigh with relief, and Hana seems to be improving for the better.

He’s been using the excuse of using Practice Range 5 when he’s in the archives, and Athena has kept the practice range locked and unusable. She tells him that McCree still stops by the range whenever the “occupied” symbol flashes on the door. Hanzo feels a little bad for lying to him, but he tries to make up for it by sitting next to the man and his friends during mealtimes. It seems like the cowboy genuinely wants to be friends. It’s still a little rough between the other agents and Hanzo. He can’t blame them either. He’s the man that tried to kill one of their close friends; things like that don’t dissipate within a week.
Hanzo genuinely tries to not take it personally, but it stings sometimes. When Tracer finds out that Hanzo is that brother, her smile becomes stilted and awkward, and McCree clears his throat and sits there in unusual silence. But he tries. They try too. Hana tries the most, and she squeezes herself between Tracer and himself during mealtimes to offset the awkwardness. Her bright laughter and jokes help, and things start becoming a little easier. Not by much though.

Hana nags Soldier about staying too long in the archives, but the old man just waves her off and says that it’s a good excuse to get out of Dr. Ziegler’s constant check-ups and the other Overwatch agents. Soldier took off his visor once and pointed to his own eyes as he said flatly, “The younger ones keep nagging me about my eyes, and I’m not in the mood to take off my visor all the time for Lena to shove more eyedrops in my eyes. She always misses and gets them on my cheeks instead too.”

After Hana hears that story, she starts carrying around eyedrops in her pockets too. Hanzo doesn’t want to admit it, but he starts doing that too.

“So, Horizon Lunar Colony,” Hanzo murmurs as he flicks through a couple of graphs from a research journal. “They were studying genetic enhancements on chimpanzees and gorillas. Heightened strength and intelligence, specifically.”

Soldier derisively snorts, “Never works out, I’ll tell you that at least. U.S. government tried doing that to humans once. Not a lot survived.”

Hana pauses, and her eyes quickly flick between her papers and Hanzo’s tablet. “Wait,” she says slowly. “Can you make those graphs bigger?"
Hanzo obliges and zooms in on the graphs.
“Those were like the graphs Genji took,” Hana breathes out. “But the ones that he took were more recent than that. Current and up to date. Could it be that the company still keeps track of data from the colony? I thought it was supposed to be completely black, no data in or out.”
“That’s what it’s supposed to be,” Soldier says as he leans in closer to look at the graphs. “Athena, can you look into the data that Genji retrieved from Lijiang Tower?”

Athena willingly brings up the graphs on Soldier’s tablet, and the three of them huddle close together to look at the two graphs side by side. They’re mostly simple graphs; some track energy consumption and food production while others track the rate of learning and intelligence level of various chimpanzees and gorillas. However, in the newest graphs, everything is higher from the intelligence and strength level of the monkeys to the food production and energy consumption. It’s almost like the colony is functional, but that would be impossible because there weren’t any humans on the moon. They had all been killed off by —

Hanzo blinks at the data and says slowly, “Could it be that the monkeys are still there?”

“Damn enhancements,” Soldier mutters under his breath. “Never goes well, no matter what it’s for.”

Hana tilts her head and muses, “Well, it’s not too different, I guess? They still have opposable thumbs, and if they were smart enough to orchestrate a complete revolution, they should have the intelligence to be able to run the colony. It would have just taken some time, and they’ve had ten years to do it. But honestly, I never would have imagined that it was the monkeys that revolted. I always figured that something malfunctioned or something like that, not an entire monkey revolution.”

“They spent a lot of money making sure that the worst of it was covered up,” Soldier comments. He cracks his knuckles before scrolling through more of the data. “Then, Talon was interested in the fate of the experiment on Horizon Lunar Colony,” he says as he starts to think out loud. “Talon must have a reason for wanting to know that and — “

He abruptly cuts his sentence off and falls silent. Hana and Hanzo press in closer, and Hana asks hesitantly, “Soldier? Are you okay?”

“The colony studied intelligence and strength enhancements,” Hanzo murmurs. He goes back to his own tablet and opens one of the research journals. He squints at the name: Harold Winston. He glances back up at Soldier and finishes, “That must be very useful for a terrorist organization looking to expand their control.”

Soldier shakes his head and snaps, “They don’t know what they’re getting into. SEP tried already, and the program was shut down for good reason.”

“Soldier?” Hana tries once more. She reaches out to rub his back and asks, “Are you… Are you okay with telling us more?”

Soldier takes off his visor and rubs his eyes as he lets out a heavy sigh. “Hell, that’s what it was,” he starts. “They wanted to make super soldiers. They needed super soldiers to fight the omnics. The scientists used injections and serums and whatever else they could come up with. Even Angela or another doctor we had a long time ago, Dr. O’Deorain couldn’t figure out what they gave me and how they enhanced me. SEP records were locked down and destroyed after the program was cut off. I’d estimate that there would only be two people in the entire world left from that program now.”

“Who?” Hanzo wonders.

Soldier grimaces, “Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes. The stars of SEP. More like the only survivors.”

Hana stares at him, expression frozen into shock. She reaches out to him again to grab his hand and blurts out, “What if they put something wrong in you? Some kind of disease or condition that develops later on from the enhancements?”

“And Gabriel Reyes? The one who calls himself Reaper?” Hanzo asks. “Then are the enhancements to blame for his abilities?”

“Nope,” Soldier says with a harsh bark of mirthless laughter. “That was all afterwards. I have no idea how he did it either. And so far, I seem to be pretty healthy. At least that’s what Angela tells me.”

Hana blinks and hesitantly says, “He seemed more… Human when Dr. Ziegler connected her Caduceus beam to him though. Less misty and more solid.”

Soldier pauses and looks at her, and some hidden emotion flashes across his face before he quickly tamps it down. He shakes his head and says, “Either way, he’s targeting former agents, and I can’t allow that to happen. We let a lot of things slide back in the old days, and we let corruption feed into the organization. I’m not going to stand by and let it happen again.”

“Corruption is a given for any organization that grows too large,” Hanzo points out. “If it makes you feel better, it was most likely unavoidable.”

“It was,” Soldier grinds out. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we could have done something about it. Overwatch might have been corrupt from the very start, but we could have done something to fix it and weed it out.”

“What do you mean?” Hanzo asks, eyebrows knitting together into a frown.

“Overwatch itself was an ideal, a dream to be achieved,” Soldier says with a weary sigh. “The people that I knew, dear friends and fellow soldiers, they were all good with the same dream: to protect the world. However, the politicians behind Overwatch were never like that. They just wanted the power that the world had to offer. They got too impatient though. When Overwatch wasn’t getting them the solutions and the things that they wanted, they settled on a new plan: Blackwatch. Blackwatch was largely made to do the things that they wanted to get done, even it meant bending the law. I’m not going to lie; Blackwatch was effective in that it was able to get information and supplies and missions completed in ways that we as public Overwatch members couldn’t get done. But in the end, the politicians traced all of their roots and their sources and their power and wealth all back to one main source.”

“Do not tell me it was Talon,” Hanzo says almost warningly. But at the bottom of his heart, he knows that he is right. He’s seen too much crime and learned too much about it to ignore the glaringly obvious answer with the details that Soldier has already lined out.

Soldier nods, and Hana sucks in a sharp inhale of breath. He runs a hand through his receding hair as he continues, “Talon was always there from the very beginning. I didn’t realize it until it was too late. After the explosion at Switzerland, I went around the world, digging through old records and files to try and piece everything back together. When news and stories of Blackwatch were leaked and when Overwatch gained too much suspicion, the ones in power just… Let it go. Destroyed it with bombs already set in the foundation of the base.”

“Wait, does that mean that this watchpoint has bombs in the base already then?” Hana says incredulously.

Soldier cracks a weak smile at that and replies, “Always knew you were a smart cookie. After the blast, I went into the main network and disabled every single bomb remotely with some help from Dorado and some old favors from some other… Associates. They shouldn’t be able to be reactivated no matter what, but just in case, Athena and I found the ones located here and destroyed them completely.”

“Is that when you had that really terrible and explosive shooting practice on the second day we were here?” Hana asks with a frown.

“I love the smell of pulse munitions in the morning,” Soldier cryptically replies.

“So, Talon was originally behind Overwatch,” Hanzo interrupts.
Soldier shakes his head and corrects, “No, not exactly. Some of the main politicians involved in Overwatch were associated with Talon. They were the ones behind the end of Overwatch too.” He casts his gaze off to the side and distantly says, “Reyes was always right. I was just too blinded to ever see it properly.”
“The Petras Act?” Hana suggests. “Was that the one?”
“Yes, that was the one that shut down Overwatch for good,” Soldier answers.
Hana leans back in her chair and lets out a long exhale in a whoosh of pent-up breath. “That was a wild ride,” she comments. “I never knew that everything was so… Complicated like this.”
“Neither did I,” Soldier says with a small huff of bitter laughter.

Hanzo remains quiet, but his face pinches with a look of deep concentration. His mind races from one possibility to another, but it always circles back to his brother. How was he so involved in this? Why would he be a target. But just as he opens his mouth to ask Soldier, all of their comms go off with a loud and blaring alarm.

“Athena, what’s going on?” Soldier calls out loudly as he gets up. Hanzo and Hana scramble out of their chairs as Athena says, “Alert: Agent Genji Shimada’s status has changed. His status is no longer secure. I have lost all connection with him. Alert: Genji Shimada’s status has changed.”

The blood runs cold in Hanzo’s veins, and his gaze meets Hana’s. The taste of terror is sour on the back of his tongue, and he starts running out of the archives, his prosthetic feet slamming down with each step against the hard floors.

Chapter Text

There is another meeting.

Hanzo’s heart is pounding too fast in his chest, and his feet click along the hard floors of the Watchpoint. His comm rings insistently in his pocket, telling him what he already knows; there is another meeting. But who cares? What does it matter? Why are they wasting time with a meeting when he knows that his own brother is in danger? He can hear Hana and Soldier chasing after him, but his enhanced muscles and artificial neural supports speed him along much much faster than a normal man. He skids around the corner and activates a rarely-used part of his prosthetics to boost him forward even faster.

By this point, he’s far above the deep, winding halls of the watchpoint beneath the ground, and he’s returned back to the common areas near the dining area and the dorms. Hanzo almost runs into McCree, and as the cowboy yelps out something that Hanzo doesn’t waste time trying to understand, Hana screams out, “ Hanzo! Wait for us!!”

Her voice is high and ear-splittingly loud, but something in Hanzo stops, pauses, waits as his own heaving breaths struggle to make their way out of his chest. Hana’s and Soldier’s footsteps grow louder and louder, and McCree leans closer to Hanzo with a worried look in his eyes.

“Hanzo,” Hana pants out when she reaches him. “ Hanzo , please wait, I’m sure it’ll be okay—” Hanzo shakes his head mutely, and Hana’s expression crumbles as she tries, “No, no, I’m sure of it. Please, calm down, and we can go in the conference room to find out more information.”

Soldier nods and guides the two of them into the conference room. Hanzo catches a glimpse of Soldier looking over his shoulder to shoot a glance at McCree. McCree’s gaze slides over to him, and amidst the confusion on his face, he can see pity.

Hanzo abruptly turns back to walk to the conference room, his shoulders stiff and his chin held high despite the ache in his legs and the burning of his muscles from the sudden exertion. He’ll be the first one to admit that he was never a good brother, but something in his heart still stings when he hears news about his brother from across the world. The same goes for Hana, and now, Soldier to a certain extent as well. But this news? It hurts to the very core and keeps him icy cold with stifling worry.

He doesn’t know what changed in between. Perhaps it was the realization of his actions? No, he faced the consequences of his choices every day since that fateful night. Perhaps it was the effect of having someone to care about again. Perhaps it was Hana and Soldier, this strange, newfound family of his. Perhaps it was the thought of losing his brother for the second time after coming so close to finding him once more. Either way, he sits down in his seat beside in the conference room, expression rigid and stoic and cold enough to hide any emotion underneath. Hana reaches over to squeeze his hand, and Soldier arrives to sit next to him. He gruffly pats Hanzo on the shoulder, and Hanzo nods at him. Soldier only sighs and settles down.

Other agents quickly fill the room, but still, the rest of the empty chairs around the long table only show Hanzo that this organization is only a woeful shadow of what it used to be. It doesn’t reassure him at all. And beside, people like Reinhardt and Torbjörn only serve to remind him that some of these agents are aging relics from a war and time past.

Winston is already at the front with the projector screen at the ready, but McCree interrupts whatever he has to say by saying loudly, “Genji’s in danger, ain’t he?”

Dr. Ziegler leaned forward in her chair, and her brow furrowed with confusion. “How do you already know?” she asks.

McCree shrugs and says, “There ain’t anything else that it could be. Now we gotta figure out what the hell to do.” His voice is taut and tense though: nothing like the nonchalance that his shrug tried to project. McCree was furious, angry, possibly just as much as Hanzo. And to Hanzo, it’s more telling that the cowboy barely even tried to hide it.

“You are right!” Reinhardt veritably bellows from his new and reinforced seat. “We must defend our new friend!”

Winston pushes his glasses up as he says uneasily, “He’s been compromised.”

“What kind of compromise?” Torbjörn interrupts. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted those machines  to keep him safe.”

“ Pappa ,” Brigitte warns as she sets her hand on her father’s shoulder. “Now isn’t the time for that.”

“It sure ain’t,” McCree warns as well.

Torbjörn reluctantly settles down, but the glowering, bitter look remains on his face. Actually, Hanzo can’t remember a time when it wasn’t in these kinds of meetings.

“Winston?” Dr. Ziegler sighs as she runs a hand through her blonde hair. “Please continue?”

Tracer leans forward in her chair, and Hanzo can hear how her feet kick and scuff against her chair and the floor. “Yeah, let Winston speak!” she cries out, voice high and trilling as always. Hanzo glances over at Soldier 76, but the old man only settles down in his chair, looking on at the scene. Hanzo can just imagine the stony glare on his face. He glances over at Hana to check on her too, but she only fidgets a little as she listens with an intense expression on her face. It’s all too reminiscent of what Hana calls her “D.Va” persona, but it’s just another part of her: the part that’s been honed by years of competition and finally years of war. Hanzo sighs and turns his attention back to Winston.

“He just…” Winston trails off. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other uneasily as he tries, “He just blinked off our servers. No dot, no signal, and the monks can’t send us anything. Athena’s been completely blocked.”

“A trap.”

Everyone in the room turns to look at Hanzo, and he suddenly realizes that he said the thought out loud.

“Care to tell us more, partner?” McCree asks in that low, rolling accent of his. Hanzo looks at him, looks at Hana, scans all around the room before he relents.

“There is no other reason why this would not be a trap,” Hanzo says slowly. “The possibility that Genji may still be in the monastery or the area is still a given. Are there any signs of Talon movement other than this block? I would not think so, and that would only indicate further signs of the trap.”

“And would you step into that trap?” Dr. Ziegler asks. She folds her hands together and sets them on the table and asks again, “And would you endanger us in that process as well?”

Hanzo levels his gaze at the doctor and says evenly, “For my brother? Yes.”

“But you killed him before,” Tracer suddenly blurts out, eyes sharp and expression grimmer than anything that Hanzo has ever seen on the normally-cheerful pilot. “You killed him before on someone’s orders. Are you going to betray him again? Are you going to try and finish the job?” She flattens the palms of her hands on the table as she says vehemently, “Because I won’t. I won’t let you hurt him again.”

Hana suddenly twitches forward beside Hanzo, as if she were going to burst out in a flurry of words or lunge across the table at Tracer. However, Hanzo curls his hand around her arm. She jerks her head to look at him, eyes bright and blazing, but Hanzo shakes his head. He looks up at Tracer, and he can see that same defiant spark in her expression.

People who protect the ones that they love always end up looking the same , he observes.

“I am different than the man that I was once before,” Hanzo chooses to say.

He can feel Hana’s arm flex, and he glances at her to see her tighten her fists and harden her expression like she was on a battlefield. Her D.Va look , he thinks again.

“He wouldn’t ,” Hana snaps, voice brittle and sharp. “Do you think that he would kill Genji again after spending so long trying to find him, trying to reconnect with him?”

Tracer leans back in her chair as she crosses her arms. “You never know, love,” she says cryptically.

“He had family. Then he lost it. And now he’s trying to find his family again,” Hana shoots back. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“It was his decision in the end,” Tracer says, her voice even and flat. “Genji is one of my best friends, Hana. If he’s in danger, I’m not going to feel safe letting his murderer rescue him.”

Hana levels her gaze at Tracer and says harshly, “You must not know what losing and finding family must be like then.”

The entire room falls silent, and something like fury sparks behind Tracer’s flinty glass-brown eyes. Hana pulls her arm from Hanzo’s grip and crosses her arms as well, indignant anger and sheer stubbornness keeping the frown embedded firmly on her face.

“That was too far, ” Hanzo intercedes, his voice low and grating. Hana jerks over to start protesting, but he holds up a single hand to hush her. “Hana. It is alright. Her mistrust is understandable,” he says. He glances up and surveys the silent room, eyes flicking from face to face. He sighs, “We all have fought in a war. We are no strangers to loss.”

“That doesn’t make it okay for her to say something like that,” Hana grumbles.

“ Hana ,” Hanzo sharply replies. “Your statement was excessive as well.”

McCree clears his throat and attempts to remedy the situation by drawling, “Lena, Hana, let’s calm down. I know , Lena, don’t gimme that look. I care ‘bout Genji just as much as you. He’s my best friend too. But I’ve been watching Hanzo, talking with him, and he’s jus’, he’s jus’ a man. He must’ve been different when he tried to kill Genji ten years ago. He ain’t the same man that would kill his family again.”

Tracer wrinkles her brow into a frown even further than it already was, but Soldier 76 finally speaks up, “Kids. Settle. Down.” He takes off his visor and surveys the room with an imposing glare that has none of its ire detracted by his milky eyes. “I know that you’re worried and anxious — Hana, don’t give me that look — but the faster we organize and deploy, the faster we can get to Genji. So, settle down and resolve this like responsible adults.”

“...Yes, Commander,” Tracer finally acknowledges. Soldier 76 makes a grimace when he hears the word “commander” and says, “I’m not your commander anymore, Lena. You don’t have to call me that.”

Tracer only follows it up with another “yes, Commander,” and Soldier 76 groans.

Hana glances up at Soldier and holds his gaze for a while before she says, “Fine.” Hanzo only grunts and McCree nods at Soldier 76.

“Alright,” Winston says awkwardly. “So, I think that Hanzo had some ideas?”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow at Winston, and he wonders if Winston is making the wise choice to hand over the first chance at an idea to him. Regardless, he refuses to waste the opportunity and says, “Yes, it is almost certainly a trap, so instead of sending all of our best agents and our best resources in one whole group, it would be better to send in one clandestine group to check what exactly is going on. We could have more agents along the perimeter for safety and reinforcements. Once we re-establish a connection with Athena, we can retrieve Genji and slip through Talon presence as fast as we came.” He pauses and considers other options before resolutely saying, “We do not have the forces or the resources to launch a full-scale attack. Considering the PETRAS act, I do not think any of us will want to do that either.”

Everyone looks solemn, and Hanzo glances over to Hana once more. He thinks that he’s doing it more than he really should, but it’s strangely comforting to have Hana next to him. Familiar, comforting. She looks at him, and he swears that he can see the cogs turning in her head.

“Then,” she slowly says. “We could have maybe four people in the group then? I know that it needs to be sneaky and all that, but considering that it’s going to be a trap, you need to make sure that the people in the group are going to be capable of working together to survive.” She starts gesturing as she warms up to her idea, and she continues, “Someone to heal, someone to shield, someone to deal damage, and someone for scouting.”

Winston shakes his head. “Our only doctor and potential frontline healer is Angela, and we can’t risk her,” he points out.

Dr. Ziegler purses her lips and comments, “But it may be more necessary than you think, Winston. Do you want them to go in without any medical back-up?”

“If you take me, I’ll be able to recall before I got shot or something like that if the emergency ever came up,” Tracer volunteers.

Torbjörn snorts, “Your armor’s less than nothing, girl. Who says that you’re only going to get shot once? The cavalry won’t come in to save you this time.”

“I’ve had some experience patching armor and wounds while traveling with Reinhardt,” Brigitte chimes in. “I could go along and provide a shield as well. Double duty.”

Torbjörn turns to glare at his daughter and shuts down the idea by snapping, “No, you are not .”

“But pappa, ” Brigitte pleads. “They need someone, and I have experience now.”

“I promised your mother that I would see you safe and sound,” Torbjörn resolutely says. “Reinhardt’s gone and filled your head with dreams about heroes.”

Reinhardt shifts uncomfortably in his specially designed and reinforced seat and finally says, “Brigitte, I think that we may need to sit this one out.”

“But why? ” Brigitte insists once more, mouth set in a stubborn frown.

Reinhardt shakes his head helplessly and looks around for help. When he finds that no one else intercedes, he reluctantly admits, “We are not exactly the kind of people best at covert operations. We are best in the thick of things, Brigitte.” Hanzo can't help but admit that was a decent excuse, especially for one that Reinhardt out of all people had to come up with on the fly.

Torbjörn snorts, “Reinhardt, you’re the loudest person that I ever met, and my daughter takes after you more than she does me.” He looks at his old friend with a keen eye though and says more softly, “But we have not outlived our usefulness yet, old friend. Don’t frown like that. You’re going to get more wrinkles than I do now, old man.”

Reinhardt laughs this time, the melancholy look lifting slightly, as he jibes back, “No, you frown more than I do on a regular basis. My wrinkles are from laughs, not from frowns like you. And your daughter still has your stubbornness more than anything else.”

As the two talk, Hanzo catches McCree studying Hana. Hanzo bristles beside her, and McCree lifts his gaze to meet Hanzo’s with nothing more than a lazy quirk of his brows. Hanzo frowns at him, but the cowboy doesn’t answer him. Instead, he says, “A penny for your thoughts, Hana?”

“Hmm?” Hana says as she blinks with surprise. She tears her gaze away from Reinhardt and Torbjörn to look over at McCree and ask, “What is it?”

“You seem like you’ve got a pretty solid handle on what a possible plan with be like,” McCree says as he raises his hands in acquiescence. Hana only squints at McCree and mumbles, “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“I know I’m not,” McCree shoots right back.

Hana makes a tch noise and says, “Geez, cowboy, what an ego.”

Hanzo didn’t know that she called McCree “cowboy” like he did. Funny to see how she picked up mannerisms from him. He wonders if he has any of hers.

McCree winks at Hana, and everyone waits for Hana’s input on the situation.

“Well,” she says hesitantly. Hana glances up at the projector screen and asks, “Athena, could you put up a map of the Shambali monastery? You don’t have to bring up the one with Genji in it, just a general overview of the interior.” The AI obliges, and almost immediately, a map of the monastery flickers on. It includes the town nearby the monastery as well, and Athena says, “I am able to zoom in on a specific sector of the map if you wish.”

There’s a village that led to the front of the monastery, and then from there, there is a shrine where visitors could come and pray. The monastery ascends upwards to a final sanctum at the very top. Hana narrows her eyes on certain parts of the maps and says, “Could you give me actual photos of the area?”

Athena wordlessly complies, and the map changes to a slideshow of various images. Some are of a snow-covered village with sloping roofs and rough-hewn wooden railings along dangerous edges. The shrine area seems to be built of more red-toned brick rather than the simple wood of the village, and the photos of the sanctum are blurry and grainy.

“Photos are not allowed to be taken within the holy sanctum,” Athena says almost apologetically. “I, however, have found photos on the internet that some have illegally taken in the past. I cannot vouch for their accuracy.”

The sanctum looks the most terrifying since there’s a large gaping chasm between a few platforms within it. Tracer mutters, “I wonder if I could even blink across that gap.” Hana hums tunelessly as she considers the situation before her.

“Okay,” she finally says. “I know that it’s going to be biased, but I think that Hanzo, Soldier 76, and I would make the best team to go in here.”

The room explodes in a cacophony as everyone tries to talk at once, but Hanzo barks, “Let her talk. You wanted to hear her ideas? Then listen to all of them.”

The noise subsides, and Hana shifts in her chair as she calculates different tactics in her head. Then, she says with growing confidence, “I’ve got the ability to recall my mech, and it seems to be reliable so far. I can go in without my mech and then deploy it when I need it which means that I’ll be more quiet than any other of the tankier agents that we have here.” She looks at Reinhardt and Brigitte with a slight shrug of her shoulders and says apologetically, “I don’t mean to be rude by saying that either.”

She gestures over to Hanzo and says, “Out of everyone here, Hanzo’s probably going to be the quietest and have the longest range. He’s been trained to be an assassin and can scale walls and things like that. He’d be best for scouting ahead and sneaking around.” She pauses and studies the other agents before saying slowly, “And Soldier 76 would be our best form of main damage. He’s got his biotic fields which means that we can at least gain some form of reliable healing out in the field without having to take Dr. Ziegler out. Tracer — I mean, Lena — would be a little too flashy, and I’m sorry, McCree, but you jingle everywhere you go. You didn’t even change into some less… Flashy clothes when we met you at Lijiang Tower. Winston’s… Winston’s too obvious , and I don’t think that we have a need for turrets out there so that rules out Torbjörn.”

“That seems like good rationale,” Winston slowly says. McCree crosses his arms and says dryly, “I do have different clothes, ya know.”

Hanzo flatly says, “What a surprise. Do you not wear them?” McCree flashes him a cheeky grin and a quick wink. Hanzo only groans.

The doctor still looks rather unconvinced, but she concedes, “I cannot argue with it. However, I would still like to give you all a checkup and consider some more safety precautions before we send you all out onto the field.”

“Then, I guess the meeting is adjourned,” Winston says unwillingly. “Hana, I’d like to discuss some more of your plans before you meet, and I’d like all three of you to visit Angela in the med bay before heading out to the hangar. Lena can fly you out to the monastery, and Torbjörn and Brigitte can run a final checkup on your gear.”

Lena is the first one to bounce out of her chair and zip out the door in a flash of blue light. The rest of the agents trail out to the room one by one, and Hanzo stands up to leave as well. He wonders if he has enough time to stop by his room for something. But before he can leave, he hears someone clear his voice behind him.

“Hold up now,” McCree calls out to Hanzo before he leaves the hallway to his own room. When Hanzo pauses and waits for McCree, the cowboy jogs over with a deceptively jovial smile on his face. The sentiment of the smile barely reaches his eyes though.

“I don’t wanna be that  kind of person, never liked being mean, but I thought you were in Practice Range Five,” McCree starts off.

Hanzo’s gaze lingers on Hana and Soldier, and the distraction makes him absent-minded, distant, focused on other things. “I was,” he replies.

McCree reaches up, and with two fingers, he tugs on Hanzo’s chin so that his eyes meet his own. Hanzo narrows his eyes and glares at McCree, but McCree drawls, “The practice ranges are on the opposite side of the watchpoint where you came from, Shimada. I sure as hell ain’t an idiot, and I don’t like being lied to, especially after I vouched for you in the meeting.”

Hanzo was right. Jesse McCree was too keen and observative for his own good.

Soldier 76 must have caught a glimpse of him and McCree facing off because suddenly, Hanzo can hear Soldier say dryly, “Ha, that’s rich coming from you, Jesse.”

McCree lets go of Hanzo and straightens his shoulders as he concedes, “Strike-Commander.”

“Calm down,” Soldier says. “Hanzo and Hana were both with me in the archives.” He swivels his gaze to Hanzo and says, “Hana’s still talking with Winston. Might take her a little while longer. I was planning to check in with Angela before going.”

Hanzo inclines his head to Soldier 76, but Mccree taps his foot against the floor with rare impatience. “Why?” he demands.

“Information hunting,” Soldier bluntly replies.

Hanzo cuts in to say, “I needed to know any information that might indicate why my brother is a target.” He will not have Soldier 76 face the ire and disappointment for something like this.

“Ya could’ve asked any of us,” McCree says as resentment creeps into his expression.

Hanzo sighs and raises an eyebrow at McCree as he honestly says, “You would not have trusted me and you would not have given me confidential information.”

“Hey now—”

Hanzo shakes his head and sharply says, “The truth remains that I tried to kill one of your best agents, one of your best friends, my own brother. You saw what happened in the meeting. And I have seen the way some of you look at me. I may be a part of Overwatch temporarily, but in the end, I am who I am. An outsider. A traitor to my own brother and clan and a potential threat to all of you. Tell me, would you have given me the information that I wanted?”

McCree can’t meet his eyes when Hanzo finishes, and Hanzo thinks bitterly, I thought so. However, McCree confesses, soft and gentle, “I tried, Shimada. Hanzo , I tried to be your friend. I would have tried for you if you asked me to.”

Hanzo is utterly… Taken aback. Surprised. Baffled. He never would have guessed the cowboy’s intentions to be anything else but corrupt, born of suspicion and little else. A pang of guilt echoes in his heart when he thinks about every time that he’s lied to or avoided McCree.

Soldier 76 places his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder as he sighs, “Come on, kids. We need to get to the hangar.”

Chapter Text

Hanzo stops Soldier 76 to inform him that he left something in his room that he wished to collect before they head out. Soldier 76 tilts his head and regards Hanzo for a moment. He still seems a little shaken by what Jesse had to say, but he seems to be relatively fine on his own. Then again, it could just be that Hanzo’s excellent at hiding it (which, to be honest, Jack thinks that everyone here is good at), but he lets Hanzo go without a word.

From there, he turns swiftly towards the med bay. It’s a familiar path, as every other route in the watchpoint seems to be. Even though he didn’t spend as much time in Gibraltar as some of the other watchpoints, memory after memory seems to filter in constantly. Maybe good memory was included in the SEP package deal or maybe it was just good genetics, but Soldier 76 — Jack — tries to take it all in stride.

When he reaches the sterile-white med bay, Angela is already there, pacing back and forth with a worried look on her face. It’s not an unfamiliar expression; he’s seen that mix of exasperation and worry on her face too many times to count. However, this one seems a little more… Desperate. Strained. Different.

She glances up the minute the door slides open with a slight whoosh , and she sighs, “Jack. You’re here. Good.” Jack regards her for a moment before crossing his arms and saying dryly, “What is it now?”

Angela flicks her gaze back and forth before she deliberately locks the door. “Athena,” she says out loud. “Could you make sure that Hana and Hanzo know that I’m currently running Jack’s examination? Tell them to wait if they come too early.”

Jack’s frown furrows even further behind his visor, and he asks, “Angela. What are you on about?”

She turns to type something into a monitor and replies distractedly, “Something important that I think that you’d like to see.” On the monitor screen, a series of graphs and data sets pops up, and Jack recognizes the name and number at the very top of the screen. Gabriel Reyes. It’s his name and his serial number in the Overwatch database, and the rest of the graphs appear to be his biometrics that Angela used to keep meticulously in her storage.

“At Eichenwalde,” Angela begins hesitantly. “My staff locked on to Gabriel rather than Hana because of the prior biometric data I set in the staff programming. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know you’re sentimental too. I kept everyone on my staff, even if the news said that they were all dead. Ana, Gabriel, even you. But when I re-examined the new data I got from Gabriel at Eichenwalde, they were…” She trails off and points only to the screen.

Jack leans in closer and squints at the screen. The particular graph that she’s pointing to deals with cell regeneration rate after the application of her nano-medical technology. The most recent point of data is exponentially greater than the previous data point, and he asks, “What’s the meaning of that?”

“I don’t know,” Angela honestly replies. “After comparing all the data that I got, it looks like his body is constantly decaying and regenerating over and over again. I think that must be the reason why he can turn into that dark mist that we saw and why… Why his face is so…” She gulps and admits, “I saw him with his mask off. Hana must have knocked it off during the fight. But his face, god, Jack, his face is barely put together. You can see the bone and the flesh, and what’s left of his skin seems grey and barely there.”

Jack recoils slightly, and almost instantly, his mind conjures up a mental image of Gabriel from before . Before the blast, he amends mentally. He can’t imagine Gabriel with anything else than that classically curly and dark shorn hair, that beanie he used to constantly wear, and the gruff and snide smiles and laughs that he used to keep for nearly everything in the world. The man in Jack’s mind seems nothing like the spectre that Angela describes.

She shakes her head and continues, “However, when my beam locked on to him, something happened to make his body more stable? His face started coming together, and for a moment, he looked alive again. No flesh and bone showing, and his skin started gaining more color. But the minute I snapped the beam over to Hana, it started fading away. I don’t think it was the blast that did it, Jack. That kind of work needs DNA alteration.”

Angela’s eyes are bright, burning with emotion, and Jack looks up from the screen to look at her. In some ways, she’s just like how she was before, driven and determined to scoop one more life out of death’s hands. But this time, he can see the dark circles and the strain that’s there in her expression as well. And of course, he can’t forget about the unerasable sadness and melancholy that seems to hang from her shoulders whenever something about the blast comes up.

And of course, the blast.

Everything in Jack’s life seems to divided into certain segments, and he can’t help but think that most of the divisions seem to involve explosions. Division number one: the mock explosion during a drill in the first few days of military training. Division number two: the explosion that occurred after Jack accidentally rammed into a stack of ammunition with his newfound super-strength during SEP. Division number three: his first deployment with Gabriel after SEP in Silicon Valley when the rigged explosions went off. Division number four: the blast in Switzerland.

The blast was definitely the worst one though. The only thing that he can really remember in the heat of the moment was people screaming, smoke from the first bomb streaming in the air, a heavy weight — maybe a body, maybe an object — landing on top of him, and then his eyes burning.

He remembers the days leading up to the blast though, but in all honesty, he has to admit that everything was unraveling long before the first few weeks before the explosion. Gabriel had become suspicious of nearly everything, even his own agents. When news and information on Blackwatch was compromised and leaked, Gabriel retreated even more from the rest of them and became mired in his own superstition and beliefs. He even refused to have Angela treat him anymore and turned to other doctors for his treatments and check-ups. Jack never found out who.

To Jack, it seemed like the pinnacle of idiocy. Too many years of working undercover and in the shadows, too many years of blackmail and murder, never really left you. It would always cling to you, leave behind nightmares and memories that were too gruesome to be told out loud. Jack originally thought that this was what finally broke Gabriel in the end. Maybe Venice was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Maybe Venice was the start of the end.

Jack sighs and rubs his thumbs against his temples. He always trusted Gabriel, always , whether it be in the thick of battle or in the turmoil of politics. It just got to a point where Gabriel seemed to be the one drifting away from him.

Or maybe the other way around, a voice in the back of his mind tells him.

“The constant decay and regeneration cannot be good for his health,” Angela insists. “When I had my biotic beam on him, he seemed more normal, more relieved, and he seemed healthy again. Maybe that’s why Talon has him, maybe they’re keeping his body stable enough for him to survive.”

Angela reaches out to grip Jack’s shoulders and says with an edge of desperation, “He’s not lost yet, Jack. If you can bring him back, then Winston and I can build a device, figure out something to keep his cells from decaying. Bring him back to life, if you will. Please , Jack, if, when you find him, don’t kill him. Bring him back. Save him.”

Jack stands there, stunned into silence, and he can’t help but to remember happier thoughts, happier times. Times when he and Gabriel were closer than anyone else, and times where they got through battlefields and firefights together . He shuts his eyes and realizes that he misses the old days with such an acute pang of nostalgia and longing that his heart feels like it’s aching with aging, sharp pain.

And he’s not an idiot either. He can hear the obvious and blinding hope in Angela’s voice, and he wants to admit the same thing. That Gabe isn’t with Talon out of his own choice but out of survival, out of necessity, out of something that clicks with the Gabe that he knew before and the Reaper that exists now.

“I promise,” he breathes out, slowly and softly. “I’ll bring him back. I won’t give up on him. Not yet.”

Angela stares at him, mouth agape, and she asks confusedly, “You don’t want revenge?”

Jack shakes his head and says, “Gabriel isn’t the one to take revenge on. The ones that brought down Overwatch and Blackwatch was the men behind Overwatch itself. And I’ve been taking vengeance slowly and surely back to the ones responsible for it.”

“Overwatch? We brought down ourselves? ” Angela echoes, face still lined with confusion.

Jack nods and says, “I’ll tell you more about it. Later. Once I find more details. Figure out the rest of the connections.”

Angela looks Jack over and sighs, “You always were thorough and stubborn like that. Very well. The only thing I have left for you are improved biotic fields. Your health records so far show that you’re doing fine, and the only issue I would bring up is your vision. However, you’re stubborn enough to refuse again and again, so I’m just going to tell you to be careful with your visor and how far you extend. Don’t overextend, alright?”

“Will do, doc. Don’t worry, I was the main combat healer back in my day during the Omnic Crisis. I can handle two kids,” Jack says lightly as Angela unlocks the door with her button. He grabs the bag that Angela points to on one of the counters, and he takes a quick peek inside. More biotic fields, but these ones look slightly larger and more reinforced. He smiles to himself as he takes the bag.

The door slides open and Jack starts to leave. Hana and Hanzo are already waiting out there, and they look up at him. “Doing okay?” Hana asks. “All good to go, right?”

Jack nods and says, “Don’t give the good doctor any trouble, okay?”

Hanzo snorts, “ I will not, Hana will.”

Hana protests loudly at that, but Jack only chuckles and leaves them to finish their check-up. As for him, he needs to get to the hangar as soon as possible.

By the time he gets all of his gear together, he finds himself with nothing else to do but to wait. Lena’s off checking her plane, and this is one of the few things that she does quietly. Oh, she still hums and does a little jump-skip when she goes over to the other side of the plane. However, she’s utterly focused on the condition of her plane and any other factors that could potentially pose a risk mid-flight. It’s rare and actually nice to see her concentrating so hard, and Jack can relate. He’s the same when he cleans his guns. He has to wonder though; how much of that obsessive checking came after the Slipstream incident? When he looked at Lena’s files when she applied to be an Overwatch agent, he never saw any particular note about her pre-flight habits.

He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to disturb her, but he’s sure that she already knows that he’s there.

Time passes slowly, minute by minute, but once Lena’s done, she claps her hands together and cheerily says, “Well, that’s all there is to it!” She glances over at Jack with a wide grin and says, “I know she isn’t like the planes I used to fly, but look at her, almost good as new!”

It’s a cargo plane. A dusty, old cargo plane.

Jack thinks that it’s a relic from the older days, and he can’t imagine how Lena wrangles the old-fashioned plane through the air. She seems delighted to fly again though, and he remembers that she wasn’t always just a field agent. She was, first and foremost, a pilot, and the thrill of the air still stuck with her despite everything that happened with the Slipstream.

Then, in a sudden flurry of noise, Hana and Hanzo walk into the hangar, loudly talking and laughing (and grumbling in Hanzo’s case) with Brigitte and McCree. Everyone seems to be gesturing and talking and even fooling around. Lena’s head perks right up, and she zips over to join in on the fun.

Winston, Reinhardt, Angela, and Torbjörn trail in behind them, somber and worn, but even they smile when they see the gaggle that the others formed in the hangar. However, instead of joining in with them, they approach Jack. Jack only blinks at them and slowly stands back up. A few of his joints pop, and he can feel a slight ache in his shoulders, but it only reminds him how distanced he is from his age. He should be aging far more than he actually is and to only feel this much is concerning to him.

No matter though. There are concerns greater than him.

“Just like the old days,” Reinhardt wistfully reminisces as he looks at the younger agents.

Angela laughs lightly, “The younger generation is coming in.”

“You do know that you’re part of that younger generation,” Winston points out.

Angela blinks and looks down at her hands before looking at Winston. “It doesn’t really feel that way,” she confesses. “You could count in this generation with me, you know. You’re still young too.”

Winston shakes his head and says, “It feels like I’ve lived longer than I have.”

Jack bites his lip and wonders if Angela ever truly rested from the first, stumbling days of the Omnic Crisis. She was the youngest out of their own little group, but it felt like she was just as old as them. And Winston, god , Winston was so young when everything on the lunar colony fell apart. Those early days hit them hard. Aging, worn, and weary from trying to stem the tides of war.

Did he ever think this much when he was younger? This kind of introspection felt all too common after the blast. Then again, he had much more time to think now.

“They are strong and brave,” Reinhardt says confidently. “They will get through this. They will survive.”

“And if they don’t?” Torbjörn wonders with a half a touch of dry cynicism and half a touch of fear.

“They will,” Jack says as he shoulders his pulse rifle. “They’re tough kids.”

“And they are your kids,” Reinhardt tries to joke as he nudges Jack with his elbow.

“Yeah, they are,” Jack breathes out slowly as he starts walking toward Hana and Hanzo.

He doesn’t see the way Reinhardt nudges Torbjörn as well or the way Angela exchanges looks with Winston. He only focuses on the mission of ahead of them as well as Hana and Hanzo.

Hana’s dressed in another bodysuit, but this one is white and black, outlined with gold and accented with red. She has her trusty pistol strapped to her thigh, and somehow, she’s gotten her headset repainted in a gold color to match her bodysuit. And of course, without fail, she has her “war paint” on in thick and bold lines. Instead of pink, they’re glimmering gold, and Jack has to wonder how she managed to color-coordinate this well. Jack wonders if it was Brigitte’s work. He knew that Brigitte completely rebuilt and altered parts of Hana’s mech, but he wonders if she also had a hand in the new bodysuit and headset.

Hanzo has completely different armor than his usual garb on though, and Jack sighs with relief when he sees that Hanzo’s more protected now. It looks like McCree forced him into wearing actual armor. It could possibly be one of Jesse’s breastplates, but he also thinks that he vaguely recognizes Hanzo’s reinforced pauldron as being part of a set of old Overwatch armor. Jack can’t help but snort when he sees that Hanzo’s ripped off half of the pauldrons to cover only one shoulder. Perhaps it was for some archery reason, but it just seemed impractical to Jack. The same went for Hanzo’s gauntlet as well. He only had one on from an old Overwatch set and the other hand only had one glove. But still, one gauntlet and one pauldron was better than none at all.

When Jack takes another step forward, Hana notices him and breaks out into an infectious grin. Even he can’t help but smile softly back, but he remembers that she can’t see him under the visor. So, he reaches up to take it off, and the world instantly melds back into a blurry mess of color.

“76! Dad!” Hana calls out. Jack can hear her footsteps, and his thoughts are confirmed when Hana tackles him into a hug. “Look at what Brigitte prepared for me while she was reinforcing my mech! And look, Hanzo’s tiddy-free now!”

“Excuse me,” Hanzo calls back. “Tiddy-free implies that I have none at all.”

Hana cranes her neck and retorts back loudly, “But do you really need it? It’s not like you’re going to use them for something useful anyways.” She turns back to Jack, and at this distance, Jack can make out slightly more of Hana’s face than what he could when she was standing with the others. “McCree forced Hanzo to wear more armor, but he's still trying to be unconventional about it.”

Now, Hanzo steps forward, and Jack knows that Hanzo’s deliberately stepping loudly as his prosthetics click against the concrete. “It is not unconventional but rather, traditional,” Hanzo sniffs. “You need a better education in traditional Japanese armor.”

Hana rolls her eyes but says, “Fine, fine. Why did you take off your visor though? Do you need more eyedrops?” She pulls away from Soldier, and judging from her blurry outline, he assumes that she’s looking for pockets on her bodysuit. She pats up and down her legs and then, with a stricken voice, exclaims, “Brigitte! There’s no pockets on this thing!”

Brigitte audibly gasps in shock and says, “Oh no , Hana, I’m so sorry!”

Hana sighs, “I guess there goes my eyedrops.”

“Do you need eyedrops, Hana?” Brigitte asks with confusion.

Hana shakes her head and replies, “No, but I need to carry them around.”

“It’s okay, Hana,” Jack cuts in. He slides his visor back on and says, “I don’t know why I took my visor off, Just wanted to see you all, I guess.”

Now, with decidedly better vision, he can see Hana’s frown, and he can feel Jesse’s gaze on him as well. Jesse was always too sharp for his own good, and Ana always used to comment on how Jesse could observe even the slightest off detail about anything. Jack thinks that Hana is almost the same, and he supposes that her career required such attention to detail anyways. Either way, he’s not fooling any one of them nor Hanzo for that matter.

However, Jesse drawls out, “I got Hanzo to wear some armor. You’re welcome, ya know.”

Hana laughs, “I can’t believe that he never listens to me but listens to you .”

“We were on the run ,” Hanzo protests. “How do you expect me to obtain armor when we were on the run?”

Hana puts her hands on her hips and says flatly, “The omnic in Russia. The warehouse in China. There were options, but you just don’t want to admit it.”

Jack clears his throat and says firmly, “That’s enough, kids. We need to get going. Go on, get going.”

With that, everyone starts moving towards Lena’s old plane, but Jack waits to start walking beside Hana. “You okay?” he says in the gentlest tone that he can muster up. Hana glances at him, and for a moment, he can see a crack in her mask of bravado.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But I’m doing this because I want to, not because I’m being pressured or forced to do it. I’ll let you know if I’m having…” She trails off and casts her gaze resolutely forward. “Issues,” she finally decides on saying. "I'm doing better than I was, I promise."

Jack doesn’t say a word but accepts her decision for what it is. She’s old enough to make her own choices, and she knows herself best. But he’ll be there for her if she needs it and wants it. They board the plane, and as they get on, Jack promises to himself that he’ll bring everyone back. Hana, Hanzo, Lena, Genji. His family. He’ll bring his family back.

Chapter Text

The plane rattles and jolts much more than a modern plane, and Hana grips onto the edge of her seat harder and harder as the plane goes through more turbulence.

“Sorry, loves! It’s a little bit more rough than expected!” Tracer trills from the loudspeaker. Hana makes a face and gets a small snort out of Hanzo and Soldier. It’s just that Tracer sounds so unapologetic and even thrilled about the prospects of going through some nasty winds with a rickety old plane from the old days . Hana doesn’t even know how Tracer is managing up there with outdated technology.

Hana’s also surprised at herself. She thought that she would be more uneasy about the mission, more wary especially after her mini meltdown, but somehow, she’s almost excited for it. It feels like a greater burden has been lifted off her shoulders, and the freedom of choice feels exhilarating and liberating. The thought of killing still bothers her, but she’s hoping for the best. Idealism never hurt.

She turns that thought over and over in her head even when they land in Nepal. She fidgets and rubs her fingers over the small pocket on her bodysuit where her slim recall button is. And then, she immediately starts shivering in the cold and thin mountain air of Nepal. She casts a glance at Soldier and Hanzo who seem to be doing fine in their thicker and more padded armor. Soldier 76’s jacket just looks so warm from here. Technically, she should be warming up soon because of the slightly insulated material of her bodysuit, but she needs to be moving around a lot more than this. And unfortunately, sneaking around isn’t really conducive to that.

Soldier glances back at her, and Hana immediately pastes on a brilliant smile on her face. After all, that’s one of the few things that she’s good at. However, he immediately shrugs off his jacket and jogs over to place it around her shoulders. “You’re going to catch a cold,” he gripes. “Why didn’t you bring that pink bomber jacket of yours? It fits in the mech now, doesn’t it?”

Hana looks up at him and flashes him a grin as she says, “It didn’t fit with the entire gold and black aesthetic.”

“Of course it was the aesthetic,” Hanzo says loudly as he tromps ahead.

“Like you’re any better!” Hana calls right back. She can’t let him have the last word on this when he actually thinks that dragons printed on the butt of a pair of cargo pants is fashionable .

She warms up quickly with the jacket, and Soldier 76 looks completely unfazed despite the cold. Then again, he has padding and armor and all of that extra stuff to keep him warm. Hana pulls the jacket tighter around her and walks faster.

The village looks quaint with its light dusting of snow, but for some strange reason, it’s absolutely abandoned. The rust-red flags still flap in the wind, and the lanterns still glow with their muted light, but there’s no one to be seen. Hanzo puts up a hand, and their small group stops. Snow begins to fall lazily downward on them, and Hana cranes her head up to look at the snowflakes. Out of the corner of her eye, she swears that she can see a flicker of movement. And she doesn’t think that it’s a flag.

“Hey, Hanzo,” she whispers. She switches into a broken mix of Japanese and Korean, hoping that anyone else listening wouldn’t understand. “Someone, up top, someone’s there.” To Soldier 76, she discreetly gestures up to the towered pagoda building. Soldier gives her a quick nod in reply, and Hanzo glances back to ask in Japanese, “Are you sure?”

Before Hana can answer, they hear a clicking noise, almost like a gun being reloaded, and an accented voice rolls out, “Hello there.”

A flash of movement, a blur, and then, an immediate slam that shakes the ground. Amidst the snowflakes dancing around the new stranger, a man straightens and flashes them a pearly-white smile that contrasts against his dark skin. A huge gauntlet, prosthetic arm, something , gleams a bright gold, and he clenches it into a fist with a smile of satisfaction.

“Hanzo Shimada, Hana Song, and Soldier 76,” he greets. He bows and the absolute mockery of the gesture makes Hana glare even harder at the man.

Soldier 76 puts his arm in front of Hana and warns, “Doomfist. You’re not welcome here.”

Hana’s eyes widen when she recognizes the name. The Savior, the Scourge, and the Successor. Both the hero and the mercenary who bore the title, but she thought that the third Doomfist was in jail. Perhaps she missed the crisis call while she was on the move.

“Spare me the commentary,” Doomfist snorts. He turns to Hanzo and extends his regular hand. “Hanzo, you should consider joining us. I think we’d see eye to eye.”

“No!” Hana blurts out. “You’re not taking him!”

Doomfist glances at her and opens his mouth to say something, but Hanzo interrupts him. “I would have little to gain from such an arrangement. No, I will find my own path.”

“A poor decision,” Doomfist observes. “I suggest that none of you move. There is a sniper waiting to shoot just behind you.”

“Widowmaker,” Soldier 76 breathes out slowly. Hana swear that he sounds a little pained by it, but she can’t understand why.

Doomfist chuckles, “Excellent guess, Soldier 76. You are correct. You can all come with me quietly or…” He cracks his knuckles and grins, “We can do this the exciting way. After all, only through conflict do we evolve, and it would be a shame if you all gave up so easily.” He cocks his head to the side and brings up a single finger to his ear. It must be some sort of important comm, but in that moment, Hana hears the hiss of metal in the air and three metal shuriken embed themselves in Doomfist’s arm. The man moved his metal arm just in time to block them, and an excited snarl deepens on his face.

Hana takes the opportunity to recall her mech, and it comes slamming down in all of its carbon-fiber glory. That offers up another distraction, and Doomfist bellows out, “Try me!” Soldier 76 yanks her out of the way with a vicious tug, and soon after, the whistle of a bullet flies past her face, barely grazing her. Widowmaker, she distantly thinks as she feels the bullet whiz by.

Among all the chaos, Hanzo whirls around to stare behind him, eyes glassy and wide. “Genji,” he says out loud, slowly, as if he couldn’t believe him.
“ Brother, look out!” cries a voice in Japanese. It has a metallic tone and quality to it that Hana distinctly remembers hearing in Lijiang Tower. And there he is, in a flash of green, as he dashes over to swipe at Doomfist. “Sniper, up top!” Genji calls out before he throws a few more shuriken at Doomfist for good measure.

Hana doesn’t waste any more time and dives into her mech. The machinery comes alive under her fingertips, humming gently, and Athena’s polished voice comes in. “Agent Song, I am here at your disposal,” she says. Hana scans over the environmental readings and asks hurriedly, “Can you figure out where Widowmaker is?”

“Analyzing thermal readings in this area,” Athena replies back. Her main vision cam melts into a thermal mode, and Hana squints at the blurs of color. Then, she sees the moving flash of red in the far distance. Gritting her teeth, she yanks her controls around and calls out, “Hanzo! Soldier! I’m going to engage Widowmaker. Keep Doomfist busy!”

Hana can feel the edges of D.Va prickle around her, and when she glances at her mech health stats, she can hear a voice in her head taunt, “ Can you even do this? You’re not me, you’re just regular Hana.”

“We’re the same,” she grits out as she slams her boosters forward. Her vision cam narrows in on the sniper close enough to see the glittering eight-eyed visor and the blueish skin. Her fingers fly to her defense matrix, and her reflexes snap tight to redirect the deadly bullets that the sniper tries to aim at the cockpit. She keeps her matrix up long enough to redirect the assault rifle-type bullets that rain down on her when she gets too close to the sniper. With a bat of her mech arm, she flings Widowmaker off the perch. However, Widowmaker just grapples up to an even higher roof.

“Catch her if you can,” D.Va seems to say. “ But I’m faster than you’ll ever be. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you tell the difference? You’re in a battlefield, Hana, and you can’t deal with it. You’ve never been able to. ”

“I have,” Hana says out loud to herself. “We’ve won tournaments, battles, and more together. You’re nothing without me. We’re making this choice, and we’re pulling through this together. You’re me, and I’m you.”

Just before Hana launches her boosters again, a venom mine explodes in her cockpit, and her vision is momentarily blocked by the cloud of smoke. Athena can’t activate the mech air filters in time, and Hana doubles over coughing. Pain jolts through her lungs with every breath she takes, but her hands are still on her controls. Thankfully, she has enough muscle memory and reflex to push down on her boosters. She pins Widowmaker down with her mech, slamming the sniper hard against the walls of the opposite building. Hana is grateful that the sound of the mech slamming into the wall was louder than any sounds of bones breaking.

“This is no place for children ,” Widowmaker hisses out as her visor retracts back to reveal her glittering golden eyes.

Hana activates her voice broadcaster and asks loudly, sharply, “Who are you calling a child?”

She’s fought in a war. She’s fought in her fair share of battles. Hana Song, D.Va, whoever she is, she is not a child anymore. She’s said goodbye to her childhood long before it should have ended.

Widowmaker’s eyes narrow, and despite the pain that she must feel from being pinned by a mech , she laughs, “À la vie, à la mort. I don’t feel anything, child.”

Hana frowns, and Widowmaker laughs again, but this time, she coughs up a sickly black fluid. She smiles at Hana, prettily and delicately, and Hana almost choked at the sight of her. Gruesome and beautiful, with that unhealthy, sickly skin and dangerously bright eyes. Hana rears back slightly to punch her mech arm down. It connects solidly with Widowmaker’s head, and the sniper’s body falls limp. Hana shudders, the feeling of nausea threatening to overwhelm her. She pulls away from her controls and covers her eyes with her hands. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, she reminds herself. You can do this . She shuts her eyes tightly and in what seems like an eternity, she regains her balance.

In her mind’s eye, she stares back at herself, but instead of gold paint and a black and white bodysuit, it’s the bright bubblegum pink of her signature suit and face paint. D.Va. She actually looks impressed and looks Hana up and down. Rationally, Hana knows that she must be making all of this up in her head, but D.Va leans in close to whisper in her ear, “You’re doing much better than I expected.” She pulls back and examines Hana’s face again before commenting, “ You really can handle yourself without giving it up to me.”

“We can,” Hana corrects with a sharp exhale of breath. “We can.”

And maybe it would all be okay after the mission. To have a family, despite it being found instead of blood-bound, and to look forward to spending time with them after the mission and to fight for them instead of being all alone like before. To have a family instead of a broken squad, all too young and pressured to die.

Just then, her comm crackles in, and Hana opens her eyes and lowers her hands. “Hana!” Hanzo’s voice roughly cuts in. “Where are you? Are you okay? We need you!”

Hana blinks and jerks her hands back over to her controls. Widowmaker’s body falls limp on the cold and frosted ground, and Hana glances at her. The sniper’s body looks dead for all it matters, and her mech’s infrareds show that Widowmaker’s body temperature is far below that of a living human. So, she launches up into the air and over an arched roof as she hurriedly replies, “I’m here, I’m here! What’s wrong?”

She lands with a thud to see what’s wrong.

Flashes of green and white flicker in and out as Genji and Doomfist trade blows. Soldier 76 and Hanzo are trying to pepper in arrows and bullets, but in this close combat situation, Hana can see that Genji is taking some of the damage as well. And from this angle, it looks like Genji’s losing the upper hand.

“Genji’s comm isn’t linked with ours yet,” Soldier 76 says. His voice echoes slightly within her cockpit, but Hana can still hear the slight pants and wheezing breaths. Doomfist suddenly changes trajectory and lands another earth-shaking slam dangerously near Soldier. Thankfully, the old man managed to roll away just in time, but a brutal snarl carves its way across Hana’s face. Not him, she thinks angrily. D.Va gives her a slight nod, and Hana lunges into battle with the fire of her missiles and boosters roaring.

“To your right,” D.Va whispers into her ear — her own voice, her own mind, but this makes her feel safer, doesn’t it? — and Hana activated her left booster to nudge her over just enough to avoid a punch to the cockpit. Doomfist’s giant golden gauntlet gleams and crackles with sparks of flying energy, and despite the gold, he doesn’t look cold at all. Instead, Hana can see the thrill of adrenaline etched across his face in luminous, righteous nonchalance , and she bristles at that. What right did he have? To come and taunt her, to hurt her and her family?

“The world says that you are dead, little pilot,” Doomfist says as he slowly circles around her. Hana follows suit, and the heavy feet of her mech pound into the dirt with a steady, ground-shaking thud. The way his voice curls around the tone makes her skin crawl, and she snaps back, “The world says that you are a criminal, big fist man.”

Doomfist tosses back his head in a rich, baritone laugh, and out of the corner of her cams, Hana can see Soldier 76 pulling Genji away to a safer place, presumably to deploy a biotic field. She focuses right back on Doomfist and taunts, “Your sniper was useless, you know. A little venom mine and not much struggling afterwards. Is this the best that Talon can do?”

Doomfist’s eyebrows rise only a fraction of a centimeter up as he says, “Widowmaker missed? With that big of a target?” Hana barely has enough to react with her defense matrix as he launches several bullets, shards, something , from his gauntlet. Hana swings up and plummets right back down onto Doomfist, but he stuns with a slam of his fist that shakes the ground, almost like a seismic wave. Athena tries to read her out a string of statistics, but Hana shakes her head to try and clear her dizzying vision. Her left hand automatically presses down on her missiles, and she watches with spinning clarity how the missiles fire straight into Doomfist’s gauntlet. He raises it just in time to shield himself from most of the fire, but it’s enough to buy her time and room. As she rockets upward and away from the man, she sees an arrow strike the edge of a nearby wall and break into numerous arrows that scatter just enough to stab into Doomfist’s bare chest. He bellows with pain, but Hana doesn’t waste time looking.

Instead, she rockets over to Soldier 76 who’s trying to keep the biotic field up and running. Genji raises his head to look at Hana and weakly makes a small salute with his right hand. “Glad to see that you’re still alive,” he tries to say nonchalantly, but the small motion must have caused something to shift in his mess of wires. He flinches with pain and Hana wryly replies, “I think that I’m the one who is supposed to say that.”

Genji laughs hoarsely, but the sound gets cut off by Hanzo’s loud and piercing voice taunting from his high perch. “Is that all you can do?” he calls out. “My arrows find their mark faster and faster.”

“I’m not even close to done,” Doomfist snarls out before he uses his gauntlet to propel himself directly into the air. Hanzo leaps from his perch and somehow lands easily on the next building over, and he scales another wall to fire a series of arrows at Doomfist. Hana jerks her head back to Genji and tries to use her mech to shield the stray fragments and shards of the roofs, bullets, and arrows.

“The monastery,” Genji whispers urgently. He reaches up to take his mask off, and Hana almost recoils when she sees his deeply-scarred face. Scar tissue runs up and along his face, and the marks remain dark across his nose and cheeks. His eyes are more luminous than Hanzo’s — perhaps a side effect of his cybernetics — but Hana can see the family resemblance in the set of his jaw, the shape of his nose and brow, and the determined glint in his eyes.

“Talon cannot be allowed to breach the sanctum of the monastery,” he hisses out. “They have already taken out Mondatta. They cannot be allowed to take more.”

“They’re not here for another Mondatta, Genji,” Soldier 76 grunts. “They’re here for you .”

“For me?” Genji wonders out loud, brow knitting into a confused frown.

Hana nods and adds, “Talon’s been after you, monitoring you ever since you got here. For some reason, they’re hunting you. McCree. Old Blackwatch members, all of them.”

“No, that can’t be,” Genji breathes out. “Talon’s been targeting specific data sets, specific omnic cores, and that is why I came back to the monastery instead of staying at the Watchpoint for the full recall.”

Soldier 76 opens his mouth to speak, but Hana cuts him off by saying loudly, “This is good information sharing and all, but we need to get out of here. ” She jerks her thumb over to herself and says, “I know you can’t really move, but can you hold on?”

Genji’s eyes flick over to her mech, and his eyes latch on to the winged fins along the top of her mech. They never really served a particularly important part of her mech; maybe there was some aerodynamic reason for them, but Hana mostly liked them because of their similarity to bunny ears. But this meant that Genji could have at least something to hold on to.

“Only my legs and ribs are particularly damaged,” Genji says. “My arms should still be strong enough to hold on.”

“Good,” Soldier says. “I’ll try to latch on a biotic field so that you can continue healing while we move out of Nepal.”

“Move out?!” Genji says, face completely aghast. “We need to protect the sanctum! And I can get better healing inside the monastery. We need to move before Talon deploys the rest of their troops.”

“Hanzo can’t buy us more time than this,” Hana urgently says. “We need to leave now.”

“But we can’t!” Genji bursts out. He grimaces with pain and bites his lip when he moves his body too much, but he continues desperately, “You don’t understand. If Talon gets the omnic cores and the data sets that they want, they can mobilize all the data that was used to make omniums and the gene information that was used to engineer monkeys and gorillas like Winston. If they get their hands on that, we’re done. There isn’t even an Overwatch or a Blackwatch left to save the world.” His voice falters and he whispers, “Please. I can’t let this home be destroyed.”

Soldier 76 gets up with a groan and reaches for another biotic field. He plunks it down solidly and says grimly, “Blackwatch is never gone. You should know better than that, Genji.”

Genji’s eyes widen as Soldier 76 bends down to help haul Genji on top of Hana’s mech. Hana can no longer see them, but she twists one of her peripheral cams just enough to catch sight of Genji’s hands tightening on the fins. “That sounds like something Commander Reyes would say,” Genji tries to joke, but his voice and tone are too flat to make it entertaining. Soldier pulls back and looks at his handiwork: a biotic field, crudely deployed on a top of a mech with a cyborg clutching onto the mech as well.

“He did say that once,” Soldier says. “And he was right, like he always is. Blackwatch never died out. It’s always been there, just under a different name now. Or maybe, it’s better to say that it got back its original name instead of pretending to be something that it wasn’t.”

Hana squints at Soldier, utterly confused at what he’s trying to refer to, and a voice in the back of her mind says, “You’ve been sifting through data with him all this time. Can’t you connect the dots already?”

“They wanted the data from Horizon Lunar Colony, didn't they?” Hana whispers softly back, barely a breath drifting out of her mouth. “Because they need it for their plans.” Her world seems to slow down around, frozen in glistening motion, as her mind races to connect all the pieces that she never realized she had lying in her lap. Horizon Lunar Colony, superhuman strength, superhuman intelligence, data sets, omnic cores. Blackwatch and a history and a commander that lingered beyond death, beyond all belief. An organization designed to save the world that was shut down by the very politicians who wanted it in the first place. A hunt for old agents that stretched across the world.

You’re a smart girl. You’ve figured out this much. Careful how much you try to find out though,  Reaper's voice rasps through her head.

Hana gasps, short and breathy, as she struggles to find the connection in between all of this.

Without another moment of hesitation, she turns her mech around and starts flying towards the monastery, slowly and gently for the passenger up top. Genji and Soldier both exclaim something in surprise, and Hana thinks that she can hear the crackle from Hanzo’s comm. But in that moment, everything seems so close, so very close , to being ablaze with clarity.

She just needs more information to confirm it.

Chapter Text

Hanzo crouches along the edges of a railing, prosthetic nerves ready to leap and spark at just the right moment, and stares right back at Doomfist. Akande Ogundimu.

He remembers the days when Ogundimu was just a mercenary and he himself was just a young heir, the supposed scion of the family. He barely remembers it: Sojiro striding out of the meeting room, hair still perfectly coiffed and shoulders eased and straight. Behind him were agents of Talon and Sojiro’s own guards. Hanzo was not allowed in this talk, not yet, but he remembers the placid look on Sojiro’s face that meant that his father was truly angry about something. Later, the only thing that his father would say about it was that Talon’s goals did not match with the aims of the Shimada clan. That was that, no matter how many times his younger brother begged and pleaded to learn more. Genji was always inquisitive and he was always the favorite out of the two for their father, but even he couldn’t get anything more out of it.

Again, that was that.

But the dim memory flashes in his mind and dies on the howling mountain wind as he fires another arrow at Doomfist. “Is that the best you can do?” he challenges once more before he leaps up to scale the rooftops. In his ear, he can hear Soldier’s voice cry out, “Hana!”

Hanzo stops, straining to listen more, and it’s that precise moment where Doomfist lunges up with a wide grin on his face. His gauntlet crackles with energy, and Hanzo has to dive off the side of the building. His prosthetics hiss with the strain and sudden impact, but they absorb it, and he even rolls a little more to keep from breaking anything. Hanzo pants a little, out of breath, and wonders, what is going on with Hana?

Doomfist looks down at him and laughs, “Is that all? I expected more from the heir of the Shimada clan. I will extend my offer to you only one more time: join Talon.”

“I don’t think so,” Hanzo says rather pointedly. And then, he leaps up and starts scaling another building. He can hear Doomfist behind him, but he concentrates more on the crackling in his comm. “What’s going on?” he barks out. His hand twitches over to a pouch along the side of his belt. Next to a biotic field that Soldier tossed him, he finds a small chunk of wood, polished to smoothness. He runs his thumb over and feels the words and crude drawing carved into it: Sparrow . His heart lurches slightly, and Hanzo jerks his head up. Without another moment to lose, he dives away from his perch and starts sprinting towards the monastery.

For a blessed moment, he can’t hear the sound of Doomfist following after him. Then, he realizes that it’s too silent. There has to be something more to the situation than what he initially hears. He cocks his head to the side, but he can only hear Hana’s voice in his comm.

“We need to get to the inner sanctum,” she pleads, voice edged in a way that Hanzo hasn’t noticed before. “Besides, Genji can get better treatment inside.”

“Genji?” Hanzo asks, eyes widening. “What happened, is he hurt?”

“He’ll survive,” Soldier gruffly says over the comm. “Get back here, Hanzo, be careful with Doomfist. We need to stay together.”

Hanzo nods before he realizes that no one can see him. “Alright,” he says aloud before he starts sprinting again. He can see the domed top of Hana’s mech, but above that, he can see a distinct lump atop the mech. Is that… Genji?

He starts running even faster, and he silently prays for his brother’s safety. The dragon tattoo along his arm stings, and he can hear and feel his dragons press and nudge against him. They’re agitated, and he has to admit, he’s nervous, worried, agitated as well. Cool wind brushes past his face, and the pressure from his dragons speeds his steps.

Hana’s mech pauses, possibly for him, and Hanzo finally catches up. His breaths are short and he feels like his chest is going to burst. But when he glances up, Genji gives up a small, two-fingered salute and says, “Yo.” He’s haloed in the familiar yellow light of Soldier 76’s biotic field, but the glow is fading and the lights within his brother’s metal armor are growing brighter and brighter.

Hanzo stares at Genji, torn between amazement and shock, and he finally gets out in Japanese, “Is that the first thing that you’re going to say to me?”

Hana snorts inside her cockpit; she probably understood what she was saying. But Genji, oh , he laughs right back in the lilting Japanese that he missed, “What did you expect, brother? A speech? I gave you my speech in Hanamura.”

Hanzo stares at Genji again, looking over the smooth and burnished metal of his plates. Then, he breaks into laughter himself. He can’t get a coherent sentence out, and Genji starts laughing too. His brother’s voice is still almost exactly as how he remembered it. Just more tinny than before.

"I..." Hanzo trails off. He averts his gaze, unwilling to stare Genji straight in the eyes, and he murmurs quietly, "I do not deserve this. You should not call me your brother."

Genji snorts, "Back at it with the overwhelming guilt, brother?" His tone softens as he continues, "I have already told you; I forgive you. You do not have to beg for my forgiveness or your redemption. You have found me. The rest is up to you."

Hanzo raises his gaze slowly and looks at Genji as he quietly asks, "Why do you not hate me?"

Genji shrugs and says, "I used to be angry, furious, lost. Then, I found a better path, a better thought. I found myself. I found a family. There is much more to life than flesh and bone, and there is much more to life than simple revenge. There's a lot more to live for, Hanzo, and I want you to see it, to find it."

"Have you always been this contemplative?" Hanzo tries. Genji laughs and replies easily, "No, but I learned to be better about it."

Soldier 76 catches up to them, his steps short and tough on the brick path, and he calls out almost angrily, “Why did you kids just run ahead without even telling me?! What did we establish? Complete teamwork, safety first, and the first thing that you do is run off? Doomfist could kill every one of you with a single, well-aimed punch.” His voice cracks towards the end, and Hana maneuvers her mech out and apologetically says, “Sorry.”

“Sorry,” Genji echoes as he turns his head to face Soldier 76. “But the cores in the monastery are critical, and if Talon gets their hands on them, we’ll be in more danger than we could ever imagine.”

“And,” Hana interrupts. Hanzo glances over at her, and even through the cockpit, he can see the glint of glittering strategy shine in Hana’s eyes. Her face is set in that stubborn, independent glare that she gets when she’s figured out the strategy to winning or the key to a puzzle. “I’ve figured it out,” she declares, voice bold and loud. “At least, I think so. And in order to confirm, we need to get inside.”

“And what exactly is that?” Soldier counters, crossing his arms.

“ Not the time! ” Genji snaps out. He taps his metal fingers against Hana’s mech, and despite Hana’s noise of indignance at the clangs, he says, “We need to take the objective. Join us.”

Soldier lets out a long and heavy sigh before he reaches up to pinch his temples. His fingers slide across his visor, and he groans loudly before swiping away the smudges and hefting his rifle. “Then lead the way,” he gruffly says. “And be quick about it. I’ll watch your back.”

“And I will too,” Hanzo adds in. “My arrows are yours.”

“Do you even have any left?” Hana asks.

Hanzo bristles and retorts, “Of course I do. I am always prepared, and I do not shoot without reason.”

Hana snorts a little bit and murmurs, “And there’s the Hanzo I know and love. Come on, how did McCree say it? Let’s get this show on the road.”

Genji grips tighter onto the fins of Hana’s mech and agrees, “Yes, we must press our advantage and secure victory.”

Hana propels her mech forward, and as she thumps ahead, she slowly asks, “So… What’s the plan?”

“I thought you had the plan?” Hanzo replies back, baffled and a little indignant.

“Hey,” Hana points out. “I’m not the one who lived here.”

Both Hanzo and Soldier 76 look up at Genji who hoists himself up and repositions himself to sit cross-legged atop the mech. He groans a little with pain as he moves, but the biotic field still feeds the last of its dregs to him as he says, “Go straight, you’re going in the right direction. Head for the shrine, you won’t miss it, and then, we go into the sanctum.”

“Are we allowed to enter the sanctum?” Soldier asks. “Anything we should look out for? Anything to keep in mind? Give us the briefings, we need to be prepared.”

Hanzo hums under his breath — an old tune he can barely remember from his childhood — and he mentions, “We know the basic entrances and exits from the map that Athena was able to pull up. The shrine area is largely open air with a few rooms here and there. We should keep an eye out for additional agents coming through those kinds of entrances and corners.”

Genji nods, “Yes, that’s true. As for the sanctum, it’s generally very quiet and peaceful, many candles, not quite as much incense as you would expect. The omnic monks rotate around the monastery clockwise occasionally, and there’s a large… Hole, if you will, a chasm in the very center of the main sanctum.” He sucks in a deep breath, and his voice sounds even more hollow as he says quietly, “No one except the omnics themselves should know this, but at the very bottom of the chasm is where they do any repairs required or necessary.”

Hana’s voice sounds distinctly confused as she asks, “What’s the big deal about that? It’s just repairs, isn’t it?”

Genji shakes his head and says softly, warily, “It is where the core is located. The core of the entire monastery, where every monk has started their existence.”

Hana stops dead in her tracks and flatly says, “An omnium. Nepal’s been hiding an omnium.”

Genji slaps the palm of his hand down on the mech and says sharply, “No, it is not exactly that. It no longer works, it is completely destroyed, they cannot generate new omnics or repair it. The amount of materials and power required to restart it is more than the monastery could ever muster up. It has become a place to repair the current omnic monks, and the monastery has been built over it to bury it.”

Hanzo stares at his brother, and as they stand there, snow starts to fall slowly once more. And as they fall, the pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place in his mind’s eye as well. “But a corporation, an international organization, could do it, restart it and try again,” he breathes out. “And that is what Talon wants, don’t they? What organization would lose a chance to generate mindless soldier after mindless soldier? To have an omnium completely under your control is to have an endless army at your beck and call.”

Soldier 76 cuts in and says lowly, “And that’s what they want, don’t they? Genetic data from the lunar colony could allow them to make super soldiers out of people and hell, even animals, and the omnium means…” He inhales sharply before he states, “A second Omnic Crisis. Genetics to improve the organic side and a legion of omnics to fight against.”

Genji nods and gestures to the open area that they’re now at. “This is a monastery, built for peace and security,”  he says. “To have their monks turn on the humans, to build more soldiers, means that every centimeter of trust that they’ve earned over the years will crumble.” He reaches up to unseal his visor from his face, and Genji’s scarred skin comes into sight. However, his eyes are bright and determined as ever. Hanzo traces his gaze over each scar, over each metal part that still lies deep in his skin, and silently wonders how many are left by him. Too many, but not all, he thinks. The metal embedded in Genji’s jaw moves as he says, “Just like Null Sector, the uprising in King’s Row, but on a much, much larger scale.”

Hana’s been quiet this entire time, and Hanzo can’t imagine what she must feel right now. To spend so many years fighting an omnium, she’s now been asked to save an omnium itself. A dead one, true, but still. However, Hana hesitatingly says, “I didn’t think that the cores you were talking about were… Were from an omnium. But another Crisis? That’s what I guessed.”

Genji sighs, “I don’t want it to be.”

“And what about the monks? The omnics and people already here?” Hana asks.

Genji makes a pained grimace, and Hanzo can see the way the metal and silicone flex along his skin. Hanzo’s stomach turns as he wonders how long that must have taken to adjust. All thanks to him. I am not worthy of redemption , he thinks to him, bitter and deep. But his thoughts are interrupted when Genji says quietly, “We must kill any Talon agent before they enter in order to prevent them from being hurt.”

“Unlikely,” Hanzo finds himself saying. “This is the shrine, yes?” When Genji nods, he continues, “There is access all around this area from the air, and there are rooms and corridors to hide in.” He gestures over to the buildings on his left and says, “And this is only the beginning. You have not counted in the sanctum, and we know virtually nothing of it because Athena cannot access the inner map files. It is not on the visitor brochure either. You underestimate our ability, brother.”

Genji’s eyes narrow and he snaps, “I know that, but we must do our best. This… This is my home now. I must defend it.”

Hanzo and Genji lock their gazes, and Hanzo knows that at best, his brother is just as stubborn as him. At worst… However, the silence is thankfully broken by Soldier 76 who clears his throat and says, “Well, we still need to keep moving. Doomfist is still behind us, and we don’t know if Talon agents are already there. We need to secure the objective now .”

A harsh whine of an engine and the sharp scream of steel against steel splits through the air, and Soldier 76 makes a noise at the back of his throat before he mutters, “Well, they’re already there.”

“Hang on!” Hana calls out. “Taking off!”

Her mech starts vibrating, but just before she flies off, Soldier 76 yells, “Genji! Connect your comm with Athena’s main line!” Genji does his little two-fingered salute again as he clicks his faceplate back on, but in Hanzo’s ear, he can hear Genji say, “Understood.”

“Enemies taking the point!” Hana’s voice crackles through his comm. “Let’s clear them out.”

Hanzo frowns and surveys his surroundings. A path winds around a central building, and based off his mental image of the map, the center of the shrine area should be where a large gazebo-like structure lies. However, the path isn’t the only way to get there. Hanzo glances over at Soldier and says, “Go down the main path and help Hana and Genji. I will clear out any agents in the surrounding buildings first.” Soldier nods, and the two of them start running in opposite directions. Hanzo’s prosthetics hiss as they accommodate the speed, and his steps turn near-silent as he runs.

He finds an open entrance to the first building soon enough, but he swears under his breath when he sees Talon agents stalk towards a cowering woman and her son. He’d normally be inclined to shoot an arrow through the agents’ skulls, but he thinks that might not be the best course of action when bystanders are there. Instead, he pulls out Storm Bow and wields it like a club. He swings it with sheer force and it lands with a solid thud on the first thug’s head. Then, he whirls around and lashes out at the next one coming for him. The third and final agent raises their gun to shoot him, but Hanzo leans over to the left and grabs his arm to twist it. The gun drops with a thud as Hanzo digs his fingers into the pressure points on the agent’s arm, and before the agent could even scream, he throws his body weight harshly against them. Both of them go flying into a wall, and the agent falls unconscious after their head hits solidly against the wood. Hanzo brushes off some dust from his sleeves before he turns to check on the two bystanders. The child is shaking in his mother’s arms, and the mother looks wide-eyed at him. Hanzo raises his right hand and says, “I am not your enemy. Run to a safe place while you can. Don’t come back here until it is safe.” The woman nods wordlessly before she takes her son’s hand and sprints away.

Hanzo keeps running, and this time, when he exits the long corridor, he finds himself on the far left side of the gazebo. He can see the bright blasts of Hana’s missiles and the green flash of Genji’s lights, and if he squints, he can see the blue and white of Soldier 76’s jacket on the far right. However, he’s got his own problems on his hands with a group of omnic and human monks confronted with a group of Talon agents. He has no element of surprise here, not like the corridor, and so, he pulls an arrow out of his quiver and pictures multiple vectors and angles in his mind’s eye. “Simple geometry,” he whispers under his breath as he fires a scatter arrow at precisely the right angle to avoid the monks. The only shard of an arrow that goes even remotely near a monk is one shard that goes through the space between their arm and side, and Hanzo smiles smugly to himself. He was always good at trigonometry and vectors, and with the right application, he could always make it so much more.

He sidesteps one monk and draws the string of his bow back, taut and tight. The dragons on his arm whisper to him, and with their voices echoing in his head, blue starts to slowly spiral around the arrow. Hanzo’s eyes widen, but something in the back of his mind tells him to just let the arrow fly. Time seems to slow down around him as he sees the arrow fly with a faint blue tinge, but there still remains a ghostly arrow in his bow.

Shoot again , the voices in his mind advise.

Hanzo listens.

With a rapid-fire speed, Hanzo shoots continuously until the blue wears off and he’s left there, feeling slightly bereft of a greater power. The voices in his head sigh, Excellent. Now do it again. Defend your honor, and defend your family.

The dragons always kept a grudge about the incident ten years ago. He supposes that this is their way of extending their apologies and his way of redeeming himself and his actions. “Thank you,” he mutters under his breath, the familiar syllables of Japanese rolling off his tongue. Speaking English for so long made him feel like his words were stiffer, less fluid than the simple beauty of his own language. The dragons sigh once more in his head, and the world and the flow of time seem to shift back to normal.

The agents are dead on the floor, and the monks stare at him.

“Are there any more of you?” Hanzo tries. No one speaks, and he starts feeling awkward when the moment of silence extends too long. “Any other survivors that I should know about?”

One omnic speaks up with a softly modulated voice, “Some of our brethren remain in the inner sanctum to guard the visitors that we could get back in. There are visitors in the far right corridors as well. One of us went to go check on them.”

“Check on them?” Hanzo says, utterly baffled. “It is a battlefield out there, and none of you are equipped to fight.” He sighs heavily before saying, “I will go check on them and make sure that they can get out safely. Get yourself to a safer place than this. The agents on this side of the compound should be eliminated. Most are focused on the firefight in the center.”

The omnic nods but before they leave, they say cryptically, “The one we sent is not as defenseless as you may think we are.”

The monks file out toward the direction where Hanzo came from, and he supposes that they know the way better than he does. He exits the building and activates his comm. “I have evacuated some survivors,” he says brusquely. “What is the status?”

“Found some bodies,” Soldier’s voice crackles in. “Some dead, but not all. I left them with a biotic field and moved on because I heard that there was a worse pocket of agents up ahead. Seems like Talon’s continuously dropping them in from airships rather than any ground approaches.”

“We’re capturing the objective,” Hana pipes in as well. “Genji’s out flanking, and he better be quiet .” Her voice sounds rather sour as she says the last bit. Hanzo can’t help but chuckle when he hears the sheer frustration in her voice. Hana sighs and continues, “You’re definitely brothers. He says he’s some sort of genius ninja assassin, trained for years, blah blah blah, but he still managed to get caught because he had the great idea to talk into comms while in the middle of his sneaking.”

“It was not like that,” Genji sourly replies.

Hanzo can hear the veritable frown as Hana snaps back, “No, it was not . Can you believe that he got caught while trying to give me advice on how to use my mech? Athena, did you record that? Something like ‘a steady blade balances the soul’ or whatever. I don’t even have blades on my mech. Now stop talking before you get caught again. If you’re going to flank, flank silently so they can’t hear you before you kill them!” With another sigh, Hana reports, “But currently, no one is on the objective. I think the Talon agents are regrouping for another focused attack. What about the corridors?”

Hanzo has to hold back a laugh when he hears Hana’s tirade, and through the comm, he can hear his brother’s light chuckle as well. His thoughts suddenly sober as he realizes how much his brother has matured. He reaches into his pocket to trace the wood carving again. Ten years ago, his brother would have been like Hana, bright and brilliant and loud with the confidence of youth on the battlefield. Not that youth were meant to be on the battlefield in the first place, but the sentiment and idea was still there.

“Every agent that I’ve come across has been eliminated or incapacitated, and the survivors that I found are going to safe places of their own,” he says. “However, I am going to circle around and check for another survivor. One omnic says that another monk left to go help others, and I need to get to them before they can get themselves killed.”

“Such empathy, brother,” Genji drawls. “I did not expect you to prioritize the lives of bystanders over the objective.”

The words sting, but Hanzo supposes that he cannot begrudge his own brother for this. He opens his mouth to say something, but Hana beats him to it. “Whoever you knew back then,” Hana tightly replies. “He’s changed. Hanzo’s different now. Judge him after you get to know him again. Ten years is a long time for a person to stay the same.”

Hanzo stands there, mouth slightly agape, and he wonders, what have I done to deserve her good will? The comm stays silent for a moment before Genji replies in a chastised tone, “I’m sorry, Hana, I’m sorry, brother. I have already forgiven you, ani , but I am sorry for that. It… It seems I have much more to reflect on than I have in previous years.”

“You two need to talk it out,” Soldier says. “But after this. After this, I’m putting you two in the same room and making you two talk it out like good, respectable siblings.” He snorts a little bit and says lightly, “Maybe even a ‘get-along’ t-shirt if we must. I’m sure we have some XXL shirts in the storage rooms at the Watchpoint. I know that Gabrie— Commander Reyes used some in Blackwatch. We’ll just have to find them again.”

“Get-along shirts?” Hanzo asks quizzically, but Genji interrupts him with a loud groan as he says, “ No, anything but the Commander’s get-along shirts.”

Hanzo wants to ask more, but judging from his brother’s reaction, he’s not sure if he really wants to know. He quickly turns on his heel and sprints through the corridor ahead of him. His footsteps remain silent, but the burning of his nerves along his synthetic calves warns him that he can’t keep this up forever. He needs to let the pent-up energy from restraining the sound out at some point, but he can’t slow down. Not now. He knows that Genji must be in this area, trying to flank the enemy, but Hanzo tries to circle back around to the right side. He hears the click of shuriken finding their targets, and he veers off from the source of the sound. He thinks that he’s going the right way, but the minute he turns the corner, he catches sight of a black uniform. With gritted teeth, he pulls an arrow from his quiver and aims. Within a heartbeat, the agent falls to the floor, limp and dead. Hanzo exhales and takes the opportunity to unlock some valves in his prosthetics. Hot air hisses out, and the strain evens out. He flexes his feet and stretches his legs out for a few precious seconds before he realigns the nerve linings and cables. And to think that Genji must endure this every day for every part of his body , he realizes with a sudden bitterness. And to think that is all my fault. What a coward I was, a bumbling fool of a man. I do not deserve him. I do not deserve any of this kindness.

He presses on forward though and knows when he’s arrived at his destination when he hears the startled cry of a human. The voice is too high-pitched and full of terror to be a proper Talon agent, so he nocks another arrow to his bow and steadies himself. Then, he steps out and shoots at the first black target he sees. His arrow finds the mark, but Hanzo has to throw himself to the ground when he sees a volley of shimmering blue come straight at him. When he glances up, it looks like a flurry of orbs with glittering light shining around them. Then, when he looks straight forward, he sees an omnic monk floating protectively in front of a group of terrified people and omnics combined. He’s surrounded with Talon agents at this side, and it looks like they’ve caught sight of him as well. No chance of using his arrows properly here. Without losing any more time, Hanzo surges up and slams into one agent as he swings his bow around and catches another agent in the stomach. The energy of his dragons starts flickering around his bow and arms, and Hanzo takes that opportunity to lash out even harder and faster at his opponents. One manages to shoot his leg through, and the brief throb of pain makes his step falter. Hanzo looks up just in time to see a Talon soldier bear down on him, but the same volley of blue orbs collides with their skull and circles around Hanzo to return to their owner. Then, one orb drifts over to hover around him with a gentle yellow light that reminds Hanzo of Soldier 76’s biotic fields.

Hanzo doesn’t have the time to glance at the monk, but he mutters out a faint thank you as he fights hand-to-hand with the soldiers. He takes several bullets, and although they mostly ping off his armor or graze his skin, the yellow light keeps him hale and hearty. The last two soldiers try to retreat, but Hanzo pulls an arrow from his quiver and shoots at the wall to create dozens of shards that shred them. Hanzo lets out a heavy breath that he didn’t realize that he was holding in when the last body hits the floor, and he turns around to face the monk and his people. The small orb that danced around him now returns to its owner, and the monk inclines his head to him.

“I am Zenyatta,” the monk says. “And you must be Hanzo Shimada.”

Hanzo stares at the monk and asks, “And how are you so sure about that?”

The monk lets out a small peal of light laughter as he replies, “I have been told many stories about you, Hanzo Shimada, and one of them was about your immense skill with a bow and your dislike of guns.”

“I don’t like the kickback,” Hanzo mutters under his breath. He looks at the omnic’s face and figures that Genji was the one most likely to tell him. Still, he asks, “Who is this storyteller?”

The monk tilts his head and says simply, “One of my brightest students. He does not like the kickback of a gun as well.”

“My brother,” Hanzo says flatly. Zenyatta only nods. Hanzo sighs, “Of course. Aside from that, you and the other survivors should find a safer place.”

The orbs hovering and haloing Zenyatta’s metal body start circling around him as Zenyatta hums, “I have already instructed them on where to find safe places. I will, however, be accompanying you to the sanctum. That is where you are heading, yes?”

Hanzo blinks for a solid moment before he says, “Oh, no, we have it handled. You may leave. Now.”

Zenyatta laughs, hollow and soft, as he replies, “Oh, no, I don’t think so. I will accompany you into the sanctum. Do not worry, I am quite capable of following you.”

Hanzo distinctly gets the sense that he’s being teased a little bit, but he doesn’t waste more time on that thought as he drags his free hand over his face and lets out a heavy sigh. “That does not seem like a good idea,” he says. He holds up his hand to stop Zenyatta from saying another modulated word as he continues, “I will not wait for you.” With that, Hanzo turns on his heel and strides out the way he came. Sounds of gunfire still crackle over his comm occasionally, and he needs to get back to help them. He can’t hear the sound of footsteps behind him, but like a ghost, he knows that the monk is still there.

He reaches in his pocket and cradles the carving in his palm as a brief form of comfort. A reassurance that yes, things will shape out to be the way that fate intended like wood taking a truer form outside a simple block. Like his father once told him. What his brother and he once ignored. Hanzo could swear that he could hear the low whisper of his father on the wind that whistles through the air, and he clenches his fist as his resolve snaps to steel.

He will not let his brother down again, and he will not let his found family, a sister and a father figure, down again.

Chapter Text

They couldn’t be human. That’s what Hana swears under her breath as she jets back and forth between the tall pillars of the gazebo. The Talon soldiers couldn't be human. Some of the newer soldiers that poured into the gazebo were dressed differently than the usual black. Stripes of white and red marked their helmets instead, and they took a lot longer to kill. It wasn’t like they were completely invincible, but Hana found that she had to fire her missiles and rain down more bullets on them. Then, the shotguns came in.

Hana was in the middle of putting up her defense matrix so that Soldier 76 could fire freely at a couple of them when she felt the sudden force to her left and the immediate warning alarm pop up on her feeds. Her peripheral cam shows her another Talon soldier, but this time, he doesn’t look like the average trooper. Instead, this one looks like he’s carrying a larger gun. Probably the reason why I have a giant blast mark on the side of my mech now, she thinks bitterly. With a yank of her controls, she turns her mech around to slam one of her mech arms down on their helmet. Then, she pins the enforcer against a pillar for good measure. Even after all that, the Talon soldier still looks alive.

Hana grits her teeth and prepares to activate her missiles, but three shurikens neatly embed themselves in the thin line of skin between the enforcer’s helmet and collar. The enforcer falls dead to the floor, and Hana hears Genji’s voice in her comm say, “We need to move forward. I think we’ve declared this objective as ours. They’re sending in less troops.”

“Yeah, but the soldiers they’re sending in are stronger,” Hana replies.

Soldier 76’s voice crackles in as he says, “Hana’s right. They’re not the usual kind of soldier, not normal.”

Genji’s voice sounds somber as he replies, “They are like the ones that we saw in Rialto, but they’re stronger now than I remember them being. Much, much stronger.”
“Rialto?” Soldier questions. “The Blackwatch mission?”

“Yes,” Genji says as he sheathes his sword. “They show similar patterns. The way that they move isn’t entirely human, just like then, but this time, they are stronger.”

“Buildings are cleared,” Hanzo abruptly says into the comm. His tone is distinctly annoyed, and Hana wonders what happened in there to make him so irritated. “We should move on to the sanctum.”

“Agreed,” Genji says. “But what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hanzo grumps. In the distance, Hana can see Hanzo coming towards them, but behind him, she saw something… Floating?

“Master!” Genji’s voice cries out, surprised and light. “Are you alright?”

Hanzo and the floating figure reach the gazebo, and Hana squints at the person, or rather, omnic behind Hanzo. It looks relatively benevolent and is dressed like a monk. So much like Mondatta , Hana realizes. The resemblance is almost too striking, but instead of a polished white faceplate, this monk simply has a metal one with scratches running down it.

The monk waves at them and cheerily says, “Hello, I am Zenyatta. It is a pleasure to meet you all.” Hana blinks at the monk before hesitantly waving back, both with her actual hand and her mech hand.

Hanzo looks disgruntled by the entire affair and grumbles, “He’s going to take us to the sanctum. No ifs, ands, or buts apparently.”

Zenyatta looks absolutely delighted by the statement and hums, “Yes, I will guide you to the innermost sanctum. I can also keep an eye out on key areas where enemies could enter, and I can offer some help as well.” The monk tosses over a thrumming yellow orb that trills a little bit as it hovers around Hana. With shock, Hana watches as her mech integrity bar rises up, bit by bit, as the little orb seems to repair her mech. “A orb of harmony can do much,” he says. “As I understand it, you have no source of healing except for a few biotic fields. I do not think that is the safest course of action to go forward with, especially if you have my student going with you.”

“I do not always need healing, master,” Genji mumbles under his breath.

Zenyatta only laughs in a smooth, modulated tone before he comments, “But the times that you do far outnumber the times that you do not.”

So, that’s how they enter the sanctum. At first, everything seems perfectly fine. The sanctum is dead silent. Light trickles in and highlights the vaulted ceilings that seem to soar overhead. Hana can hear the wind singing as it echoes through the chamber, and everyone stops in the reverent moment. Dark red banners swing across the ceiling, and there seems to be a skylight at the very top of the ceiling that shines golden sunlight down on the stone floors and turns it to veritable gilt. However, there is also a deep chasm that separates some halls from the main central floor. When Hana squints at the sides of the chasm, she can see a dim blue glow emanating from the bottom of the pits. Her mouth twists into a displeased frown; she’s spent her entire life in a war against a raging omnic in the sea. Defending an omnium, however defunct it may be, seems strange to her. She shakes her head. The motivations and reasons for defending this one were exactly the same as the one as her war though. Both were for the better good, and both were to protect.

A harsh scream splits through the air, and Hana flinches from the sheer sharpness of it. In her ear, she can hear Genji groan, “It has been ten years since Rialto, and Talon still has not adjusted their screaming level on their assassins. In fact, it feels like it has gotten even louder which I did not know was possible.” He lets out a long and heavy sigh before he advises, “Stay out of the way, and when they start attacking you, they will hit you with enough force to knock you flat to the ground. When that happens, try to punch the assassin to paralyze it for a moment. There is something about their joints that make them freeze up.” He pauses before he adds ruefully, “I hope Talon has not changed their design flaws since the last time I saw them.”

“Design flaws?” Hana echoes. “Aren’t they, well, aren’t they humans? You’re talking about them like they’re omnics.”

She hears Genji murmur quietly, so quietly that she can barely hear, but she hears him say, “Whatever they are, Miss Song, they are not human anymore.”

A chill runs down Hana’s spine despite the heating system in her mech, but the scream resounds. Once more, the tides of battle start to wash over Hana. For a moment, it’s overwhelming, and she can feel the pressure of D.Va threatening to spill over her features and encircle her in a comforting disassociation. However, she stares at D.Va in her mind’s eye, and she whispers to herself, “I don’t need a mask. I can do this. I’ve been able to do this along.”

“I guess you’re right,” the mental image of D.Va says as she gives Hana a little salute. “You’re more than what you think you are.” Hana wryly smiles, and with that, the battle truly begins.

In the peripheral views of her cams, Hana spots the darting movement of the Talon assassin across the walls. Then, more Talon agents pour in. Some have machine guns the size of her mech arm. Although they take longer to load, Hana soon discovers that a single blast from them deteriorates her mech health. She thanks Zenyatta many times over through the comm as she flies through the air. The battle blurs into a mess, but there are a few details that Hana remembers with startling detail.

One is the time she slams into a sniper just like she did with Widowmaker in the village. But instead of the solid thud of a body, Hana hears the hollow clang of metal and pulls away to see that the sniper’s body is cracked. It leaks a black fluid instead of the red that Hana’s used to seeing. Somehow, that unsettles her even more. Another detail is when one of the assassins lunges towards her in all of their shrieking glory only to have Soldier lunge in front of her and take the brunt of the hit. The assassin pins Soldier down to slash down the wicked-sharp blades down on his chest. Hana does what Genji told her to do; she punches the assassin with her mech arm. Indeed, the assassin freezes, but now, there’s a gaping, crushed hole of sheet metal and wiring in the assassin’s chest instead of ribs. Hana almost retches when she sees a still-beating heart nestled between the circuitry and metal.

They all work together in unison just like they did at the shrine and the village. In fact, having Zenyatta there smooths things over because he’s there to offer support via healing. Also, his orbs deal more damage than Hana expects. She swears that she can hear the air whistling with the pure and deadly velocity that he sends them flying with. Also, she really didn’t expect a monk out of all people to be this good at eliminating targets. Zenyatta also sends the coordinates of a few spare health packs that the monastery keeps which Hana uses judiciously. Her mech health bar still wavers between green and yellow though.

Hana’s busy eliminating a few groups of troopers by the balconies when she hears a loud crash resound through the entire sanctum. Genji swears in rough, harsh Japanese into the comm before he hisses out, “Heavy tank incoming! Watch out, it charges into you and locks fire onto you the minute you start shooting it.”

“How do we defeat it?” Hanzo snaps back.

“You don’t!” Genji retorts. “You hit it as hard as you can and hope that it doesn’t kill you while you are doing it!”

Hana kills the last trooper before she flies over the chasm. Sure enough, there’s a huge and hulking tank that’s plated in rigid steel and armed with the largest gatling gun that Hana has ever seen. She sees Hanzo wrapped in silvery-blue mist as he fires arrows unerringly at the tank’s head with an abnormally fast pace, but even that isn’t enough to deter it. It roars as it charges forward, leaving behind skid marks on the worn stone floor of the sanctum. Hanzo barely makes it out of the way in time, and Zenyatta floats closer to toss a harmony orb at him.

Genji slashes at the mech, trying to divert its attention, but the tank stomps onward, intent on snuffing the light out of Hanzo. A rain of bullets scatters down on Hanzo, and she can see the steam hissing from his ankles as his prosthetics try to compensate. A frown furrows Hana’s brow, and she activates her missiles as she yells, “Why don’t you try to take me on, you oversized lump of metal!”

Soldier’s rocket detonates into the tank’s side, and Hana takes the opportunity to pepper its hull with bullets. Zenyatta unleashes a volley of orbs that leave dents in the tank’s side, and Hanzo grimly hits headshot after headshot with his gleaming arrows. The scent of ozone rises in the air as the air prickles around Hanzo and Genji. Hana swears that she remembers the scent as clearly as a summer day. She doesn’t have time to look, but Athena shows her the camera feeds on her displays to the side. Faint outlines of serpentine forms wind around Hanzo and Genji as they fight. Hana blinks at them before she remembers the winding and spiralling dragons at Lijiang Tower: the ones who looked like they were carved from stormfire and lightning.

It seems like they’re winning at first. It’s a dangerous dance that they all do; a single step out of place means that the heavy tank hits them before someone can distract it. It’s a dance that they can’t keep up for long though. Troopers still pour through the openings of the sanctum, and the heavy tank never tires of his charging and firing. Even in the pauses when the tank reloads, Hana still has to worry about the scope of a sniper’s rifle, the blades of an assassin, and the machine guns of the troopers and enforcers. Also, the bodies begin to pile up until every step of her mech crunches metal carcasses and fallen weapons.

Hana barely makes it in time to deflect a series of shotgun blasts from Hanzo. Still, the shot grazes his arm, and Hana can see the small spattering of red across his sleeve. He grunts with pain but shakes his head at Hana when she strains forward to get a better look. “Focus on the task at hand,” he chides as he picks up a fallen arrow and notches it. His expression turns taut and twisted as he pulls the string back, but that same light envelopes his arm and turns his arrow into numerous silver ghosts of arrows that fire impossibly fast through the air. Hana can’t spend much more time here, but she waits until she sees the soft yellow glow of Zenyatta’s harmony orb hovering around Hanzo.

Time doesn’t seem to pass by; it seems to inch by with excruciating sluggishness.

“We can make it through,” Hanzo grits out. “We have not gone this far only to fail.”

“It is getting ready for another round,” Zenyatta says quietly into the comm.

Hana swears under her breath as Genji replies grimly, “I am prepared.”

“We can’t keep this up forever,” Soldier warns.

Genji sighs, and his voice sounds even more hollow than usual as he says, “We have no other choice but to do so.”

Hana stares at the heavy tank helplessly. There’s a brief lull in the firefight as the heavy tank charges up its gatling gun. On the other side of the sanctum, she can see Hanzo, Genji, and Zenyatta. To her left, Soldier 76 deploys a biotic field, and she’s grateful for the wash of cool air that her mech pipes in. She didn’t notice how hot it was getting within the cockpit; her cooling systems are starting to fail with repeated strain. Her gaze unfocuses as she stares blankly at the walls of the chasm. They glow a dull blue, and she honestly can’t believe that the monastery was hiding a defunct omnium this entire time without anyone realizing it. Who knew what was down there? Hana also realizes in that split-second that there is nothing else that they can do. They have no way of paralyzing it, and she can’t keep up the strain of shooting down every bullet for every vital second that they need it for. The only possible way that she can see this working out is if the heavy tank was physically smashed into smithereens. And that wasn’t possible, right?

Unless she rockets into the tank and forces it down into the chasm herself.

Soldier 76 glances at her through the cockpit, and something about the way his expression twists is… Off. “Hana,” he says quietly under the loud thrum of the heavy tank. “Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?” Hana quickly replies. It’s harder to hear him since he’s not using his comm, and likewise, Hana replies to Soldier’s direct line.

The heavy tank rears up, and Hana starts up their little dance again. Dodge, dive, repeat. Block fire, shoot down bullets, feel the strain on her fingers and eyes. However, in panting breaths, Soldier continues, “You have that look on your face that says you’re going to do something .”

“I do not,” Hana breathes out heavily as she yanks the mech controls to the side.

“You have the same look as you did when you jumped across the bridge.”

“What bridge?”

“Lijiang.”

“Oh,” Hana limply says as the tank falls into its trancelike hum.

“Are you sure you want to do it?” Soldier presses on with urgency. Hana doesn’t know why he’s doing this, why he’s so desperate, why he keeps this on private communication lines instead of the main one. And how could he tell?

Hana supposes that the only option is obvious; she is the only one with enough power and strength with her mech to push the heavy tank anywhere. She takes a deep breath and tries to rationalize her decision to herself. Her mech has better rocket boosters than the heavy tank does, so when she slams it over the edge and into the chasm, she’ll be able to survive the fall better than it. There’s still that slim chance of failure, and if she’s forced to demech in the middle of the fall, she’ll crash to the bottom and die . A terrifying prospect, but in that moment, Hana feels like her odds of survival are greater.

Once more, the heavy tank cuts through the distance between them and the others. She can see Zenyatta trying to toss his orb of harmony over to them, but the tank is just too big to accurately get it through to them. It might get healed instead of her own mech, and they really don't need that. As they wait for the next round, Hana asks, “Are you going to stop me?”

“No.”

No? Hana turns to look at Soldier, and he looks back at her with his scarlet-lit gaze. “You’re an adult, a soldier, who can make her own decisions. I’m not your commander or your real father, but as a friend and someone who’ll be there for you no matter what, I’m here to tell you to trust your heart and your gut.” Hana can’t see the rest of his face, but she imagines that a wry smile is on his lips as he says, “It works better than you think.”

Somehow, Hana finds that Soldier’s simple admission gives her more comfort than she expects. With a deep breath, she whispers in the main comm line, “Taking off.” She presses her thumb down on her rocket boosters, and they fire up with their familiar roar. The world around her blurs as she hurtles towards the tank and falls into the dim-blue void.

She can hear Genji’s surprised yelp, and she can also hear Hanzo’s pained cry splitting through her earpiece. However, she has a fight to focus on. Hana grits her teeth as she pushes forward to smash the heavy tank against the wall. The harsh screech of metal against metal grinds against her ears, and then with a sudden pop, some of her displays go dark as she loses her connection with Athena. Her comms also fall silent as she and the tank plunge deeper into darkness. Hanzo’s voice abruptly cuts off, and only the sound of her beating heart echoes in her ears. Now, the only light that she can see is the dull blue slow of circuitry embedded into the stone walls and the bright flares of missiles and bullets that fire between her and the tank. Her eyes flick back and forth as she activates her defense matrix and her missiles at the same time, but still, her mech health drops lower and lower.

The heavy tank tries to use its rockets to charge up and back onto solid ground, but Hana snarls, "You're not going anywhere." Her own boosters fire even faster, and with a click of a button, she sacrifices the rest of her compromised cooling systems to divert more energy towards the boosters. Sweat beads on her forehead as the temperature within the cockpit rachets up, but the boost turns out to be enough. Now, they're too far down to make it back up. There goes her backup plan of simply flying back onto the stone floor of the sanctum. 

But finally, oh , finally, the heavy tank stops thrumming and its gatling gun stops firing. For a brief and blessed moment, Hana exhales with relief. Her breath soon tears out of her lungs into a sharp scream though when the heavy mech explodes right in front of her cockpit. Her eyes roll over and she thinks that she can see stars spinning around her from the pure force of the blast. Her cams and displays start blaring loud alarms: the first sign of mech failure. Then, everything else fades into darkness, and Hana continues to plunge downward into the chasm.

Chapter Text

A pained cry tears its way out of Hanzo’s throat before he can fully comprehend what he just said or did. He lunges forward, his artificial nerves straining past their limit, only to collapse by the edge of the chasm with his hand outstretched towards Hana. The sound of bullets and rockets roar and echo within the deep pit until Hanzo cannot hear or see any trace of them. His hand clenches into a fist, and he is inconsolable. He would have wallowed in his utter guilt and shock, but the sound of footsteps against stone forces him to look up.

“Rethinking your life decisions?” Doomfist asks as he folds his arms, smug and superior. His voice rings in the vaulted chambers of the sanctum, and behind him are two figures. One is of an impossibly-dressed woman with neon purple circuitry lining her skull, and the other is Reaper, familiar and aggravating with his white mask. “You have run out of options,” Doomfist continues in that rolling, accented voice of his.

Fury sparks in Hanzo’s chest, and he slowly straightens up from the stone floor to face Doomfist. He sees his brother tense up with his shoulders locked and legs crouched and ready for action. “Doomfist,” Genji says. “You desecrate a sacred place.”

“As if you haven’t participated in the fight yourself?” Doomfist scoffs. “I know who you are, Shimada, I know your kind. We know the thrill that battle gives us. Do not even try to lie.”

“I am not the same man I was once before,” Genji replies evenly. “And even then, we were different.”

Doomfist laughs, full and rosy-toned in the cold emptiness of the sanctum, before he eyes Genji and Hanzo with his baleful gaze. “We could offer you so much more than an aging hole in the mountain, more than a dead and broken organization. We have everything that you could ever want, and we could make you great. ” He points at Hanzo and says, “Your ancestors would be ashamed to see you cowering and crying at the very bottom of the hierarchy rather than being with your fellow brethren at the top. Is this what the heir of the Shimada clan is reduced to? No, we can make you greater .”

Hanzo reaches back for an arrow, but he finds that his quiver is empty. He slowly lowers his hand, and his rage rears up in full force. Genji looks at him, and he knows what he must think. Genji was always the impetuous one, the one to fire up easily from a few taunts, but also the one to throw back taunts in return. The little spitfire of the Shimada clan, the sparrow, the one with laughing eyes and blade-sharp smiles. No, Hanzo was never the one to rise to fury from a few barbed words. But Hanzo is also the one who cannot forgive intolerable acts.

His limbs are tired and aching, but his anger puts a fresh force of energy into his steps as he lunges towards Doomfist. Hanzo swings his bow down on Doomfist so quickly that the man can’t roll out of the way, and he bares his teeth into a devilish smile as he hears the solid thwack of Storm Bow against Doomfist’s jugular.

He almost gets punched in the face for his efforts though, and Doomfist is not one to take hits quietly. Akande bears down on him with a crackling fist. However, Genji darts in beside him to slash his sword. “Just like old times, brother?” he quips breathlessly before he dances away with a light laugh. Even though his voice is more hollow and his body is changed, Hanzo sees Genji as he used to be: warm, bright, and utterly mischievous. But this time, his boyish charm is tempered with something else, something calmer. Hanzo sees that Genji has become someone his father would have been proud of during his absence, and Hanzo quietly laments for a moment that he was not able to see it. Perhaps his absence was necessary to make that happen though; he does not think that Genji would have healed well after his death with Hanzo’s presence. In that moment, he sees Genji as he would have been: eyes dancing and awake, obnoxiously green locks of hair tufting in the wake of his movements, and the ever-present happiness lying in the edges of his smile and the lines of his face.

Hanzo and his brother may have been opposites in many regards, but in combat, their differences always matched up perfectly to cover the other’s weaknesses. Hanzo could feel the pattern of their former rhythm lining up in the other fights against the Talon troops, but against a more skilled opponent like Doomfist, it truly came out in full force. Hanzo glances over to Genji and flashes a quick hand signal. They’ve had their own system of combat signals, but he’s not sure if Genji remembers. Hell, he’s surprised that he remembers after so long.

Suddenly, Hanzo hears a too-sharp rush of air and a sharp laugh behind him. “ He vuelto. Miss me?” a voice crows. A flicker of purple light appears before him, and a woman dressed in bright neon purple waves her fingers at him before she swivels to face Doomfist. “Oh, no, don’t give me a look like that ,” she tuts. “I’m not going to hack your pretty little opponents. Why would I? That would just take out all the fun. I’m just here to tell you that phase 3 of the operation continues as planned.”

“Sombra!” Doomfist growls. Sombra only laughs and pats Hanzo’s shoulder before she leaves in a wash of purple light.

“Reaper!” Soldier 76 calls out loud and clear. Hanzo whirls around and sees the telltale wisps of shadow along the sides of the sanctum. He sees Soldier 76 heft his pulse rifle, and his eyes meet with Soldier’s scarlet gaze. “I got this,” Soldier grimly says into the comm. “Focus on Doomfist.” With that, the old man takes off running.

Hanzo turns back to see a satisfied smirk curl across Doomfist’s face. “We have all of our agents here,” Doomfist says with the most infuriating smile. “You are trapped and have nowhere to go. Your little friend that fell into the chasm? She has no chance of survival. You will die and break . Best to give up now, hmm?”

“No,” Hanzo returns. He doesn’t bother saying more and opts to swing his bow down on Doomfist again.

Doomfist cackles, clearly pleased with the entire situation, and retaliates with his usual sizzling punches. Hanzo and Genji trade blows with Doomfist, darting and ducking in and out with a sinuous pattern that emerges from their older days. Genji dances on the edge of the sanctum platform before he leaps over to the other side with a flash of green trailing from his body. Light emanates from within his tempered metal body, and Hanzo recognizes the electric thrum of Genji’s dragon like an undercurrent of energy throughout the entire atmosphere. His own dragons answer the call, and it attunes Hanzo even more to the rhythm of the fight. Hanzo scrambles up a wall himself to avoid a punch and allows himself to fall right on top of Doomfist. His bow connects with Doomfist’s skull, and he uses the momentum to roll off Doomfist’s body and run.

His prosthetic feet click across the stone floor without any silencers. Instead, Hanzo diverts all the energy towards speed , and Doomfist follows. Genji tries to slash and throw a few shurikens to distract Doomfist, but the man has a singular focus on Hanzo. As for Hanzo, he skids to a stop when he reaches the balcony. The sound of the wind is high-pitched as it spirals into the balcony, and another cruel smile curls its way across Doomfist’s mouth.

“This is where you end,” he says. “You have nowhere else to run.”

Hanzo’s feet stumble over the edge of the balcony which has no railing at all. He grits his teeth and retorts, “You will die with me at least.”

Doomfist replies back easily, “That is an illusion, a false hope. I do not fail .” He pulls back his arm, charging up his gauntlet as he does so. “Any last words?” Doomfist carelessly inquires.
Hanzo remains silent as he stands there on the precipice.

Doomfist laughs as he launches himself forward with his gauntlet. However, his eyes widen when his gauntlet does not make a single connection with Hanzo’s body. The lack of anything to punch prevents him from using it to propel himself back, and he can’t do anything about the momentum that carries himself forward and into the cloud-misted depths of the mountains of Nepal.

Genji rushes over to extend an inhumanly-strong hand to Hanzo who clings to the edge of the balcony. His prosthetic feet are braced against the stone, and Genji helps haul him up. In retrospect, slipping off the edge and brutally clinging on wasn't the best idea, but it fooled Doomfist enough to plunge off the edge himself. Hanzo clambers back up, shivering from the cold. “Is he dead?” he pants out. Genji glances at the mist and Hanzo follows his gaze. He scans the mist, but all he can see are distant mountaintops and the fog. He doesn’t know if the man is dead or not, but frankly, he doubts it.

Hanzo feels the sudden and warm presence of Zenyatta’s harmony orb, and he glances over his brother’s shoulder to see the monk floating there quietly. Hanzo inclines his head towards Zenyatta. Genji tackles him into a hug, just like he used to when he was a boy, and he laughs breathlessly, “I can’t believe you just did that.” Hanzo doesn’t want to believe it, but he can hear the faint thread of fear and terror and utter relief that floats through Genji’s words and the strength of his grip. He knows it because it’s such a familiar thing to him now.

“I did not think he would fall for it,” Hanzo replies.

Soldier 76 sprints in, and the despondent fall of his shoulders shows enough; he must have lost Reaper. “They’re gone,” Soldier says which confirms Hanzo’s suspicions. “Reaper and Sombra are gone from the perimeter. No Talon reinforcements yet, but we need to find them and get Hana before we get the hell out of here. Sombra especially will be powerful and dangerous if she gets access to the omnium which she will.”
“What about Hana?” Hanzo can’t help but ask. “Have you reached her?”

Soldier bows his head and says, “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“You already know it. We can’t reach her on the comms anymore. Athena has lost connection with her mech.”

Hanzo shakes his head and insists, “This can’t be true.”

“It is,” Soldier replies.

Hanzo ignores everything as he rages, “How could you let her do that?”

Soldier takes off his mask, and his milk-blue eyes look somber as he enunciates slowly, “We are not her keepers. She was free to make her own decisions, and in that moment, she believed she was making the right one.”

“Don’t you care about her?” Hanzo retorts in a razor-sharp tone. He knows, he’s not being fair to Soldier 76, but in that absence of threat from Doomfist, the former anger and anguish flourishes.

“It’s because I care about her that I let her do it,” Soldier says in a harder tone now. “She is free to make her own thoughts and decisions, and I won’t stop or prevent her from doing what she believes is the right thing. I’m not going to control her.”

“But—”

“She’s not helpless, Hanzo,” Soldier says with a wan face. “She knows how to fight. She’s not going to give up so easily.” Despite his words, Soldier looks lost as his voice falls to a whisper. “Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is to let go.”

Hanzo grits his teeth and jerks his gaze over to Zenyatta. “Is there any other way down to the omnium?” he asks, an edge of uncharacteristic desperation edging into his voice.

Zenyatta tilts his head and thinks for a moment as the orbs surrounding him start to slowly spin in a circle around him. “The elevator down is currently out of service,” the monk replies. “No one has used it since it was used to transport the remainders of Mondatta down. Since then, there has been no need to repair it. The only other way down is down the chasm, and that would not be a recommended course of action.”

But it’s Hanzo’s only one.

“I’ll scale down it then,” he says decisively. “I have specialized prosthetics. I have practice. I will make it.”

“Hanzo!” Genji cries out. He takes his brother by the shoulders and turns him to stare at him, green light into brown eyes. “You can’t make it,” he says. “All of us are too tired to make it down, and there are still Talon threats left in the building. Stay on the surface. We can try to repair the elevator when this is all done.”

Hanzo shakes his head. Oh, how the tables have turned. Normally, it would be Genji pressing for the emotionally-charged decision, the action that would save a life rather than save an empire. “That takes too much time,” Hanzo says firmly. “I will make it down.”

Without another word, he pushes his way out of his brother’s grip and past Soldier 76 back to the edge of the chasm. When he looks down, he thinks it could look like a void save for the soft-blue circuits built into the sides of the omnium further down.

“Are you sure?” Genji asks in their native tongue. The syllables curl along the edges with concern, but Hanzo shakes it off. Then, he pauses. He should not be the one to shrug off his brother, not now, not ever. He turns back and asks quietly, “Is there any other way?”

“She could be dead,” he points out.

“But what if she isn’t?” Hanzo returns. “She would do the same for me, for Soldier 76, for any of us if she set her mind to it. And her mech might have survived. She has rocket boosters.”

Genji sighs and clicks off his visor. Hanzo can’t help but recoil when he sees the scars that he inflicted all across Genji’s face. The largest scar bisects his brother’s face entirely. Hanzo still dreams about the heft of the sword and the sound of the blade slashing across open skin at night. Genji’s eyes track his movement; he already noticed the slight shudder rolling across Hanzo. He takes a step forward, and Hanzo can see the unnatural light behind Genji’s pupils. “Green? Really?” he blurts out.

Genji stares at him for a moment before his mouth splits into a grin. “They were customizable,” he says. “It was always my favorite color. And it looks better on me than red. Black is just a little boring.” A blink of his eyes changes the color back to the dark brown that Hanzo remembers, but then, another blink returns it back to green.

A few laughs bubble up out of Hanzo’s chest, and his heart aches when he realizes that he missed his brother so much more than he believed. The banter, the sly grins and nods, the mischievous glint in his brother’s eyes. Well, the glint was still there, but it was green now.

Genji’s expression sobers and he quietly says, “If Hana’s alive down there, if her mech hasn’t already broken, she would have made her way back to the top. Like you said, she had rocket boosters.” He looks so sympathetic, and the pity makes Hanzo choke. Genji observes him quietly — again, such a different contrast to the old Genji — before he says, “You’ve changed, brother.”

“As have you,” Hanzo replies tiredly.

“For the better, I think,” Genji sighs before he steps over to Hanzo and stares down into the void as well. “Well,” he quips. “It’ll certainly be a long climb down.” Hanzo gapes at Genji’s words, and Genji flashes him a wink. “You were always so stubborn, I doubt I could change your mind. If you need to go, then go. Follow what your heart tells you is right.”

Hanzo’s lips twitch up into a ghost of a smile, and then, he reaches into his pocket. The wood is warm to the touch after being in his pocket for so long, and he pulls it out. Genji widens his eyes when he sees the old carving. “For you,” Hanzo says as he holds it out to Genji.

It’s nothing special, only a block of wood. However, their father carved a small sparrow in the very center and painted words on it with a brush with care. By this time, it’s so old that the ink began to wear off and the edges of the knife lines are soft and round instead of the rough and sharp edges that they once were. Still, it is a memento of their father. They do not have many left, and this one is a precious one that Hanzo pocketed before he departed Hanamura for the first time.

“A steady blade balances the soul,” Genji reads off. His voice hitches in the middle, but Hanzo pretends not to notice. It’s what their father used to tell them all the time, during practice, after classes, before missions, without fail.

“For you, sparrow,” Hanzo says. Genji looks up at the nickname; he hasn’t heard that for over ten years now. The last time he was ever called that, it was at his father’s deathbed. Genji thumbs over the sparrow’s wings and looks lost in thought. Hanzo clears his throat and says roughly, “I thought that you should have it. Especially now.”

Genji continues to stare at the carving as he asks, “When did you get it?”

Hanzo doesn’t want to admit, so too many moments of silence pass between them before he finally answers, “When I left Hanamura ten years ago.”

Genji sucks in a deep breath when he hears that. His eyes shift back to dark brown, and he stares at Hanzo for the longest time. Hanzo doesn’t want to meet his gaze, so he glances over at Zenyatta and Soldier 76 who have been waiting quietly along the sidelines. In English, Hanzo requests, “May I have your harmony orb on me while I climb down?"

Zenyatta nods and tosses it over as he says, “Walk in harmony. Or, I might say, climb in harmony.”

Hanzo bows and murmurs, “Thank you.” He turns back to his brother and says in Japanese, “I am sorry. For everything.”

Genji tilts his head and wryly says, “I have already forgiven you. I was afraid that you would be too stuck in the past to look up, but I think that all that you’ve done in the past year has done much to change you. For the better.”

“I hate to admit it,” Hanzo grudgingly says. “But you were right in Hanamura. Honor lies in one’s actions, and I have spent the last ten years wallowing in guilt and regret.”

“So rare to have you admit that I’m the one who’s right,” Genji crows. The lines of his face settle down into a more placid expression as he asks, “So, have you forgiven yourself for that one?”

“No,” Hanzo replies frankly. “I do not think I will ever forgive myself for what I have done. But I will try to improve myself and honor those who believe in me. I will earn your forgiveness.”

Genji smiles sadly and says, “You do not have to earn it. You already have it, but you won’t believe me if I told you that, right?”

With that, Hanzo sucks in a deep breath before he hoists himself down and starts the slow and arduous process of climbing down the vertical cliff. His prosthetic feet dig into the stone to take advantage of friction, and at first, progress seems to be good. He makes it quite a bit down, but his stamina is flagging and he can’t exert the effort anymore. His prosthetics are taut with too much unreleased steam and tension, and his artificial nerves feel like they’re being wound too tight. The circuitry along the walls grow brighter and brighter as he goes down further. Now, he can hear a dull hum emanating from the walls themselves.

His hands slip on the stone, and he scrabbles to make up for it. However, the damage is done, and he’s woefully unbalanced. With a yell, he falls from the wall and hurtles down into the chasm. He can hear the distant yells of Genji and Soldier 76, but the wind whistling past his ears and the roaring beat of his heart are louder.

This is how I am going to die , he distantly thinks.

But in the lonely fall, he hears another deeper voice whisper, “ You will not die this way.”

Hanzo blinks and with a sudden rush of power, his dragons burst their way into reality with blue stormfire sizzling from their skin. They cocoon him in a cool embrace and slowly spiral down into the chasm. Their blue hues match the blue glow of the walls, and with a rather irritated tone, one dragon huffs out, “ You put yourself into unnecessary danger .”
“It was necessary,” Hanzo retorts.

“It was not a very intelligent and well-reasoned decision to make ,” the other dragon replies.

The first dragon laughs, “ But then again, you have not been making well-reasoned decisions as of late. No matter, we are here for you.”

“I hope you realize that we are always here to confer for advice ,” the second dragon chides. “You wallow in your own guilt and shame too long to see the light in front of you.”

“He is getting better,” t he first one points out. “And he has reunited us with our brother, the green dragon. Better, better, I like that.”

Hanzo’s feet gently touch the ground as the dragons begin to dissipate around him. His legs ache, and finally, he can reach down to release some of the pent-up tension in his legs. It feels like a wave of cool water washed over his artificial nerves as his legs finally relax, and the dragons quietly say in unison, “Do not hesitate to rely on us and your allies, Hanzo Shimada. We will be there to catch you when you fall.”

Hanzo wryly smiles at that and turns on his heel to start finding Hana, but his breath lodges in his throat as he sees Hana in the far distance surrounded by Reaper, Sombra, and the smoking wreck of her mech. The familiar rage curls up and wraps around his heart, and his dragons pause to lend him their stormfire. Lightning crackles along his arm, and he breathes in the pure scent of rain and storms that fills the dead omnium before he moves.

Chapter Text

Hana wakes up and feels nothing but cool, soft air. At first, she can’t muster up the energy to open her eyes, but she can hear a low thrum that’s strangely soothing to her frazzled nerves. Finally, after what seems like eternity, she opens her eyes with difficulty. The first thing she sees is soft blue light surrounding her like some sort of halo. When Hana glances over to her right and then her left, she finds that she’s floating in the middle of some sort of light projection. It’s not quite hard light, but she’s not falling through it either.

“Welcome to the Shambali Monastery,” a low, modulated voice says. “Formerly an omnium, but we mean no harm to you or your kind.” The sound seems to emanate around her, and Hana abruptly tries to get up. Bad decision. The world seems to spin around her, and instinctively, she reaches out for something to grab. All she feels is air.

“Where… Where am I?” Hana struggles to say. “Where’s my mech?”

The light slowly begins to levitate her down to the strangely warm ground, and Hana weakly scrabbles to get up. As she crawls away from the light, the ground begins to progressively get colder. She glances back at the light, and it shifts to form an image of Mondatta. The image waves at her as she gapes.

Mondatta was supposed to be dead. Killed by an assassin in the middle of a diplomatic conference. Hana pauses her train of thought as she realizes that she’s supposed to be dead too and supposed to be killed by an assassin in a different diplomatic conference. The sudden parallel makes her voice choke up on her throat, and she doesn’t say anything more. The only difference is that she’s still living and breathing while that is just a ghost, a trace, a hologram of what was. At least, that’s what her mind races to tell her.

Hana realizes that she’s at the bottom of the chasm and in the center of a dead omnium. Hana shudders as she tries to picture this omnium at the very bottom of the seas that border her country. There is only one functional omnic left in the sea, but its cores, its mind, are all stored in the wreckage of what used to be the East Asian omnic production coalition. Hana wonders if the omnic’s thoughts race along the inlaid circuits in that omnium like this one appears. If so, that could explain so much of how a single omnic was able to adapt so quickly and retaliate with such strength. An entire omnium at a single, corrupted omnic’s disposal was a terrifying thought indeed. The potential reality of the thought hits her with so much force that she has to reach her hand out and grasp the edge of the hologram projector to steady herself.

The omnium is huge and cavernous, and the walls are inlaid with circuits and wires and god knows what else. The walls glow and hum a dim blue, and the light is barely enough for Hana to see clearly. She squints in the darkness away from the hologram. Huge, hulking machines cast their long shadows on the floor, and rusted conveyor belts line up against them and through them. A few parts lie here and there on counters with old tools beside them. One counter has an omnic faceplate on it that’s tilted just so like it’s staring right at Hana. Every now and then, there are a few platforms and consoles that look like the one she was next to. Hana tears her gaze away from the sight and looks at the hologram.

“I am Mondatta,” the projection says kindly. “Or at least, whatever remains of him. I did not mean to startle you so. Your mech is over there, but I am afraid it is beyond use. You fell into the chasm and destroyed a heavy tank on the way down, but your mech took heavy casualties.” He points a gleaming finger over to his right, and Hana tracks the motion over to see a smoking heap of metal on the floor. A pained gasp escapes her mouth as she sees the half-melted, charred plates of metal. Each carbon-fiber plate that Brigitte carefully soldered on and painted is now bent, cracked, and broken. Hana still has her recall button in her pocket, but the sight still makes her sick and saddened.

Hana slides her gaze back over to the hologram ghost who seems to regard her with an unabashed curiosity. His faceplate made of glowing light doesn’t reveal much, but the way he floats and tilts his head makes it seem so. Besides, she’s had some experience with discerning emotion with a lack of view thanks to Soldier 76, Genji, and for a few moments, Zenyatta. “How long was I out?” she asks, a sudden desperation rising up her throat like bile. She doesn’t know how long she’s been here, and she doesn’t know if any more reinforcements arrived in the sanctum.

Mondatta’s ghost tilts its head and replies, “Only a minute, I would say. Nothing serious. Any longer and you would have serious health issues. I am grateful that we — the omnium and the rest of our shells — were able to catch your mech and remove you from the cockpit in time.”

“So,” she asks after a long lapse of silence. “Are you really Mondatta?”

“Only the memory of him,” Mondatta replies. The projection flickers at the edge before it stabilizes and continues, “I still have the same personality core and memories of Mondatta stored in the remains of the memory card. That, at least, was saved from the wreckage. My core has, since then, been extracted and placed in our systems here at the monastery.”

“Why didn’t you reboot yourself if you still had your memory card then?” Hana asks with genuine disbelief. “You would’ve just had a new body.”

“I could have, but then, that would defeat the whole purpose,” Mondatta cryptically says.

“The purpose of what?” Hana asks once more. She just doesn’t understand; if you had a way of coming back to life, why wouldn’t you take it?

“Death and its concept,” Mondatta replies. The hologram of him flickers and fades for a moment before surging back up to life. “We omnics are people too, and losses cannot be completely reversed. That goes against the way of the world. I accept my fate. Even if the monks here were to rebuild my body exactly as it was, there would still be a component missing, a component new, that would not make me as I was before. No, this current state of being is the best for me and for the world. Although I rue the fact that I was unable to do more in the world for others, I trust in others to carry on the gift of loving and caring. I trust that the world will heal itself and that both humans and omnics can grow closer together as the wound heals.” Mondatta chuckles before he says, “Besides, the embrace of the Iris is warm and welcoming. I enjoy the state of transcendence and tranquility that I currently feel.”

The projection flickers again, and Mondatta looks away from Hana at something in the distance, something that she can’t even see in the dim lighting. His profile looks almost… Sad, if such a description could be applied to a hologram. He turns back to Hana and quietly says, “Besides, the world needed to stand on its own, learn how to walk with both omnics and humans in unison. If they rebooted me into a new body, I would have functioned much like a bicycle’s training wheels. One must learn how to stand up after receiving the support of others, although needing support  is nothing to be ashamed of. It is how you grow stronger as a person and as a whole. A single wall will fall without the support of others, and by that point, I was not the only support for omnic rights. I only regret a few things, and in the long run, they are not as important as the whole.”

Hana stares at the hologram for what seems to be a long time. Mondatta’s words seems to slot intoa few of the empty places in the large puzzle that her mind tries to solve. Some parts of it confuse her, but she can still feel the sentiment behind his words. Support. She thinks back to her solitary days, how she felt so isolated despite the entire world watching her, and she thinks that Mondatta isn’t so wrong. But then, that thought comes with a realization. “What about my friends? The people who I came into the sanctum with?” Hana asks, desperation edging her voice once more. “Are they safe? Are they okay?”

“From what our peripherals can tell,” Mondatta answers. “They are fighting additional backups.” His modulated voice somehow turns sharper as he says, “Not the half-human, half-omnic aberrations from before. Talon has brought their elite agents in now. One wields a large gauntlet of gold. Another has cybernetics embedded in her skin, and the last one is made of mist and smoke. Your companions are still alive and fighting though.”

“Oh no,” Hana breathes out with horror. She’s so shocked that she doesn’t even notice the few tendrils of mist that curl along the walls and block out some of the blue circuitry.

“You survived,” a voice rasps out from the shadows. Its tone is wry and almost surprised, but the grate of the tone is all too familiar to Hana.

Her eyes widen, and she edges closer to her mech as her hand strays to her pistol still strapped to her belt. Her hand wraps around the handle with familiar ease, and her other hand snaps it easily off the loop. “Come out, Reaper,” she calls out. “I know you’re there.”

“What, are you going to try and kill me with that tiny gun?” Reaper tosses back carelessly in the dark. Hana’s eyes narrow. Thanks to training for Soldier 76 and Hanzo, her formerly decent aim sharpened into deadly accuracy. Her little pistol couldn’t deal as much damage as Soldier’s pulse rifle, but it was more than enough to kill someone.

“You could come out and see,” Hana calls back. “I’d be happy to try and kill you if you’d like. I don’t need a mech to win.”

“I didn’t come to die,” Reaper sighs as he steps out of the shadows. Almost immediately, Hana whirls on her heel and fires where Reaper’s neck should be. She aims for the heart a few times and exhausts the rest of her ammo on other vital areas.

“Are you done yet?” he testily says as Hana’s ammo dwindles. “I came to talk, not to murder you. I could do that so much faster than this.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” Hana tosses back.

“You don’t have any other option other than to talk with me right now. Also, I have every single answer to every question you must have, and you’re a curious girl,” Reaper points out. “And besides, you have very little threats against you. You’ve eliminated Widowmaker from this fight, and Doomfist is busy with the idiots up there. We’ve exhausted most of our updated special agents on you, and it’ll take time to fly out more assassins and snipers and troopers and tanks just for you, chica. ” He shrugs and says, “The only person who could realistically reach us now is a… A friend named Sombra. But she won’t.”

“And why is that?” Hana asks as she slams a new ammo cartridge into her pistol with the palm of her hand.

Reaper chuckles, “Oh, she’s probably listening in somehow, but she won’t interrupt us. We have an understanding.”

“You make it sound like it’s all some wild conspiracy,” Hana grumbles.

Reaper lifts his mask off to reveal his mangled face, and the shreds of his lips quirk up into a dry smile before he says, “You’d be correct.”

Hana grimaces, “Will you please not do that? I don’t want to look at your face when it’s like that. And what do you mean I’m right?”

Reaper clicks his mask back on with a flat laugh. “It’s all a conspiracy, a mess of lies and corrupt politicians and greedy people who want more than their filthy hands deserve,” he says in his rasping voice. “Overwatch was never meant to be for the greater good. No, the politicians who created it made it for their own gains and footholds of power across the globe.” He pauses and his next words are distinctly colored with a sadness beyond the rasp and ache of his voice. “But Jack — no, Commander Morrison made it better. That fool had more morals and ideals and pure good than I’ve ever seen in any other.”

Curiosity alone makes Hana lower her gun. She doesn’t clip it back on to the loop on her bodysuit though. She’s too smart to put her weapon entirely away. Instead, she arches an eyebrow and asks, “Then what does that make Reinhardt?”

Reaper laughs, “Oh, Reinhardt. Alright, my Jackie was more pragmatic than that, but you get my point. Obedient, loyal, and good . We went around making sure that people were safe after the Omnic Crisis.”

Hana raises her hand to stop Reaper and asks, “Alright, I have questions.”
Reaper spreads his hands out and replies, “I have answers.”

Hana narrows her eyes at Reaper and clears her throat before she asks quietly, dangerously, “What have you done to Overwatch?”

“What have I done?” Reaper incredulously echoes.

Hana cuts him off before he can say another word to snarl, “ Don’t think I haven’t noticed. The assassins? They blink around like Tracer does. The heavy tank charges like Reinhardt does. The troopers roll and reload their guns just like McCree does. Sure, Tracer and Reinhardt are famous, but there’s no way you could recreate Tracer’s teleportation without insider information. McCree wasn’t even a main poster agent, so you can’t use fame as excuse. What have you done to Overwatch? ” Hana takes a step forward and glares at him with all the anger and spite she can drag up. She’s a combat leader, she knows what everyone in her squad is capable of. That part of her has not disappeared purely from leaving MEKA and joining Overwatch; habits do not leave overnight. She still has her eyes open, always watching, always taking stock of the situation. She has to. She’s a soldier. And she is a soldier who knows what her squad is capable of.

Reaper drags a hand down his mask as he laughs, “Of course combat detail is the first thing that you latch on to.  Commander of your squad unit, the face of MEKA, champion strategist of so many esports tournaments, yes? We’re the same breed of person, you and I. I was the commander of Blackwatch, and before that, I was the commander of my unit during the Omnic Crisis and during the Soldier Enhancement Program.”

“I am nothing like you,” Hana grits out.

Reaper cocks his head as he replies, “You are in more ways than you think. Soldiers are like that, you know. War leaves the same scars on everyone. But you wanted answers, and I have them.”

Reaper begins to pace as he asks, “You ever hear about the mess at Rialto? The first time Blackwatch ever made it onto the news. The world thought it was Overwatch at the time, but no, it was my divisision, my team, that made it on. We were supposed to capture Antonio Bartalotti, a bastard who killed dozens of my agents while trying to kill Gerard Lacroix.”

“Rialto?” Hana echoes. Her mind flashes back to when she last heard it, when her last history class was, and the information drifts hazily in her mind. Slowly, she replies, “Genji mentioned it while we were fighting the Talon troops.” Hana remembers the scrape of Genji’s voice, the utter exhaustion and memory in his tone. She didn’t bother to ask more though. There were more pressing issues at the time. Now, she wishes that she did.

“Yes, Genji, Jesse, and Moira O’Deorain were all there with me on the ground during the mission,” Reaper says. Hana can swears she can hear the veritable grind of his voice when he says the last name, but Reaper continues, “Antonio already knew that we were coming. No one in that building should have known we were there, but they had an army prepared for us. There was only a select group of people that knew about the mission in the first place, and the only one with wavering loyalty was Moira .”

Hana stares at Reaper and tries to connect the dots. Moira O’Deorain. Moira O’Deorain. Moira O’Deorain was a name that she remembers, a name that ignites some flash of recognition in the back corners of her memory. She struggles to remember, sifting through events and times, and with a sizzling shock, she remembers . She remembers a quiet conversation in the high, shadowed chamber of Lijiang Tower with the mirrored helmets of astronaut suits along the walls reflecting her as she talked with a cowboy. McCree had mentioned it in passing, but she doesn’t remember anything more than that. It was, after all, a year since that conversation happened. “Who is she?” Hana asks warily. She wants to know more before she makes her assumptions.

“A Blackwatch doctor,” Rasper spits out with surprising malevolence. She was someone that I employed that I shouldn’t have. She’s a genius, studies genetics, and has about as much morals as ice. She was involved with many things, too many in retrospect, but by that point, there wasn’t much that I could do. You’re not the only one who noticed the enhancements. I suspect that it was all Moira’s work.” Reaper splays his hands out in front of him as he explains, “I took the blame for the Rialto mission, but I noticed the details. The only possible way that could have happened was if Moira informed Talon about our mission details and took Overwatch abilities and secrets to enhance Talon soldiers. Those soldiers, they’re no longer human. Talon’s done so much genetic and technological experimentation on them to the point where they’ve lost their sense of humanity.”

“So, is that the conspiracy you mentioned?” Hana inquires. Her hand tightens on her pistol as she thinks about this lawless, evil doctor. If she is the one responsible for this mess, then Hana knows where her missiles are going to be targeted next.

Reaper grimly shakes his head. “That’s not the only thing as well. I didn’t know how many, but Talon and the higher-ups from the U.N. seeded Blackwatch with double agents. Moira was the only obvious one I could find. After the blast at Switzerland, I’ve been hunting down each and every Blackwatch agent that was corrupt. I thought Genji might have been one since his father had records of dealing with Talon. Nothing ever happened from them since I heard Talon got denied, but Genji was angry and vengeful in the days after that… Accident. He never coped well with his new body while he was under my command. I thought he was one of them , so I hunted him down. I tried to put it off and get the ones that I knew for sure though.” Reaper sucks in a deep, rattling breath as he admits, “I’m glad that he’s not. I knew he was a good kid, and it’s comforting to know that for sure now.”

He takes off his mask once more and eyes Hana. She wrinkles her nose at the ragged, shredded remains of Gabriel Reyes’s face, and he smiles a lopsided grin that gapes at the corners. “Moira wasn’t the only corrupt one in Blackwatch. There were more in both Blackwatch and Overwatch,” he says. Now that his mask is off, his voice sounds even rougher at the edge, and it honestly isn’t anything pretty to watch. “Politicians, people in high places, a few agents both at desk jobs and in the field… Talon had its roots everywhere. We were just too blind to see it at the time,” he sighs. Mist pours out of the gaps in Reaper’s face and solidifies his face just enough to reveal an ashy imitation of Commander Gabriel Reyes. With a bitter and nostalgic smile, he asks, “Now, one last thing. Can you… Can you tell Jackie to meet me where the corn always blooms?”

“What?” Hana blankly says.

He shakes his head and says, “Just… If not for me, do it for Jack Morrison. Please.”

“Alright,” she answers doubtfully.

He smiles again, and with the mist comprising the holes and gaps in his face, he now looks like a tired ghost. A pang of pity twinges in Hana’s heart, and she reminds herself, Talon is the enemy here. But honestly, when she considers everything, she realizes how achingly lonely Gabriel Reyes must have been.

“At Eichenwald,” Hana slowly says. “Dr. Ziegler’s staff fixed you for a bit.”

Reaper nods, “It did… I forgot what it felt to really be alive again.”

“We could help you,” Hana blurts out. “Dr. Ziegler and Winston could help you like they helped Tracer and Genji. They could keep you together and heal you.” She pauses before she quietly admits, “You’re not as bad as I thought you were. We could help. You’re not alone.”

A single wall will fall without the support of others, she remembers.

Reaper smiles. It’s lopsided, and it starts to fall apart as the mist overtakes Gabriel Reyes again. He drifts over to pat Hana’s shoulder, but she can barely feel it. “Gracias, chica, but I have work to do in Talon. I need to figure out more of what they’re doing and track down the rest of the corrupt agents in governments and corporations,” he says gently. “They wanted Horizon Lunar Colony’s data and the omnium cores here to create an entire army full of enhanced soldiers. That’s all you need to know that. You helped stop that, but they’ll switch their tactics soon enough.”

“So? We’ll stop them again and again,” Hana insists. “As many times as we need to. And we could do it with your help.”

Reaper laughs, deep and rasping, and says, “Oh, but I already have. I’ll stay where I am to keep an eye on everything else. I doubt the rest of Overwatch, whatever it may be now, wants to see me either. You’re a smart girl. You can figure out my hints if I leave them for you. And Jack isn’t a fool either. He knows half the story. Tell him the rest when you get back.”

Hana taps her foot against the floor as she snaps, “Get back? What do you mean, get back? There’s no way out of here for me. I can’t just dissolve and mist away like a spray bottle or something like you, and my mech’s broken. There’s no other way out.”

Reaper jerks his hand over to the other far side of the omnium and replies, “There’s a broken elevator over there.”

“Oh, great,” Hana says dryly. “A broken elevator. Very helpful.”

Reaper smiles once more and clicks his mask back on as he tosses a small object from his pocket onto the floor. “I have a friend that could help with that,” he says cryptically.

“¿Qué tal?” a voice says as the small object flickers and casts a spiral of purple light. A woman dressed in neon purple lands neatly on the ground and gives Reaper a lazy salute. Her gaze lands on Hana, and her expression lights up as she croons, “Oh, who do we have here? Hana Song? The world’s most famous streamer and pro gamer! Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Hana frowns, but that only makes the woman laugh even harder. Reaper clears his throat and says, “That’s Sombra. Probably the world’s best hacker. If anyone can fix the elevator, it’s her.”

Sombra looks around her at the omnium and whistles a long, low note. “Look at all of these toys to play around with,” she says. “So much data, so much information. I’m not really interested in building more omnics though. Not the kind that I want. And only a “probably”? Gabe , you know I’m the best.”

“I still don’t know where you got that nickname from, and I don’t like it,” Reaper grumbles.

“Aw, Gabe,” Sombra says lightly. “You already know exactly who I got that from. Picked it up from an old friend in Dorado.”

Dorado? Hana distantly remembers Soldier 76 mentioning some “help from a few associates” in Dorado. She wonders if this is the help from Dorado. Hana makes a face at that, and Sombra swoops in to boop her on the nose. “Don’t give me that look,” she chides. “We’ll get you out of here in no time.”

“Get away from her!” a voice calls out harshly. The words cut through the air and are barbed with as much venom as the speaker can muster up. All three of them turn around and see Hanzo, ragged and scuffed, standing in the dull blue light of the omnium’s walls. The ghosts of dragons are starting to fade around him, but they bare their jaws at the three of them. The scent of ozone starts to burn heavy and hot in the air. Hana widens her eyes as Hanzo lifts his bow from his back and materializes arrows from the same blue lightning in his hand.

Chapter Text

“Uh,” Hana awkwardly starts off. “They’re not trying to kill me, Hanzo. Promise.”

The shadows cast over Hanzo’s face and make him look otherworldly with the stormfire and dragon ghosts swirling around him. For a moment, Hana think that his eyes are also consumed with the same stormfire, but when he edges forward, she sees the familiar brown circling his pupils. His dragons solidify slightly and bare their fangs at Sombra and Reaper. By this point, Hana thinks that it’s time to interfere. She quietly prays that the same thing happens at Lijiang Tower too.

She steps forward.

The air crackles around her, and for a moment, she feels like lightning is racing across her veins and through her bloodstream. Hana sways slightly on her feet before she regains her balance and continues trudging forward. The dragons sway in the air before slowly winding around her and curling up around her. “Hey there,” Hana whispers in Korean instinctively. “Please don’t kill me.” Hanzo lowers his bow ever so slowly, and Hana looks up at him. “So, do these dragons come and visit often?” she tries to say in a casual tone and back in English. It falls flat though, and she’s left staring at his shocked face. “Hey now,” she tries again. “I’m not dead, yeah? That’s good?”

The tension in Hanzo’s shoulders leaves with a rush, and he sways on his feet too. In her ear, Hana hears the low roll of thunder, but Hana fancies that it sounds almost like giant cats purring. “ You are welcome ,” a voice suddenly rumbles. Hana almost falls over from surprise, but one dragon winds around her and keeps her steady. She looks over to Hanzo for guidance, but he looks just as lost.

“They normally kill anyone that they touch that is not direct family,” Hanzo weakly says. “You should be dead. You should have been dead at Lijiang Tower when they touched you as well.”

Hana blinks and shrugs. “Maybe I’m just that popular,” she says as she tries to wriggle out of the dragons’ grasp. They reluctantly let her go, and she makes her way over to Hanzo.

In all honesty, they both look worse for wear, but in that moment, Hana’s just so grateful that they’re both alive. She pulls him in for a hug, and he wraps his arms around her as well. They don’t say a word, but the dragons curl around them with care. Hana pulls away, and she quietly says, “We made it. We’re alive.”

“Alright, alright,” Reaper’s voice cuts through the silence. “I’m glad the two of you are alive too, but we don’t have much time.”

“Oh, come on , Gabe, let them have their moment,” Sombra interrupts.

He shrugs — a rather dramatized and extra gesture — just before he fades completely into mist. Just before he leaves, Hana can hear his rattling voice say, “Thanks for the talk, kid.” Then, the mist fades out and the tendrils start climbing the walls towards the top again.

Hanzo’s storm dragons let out one last booming crash of purring thunder before they nuzzle up to Hana and Hanzo. Hanzo mutters something under his breath that Hana can’t quite make out, and the dragons depart, leaving only the scent of petrichor in their wake.

Sombra claps her hands together and decisively says, “Alright, let’s get this elevator fixed.” She tosses a small device over to the elevator across the room just before she translocates in a zip of purple light. “A showoff,” Hanzo grumbles. That only earns him a loud snicker from Sombra as she gets to work on the elevator. Somehow, she manages to identify some sort of control panel next to the sliding doors and lights it up purple with her work.

Hana leaves Sombra to do whatever she’s doing and drifts over to the wreck of her mech instead. It stopped smoking, but the carbon-fiber plates and main structural skeleton of the mech are broken beyond repair. She brushes her fingertips over the surface, and in front of her, the hologram of Mondatta flicker blue and bright.

“Nothing is ever truly lost,” he comments as she squats beside her mech.

Hana looks up with a rather despondent expression on her face and says, “Weren’t you the one to say that you were going to leave because of loss and death and ends and whatever?”

Mondatta chuckles and gestures to the mech as he says, “It is always possible to mend broken bonds and build things to be greater than what they originally were. Your original mech will be gone, but your mech has changed since you first received it. So have you. That is the cycle of change and loss that I talked briefly about.”

Hana stares at the mech and reflects over her experience. It’s been a year since Tokyo, but since that day, she’s changed so much. The world seems different now, and she shuts her eyes as she tries to envision the past year in her mind. The German landscape speeding by as she sits on a train seat, the way the flowers sway in the gardens just before Lijiang tower, and the constantly lit skyline of Tokyo… All of these memories flash by in her mind, and she remembers the choked feeling in her chest, the tears down her cheeks and her confession on her tongue, and the bright, light feeling of happiness and pure freedom dancing along her ribs and hands. It’s been a long year, but she knows in her heart that Mondatta is right. She has changed, and she’s better than before. Improved. Repaired. Built anew.

When she opens her eyes and glances up, she sees Hanzo in front of her. He’s got that classic worried look that he wears so often as he says, “Your mech… It’s broken.”

“Yeah, it is,” Hana replies dryly.

He blinks and asks, “How… How did you survive?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and he sounds broken along the edges. Hana examines his expression to see that Hanzo looks more raw and emotional than she’s ever seen him before. He reaches into his pocket — something that Hana notices that he’s done more on this trip than ever before — and almost immediately pulls his hand out again.

Hana gives him a wan smile and answers, “Mondatta did.”

Hanzo’s gaze slides over from Hana to Mondatta, but before he can say a word, the hologram tsays, “No, I am not Mondatta. I am now part of the monastery, the omnium, whatever you wish to call us. But I assure you, we do not intend to hurt or harm you.”

“Yeah,” Hana says. “Apparently, they caught my mech as I was falling and got me out just in time.” She pauses to look at the hologram and then her mech before she says honestly, “I don’t really want to know how actually.”

Hanzo frowns at that — Hana can’t believe how deep the furrow in his brow is getting — but he concedes, “Very well. I am…” He trails off and quietly confesses, “I’m glad that you survived.”

“Finished!” Sombra calls out. Hanzo extends a hand to help Hana up, and she accepts it. She gets hauled up to her feet just in time to see Sombra flash a bright grin at them across their section of the omnium.

“You know,” Sombra says as she wags her index finger at them. “You’ve got a good friend. He was trying to climb down the omnium walls by himself. Silly idea, but good intention.” She cackles a little bit as she finishes, “But good intentions don’t stop you from being an idiot apparently. You could’ve died without your — you know — giant noodles.” She gestures up and down as she tries to make some sort of impression of Hanzo’s dragons. Sombra lets out another cackling laugh as the elevator dings, and she winks at them before she disappears. Off to translocate somewhere else, Hana assumes.

Hana turns to Hanzo and gives him a good glare. “Climbing down the walls?” she chides. “That’s a dumb idea, even for you. Do you know how deep this pit is? I fell down it and couldn’t boost myself back up with my rockets.”

Hanzo grumbles, “I didn’t know it would be that long. And I was distraught. Because of you. You are more of a concern than Genji was when he was young.” He pauses for a full second before he amends, “No, actually, Genji was worse at getting in trouble than you are. At least you don’t have the tendency to butt-dial me while getting a lap dance from a stripper.” Hanzo physically shudders as he says, “It was during a work conference too.”

Hana doesn’t even have anything to respond to that.

Instead, she shrugs and steps towards the elevator. Hanzo sighs and follows after her without another word. As they walk towards the elevator, the walls start to light up as each interlaid circuit glows blue. The hologram of Mondatta is waving when Hana looks back, and she gives it a small smile. Her mech’s still there, but she knows that she can always recall and build a stronger one from the pieces. It still feels off and strange to leave it behind, but she doesn’t need a mech. She’s strong enough to support herself, and she knows she has friends to support her.

The elevator isn’t anything special: just a standard, regular elevator. There’s no elevator music, but the omnium lets out an almost musical thrum that surrounds them with soft sound in the same timbre of Mondatta's modulated voice. Hana and Hanzo exchange looks as they ascend upward with a surprising speed. The elevator lets out a soft ding when they reach the top, and the two step out to see the sanctum again. Genji, Soldier 76, and Zenyatta are all gathered near the end, but when the elevator dings and open its doors, all three jolt and glance around. Hana can’t help but let out a delighted giggle when she sees them relatively safe and sound. They’re haloed in golden light from a biotic field that Soldier has beside him, and there aren’t any enemies to be seen. Well, enemies that are alive, at least. The bodies of the Talon soldiers that they’ve killed litter the sanctum, and it makes Hana’s stomach turn. Still, the joy of seeing them alive is more than the disgust and pain that tries to claw up Hana’s throat. She squashes that down and tells herself, You are stronger than this and you have friends to support you through this, alright? Let’s finish this out right.

They stumble out of the elevator, and Hana can’t help but let out a breathy, delighted laugh. She’s alive , and the rest of them are all alive too. It feels exactly like that light-headed adrenaline rush at the end of every MEKA mission, but instead of smelling like sea salt and sweat, she smells like engine oil and smoke.

They all collide with each other, and somehow, they get into a group hug. No one knows who first started it, but they circle around in a pseudo-huddle, giggles falling from their lips. When Hana looks at each and every one of them, she knows that they’re feeling the light feeling too.

Hanzo is the first to split off from the huddle, and he awkwardly brushes off imaginary dust off his armor. Nothing happens, and the dried blood stays on the burnished plate. Hana and the others take a step back, and they stand in a circle now. Everyone falls silent, and they stand there, listening to the wind whistle through the balconies and the vaulted ceilings.

Then, Genji says quietly, “Thank you.” His voice echoes a little bit, and for a moment, Hana thinks that his voice sounds more raw and human. Not that it didn’t before, but there’s an edge of relief and pure emotion that transcends the hollow sound of his voice. Hana suddenly stops her thoughts in their tracks and mentally scolds herself for her lapse in mental awareness. Of course he was human. Zenyatta was just as human as Genji and her too. Metal and hollow voices didn’t necessarily equate to mindless machine. There was a drop of humanity in every single person here, and Hana hates herself for the doubt and misjudgement. Fighting an omnic in the sea for so long must have warped her judgement, and she promises herself to do better .

Just as she resolves that thought, she feels the warmth of Zenyatta’s harmony orb. Guilt hardens in her heart, and she flashes a smile at Zenyatta. Even though he can’t exactly smile back, he nods and bobs up and down for a bit. Hana’s smile softens and she gives him a thumbs-up.

“I’m glad you two made it,” Soldier gruffly says. He ruffles both Hanzo’s and Hana’s hair with his hands, and Hanzo doesn’t even bat him away. Instead, Hanzo just mumbles something under his breath. That makes Hana laugh out loud, harder and heavier than the light giggles she’s been letting out.

“I’m glad we made it too,” Hana replies back.

Hanzo makes a face and says, “Please don’t throw yourself into deep pits anymore.”

“Please don’t climb down pits that are impossible to climb down then,” Hana throws back. Her expression turns serious and she says, “It was a necessary and calculated risk.” Well, she’s not sure if it really was since she was operating mostly on instinct and desperation. She’s not going to let Hanzo know that though.

Genji turns to Zenyatta and asks, “Will you reconsider coming back with me to Overwatch, master?”

Zenyatta tosses an orb back and forth in his hands and contemplates the question for a while. Moments pass and the wind whistles by before he finally says, “Yes. I will go with you. The actions that Talon has taken against the monastery today forced me to re-evaluate the situation and my own moral code.” He tilts his head and admits, “We may have to take harsher steps against Talon to ensure that our monastery and innocent people across the world are protected. Mondatta tried the passive, peaceful method. I fear that I may have to take more action than he did.”

“We will always have a place for you in Overwatch,” Genji promises. “And if there isn’t, I will make one.”

An idea pops into Hana’s hand, and she pulls out her communication device from her belt pouch. Behind the device, she slots out her identification card and shows it to Zenyatta. “We can get your card customized for you too!” she says. “I mean, we have iris and fingerprint scans in place too, but the card is cute to have. Mine has bunnies and Hanzo has blue dragons on his.” She leans in to stage-whisper, “The dragons kinda look like blue noodles, but we can get something cuter for you.”

“Hey,” Hanzo sharply says. “They are not noodles, they are regal beasts.”
Hana winks at Genji and Zenyatta before she turns on her heel to wag her finger at Hanzo. “That’s what you like to think,” she says in a mocking tone. She claps her hands together and says, “Well, let’s go home then.”

Home. It’s strange to say, now that she finally means it.

Home. Back to a found family and a place that feels warmer to her heart than the barracks or the crowded orphanage ever felt.

She’s not going to lie; she misses South Korea with all her heart, but this found family is something different. Her squadron was knit together with fear, courage, and bullets while her orphanage was tied together with a sense of loneliness and necessity, but Overwatch felt like a home created by the people for the people.

Besides, the information that she now has begs to be shared. The puzzle isn’t quite complete in her mind, but the new pieces that she has now burn in her mind’s eye. Finally, something makes more sense, and she’s determined to slot more into their place.

When they all make their way out of the sanctum, out of the shrine, and out of the village, they see Dr. Ziegler and McCree waiting for them. Dr. Ziegler wrings her hands together while McCree absentmindedly twirls a stick in his hand. McCree is the first to see them, and he drops his stick to the ground and tips his hat up to get a better sight at them. Granted, they’re not a pretty sight to see. Despite Zenyatta’s best work, they still have scratches and wounds on them. Hana knows that purple bruises are blooming beneath the stretchy fabric of her bodysuit, and the same has to go for the rest of them. Dried blood and machine oil crust their armor and clothes, and their hair is singed. They also reek of iron blood and bitter sweat: a scent that Hana’s too used to.

Dr. Ziegler whirls over and she storms over to examine them, fingers flying and gaze darting around to the various wounds that they’ve collected. She lets out a long sigh and whispers, “I knew it, I shouldn’t have let you go in without me.”

Genji shakes his head and laughs, “Angela, don’t worry so much. We’re all used to this, and my master and Soldier 76 helped.”

Her head snaps up to look at Zenyatta and Soldier 76. “Thank you,” she says gratefully. “I know it must have been hard to keep these people alive.” She ignores Genji’s squawk of protest and says with a tired smile, “Yes, yes, I’ve heard the same ‘I need healing’ spiel from him and others too many times to know. Thank you.” She focuses on Soldier and asks, “How were the improved biotic fields, Jack?”

“Jack?” Genji echoes. He turns slowly to face Soldier 76 and repeats again, “Jack? As in… Jack Morrison?”
“The one and only,” Soldier grimly replies as he takes off his mask. “I forgot that you weren’t looking directly at my face when I took this off before.”

Genji stares at Soldier’s face for the longest time with absolute speechlessness.

McCree leans in to slap a hand over Genji’s back and says quietly, “We can have this discussion on the flight back home, partner. Lena’s waitin’ for us. Don’t wanna make her wait too long, ya know?”

Genji slowly nods and turns to follow McCree. Zenyatta floats after Genji, and after watching them leave, Dr. Ziegler and Hanzo follow. Hana moves to follow them but glances back at Soldier 76. He still stands there, unmasked and stoically quiet. His eyes try to focus on Hana, and she tries to imagine what he sees. She fails, and instead, she clears her throat to ask, “Are you okay?”

Soldier blinks rapidly once, twice, thrice, before he replies, “Sometimes, I forget that my vision’s like this, that I’m supposed to be dead. It’s hard to readjust, especially when you’re getting old.” He sighs and trudges on forward as he finishes, “The world just moves too quickly for me, and I forget that other people were supposed to move on too.”

Hana watches him walk, and she realizes that Jack Morrison is an aging man. If it weren’t for SEP, he would be far older and far weaker than he was now. A pang of pity surges in her heart, and she wonders how fast the world has turned since his own prime. She also wonders how fast the world will move on after she passes her own prime.

But for now, they’ve done what they could, and the cogs in Hana’s mind are turning as fast as they can to solve the enigma that comprises Talon. That’s what she chooses to focus now as she dashes forward in the falling snow. Her shoes crunch the white flakes beneath her footsteps, and she catches up to the rest of the group and to Tracer’s plane.

Chapter Text

The entire conference room is in utter silence after Hana finishes her entire report of what exactly went on down in the dead omnium of Tibet. Soldier 76, Jack Morrison, whatever’s left of him stays quiet too, but he observes the way Hana shifts and squirms in her spot at the front of the room. That’s unexpected. Normally, she stands in the spotlight as if it were her second home. She must have something more to say or something more to hide. She normally doesn’t leave herself so open to interpretation either. Something else must have happened down there in the monastery. He keeps his thoughts to himself though.

Winston clears his throat and says, “Thank you for your report, Hana.” He lumbers up to the front as Hana bows and makes her way back to her seat. Athena transitions the screen to show a large expanse of different photos and snapshots of different people and locations associated with Talon. The Shambali monastery is a new addition, but Jack recognizes all the others. Widowmaker along with Amélie Lacroix remains on the screen, and Jack’s heart aches when he sees it. His heart aches even more when he sees the extra addition by her name.

GABRIEL REYES // REAPER  

The photos by Gabriel’s name don’t help either. Athena chose a picture of Gabriel before the stress of Overwatch and Blackwatch set in. No, this picture of Gabriel doesn’t have the stress lines or the thinning, greying hair that he started to get towards the end. This picture has the cocky smile and the glinting, dark brown eyes, the dark hair and brash confidence that Gabriel wore like a shield. It strikes a note of nostalgia in Jack’s heart.

Winston drones on about Talon and the connections that they’ve made so far in addition to the plans that they’ll hopefully undertake to destroy Talon. The soldier part of Jack already knows that they’re too understaffed to do any of the plans, and the more emotional part of Jack knows that Talon’s taken too much of their own for them to really do anything back. They need more subtle plans, things of subterfuge and deception. Something that’s more along Talon’s breed, and those aren’t exactly easy to pull off when most of their current agents’ faces are known worldwide.

The meeting ends, and Jack pushes his chair back to step out and find some dark corner to brood in. However, Hana steps in and flashes her classic D.Va smile at him. When he sees that, he only sighs and asks, “What now?” Hana never uses that D.Va smile at him unless she wants something. Her usual smile is something softer, something more genuine.

“Can I talk with you privately?” she says in a low tone. She’s barely audible, and Jack has to lean forward to hear it better. He quietly curses in the back of his mind when he does it though; he used to have good hearing that could hear across an entire field. It was so good that they had to use earplugs with him during the first weeks of his SEP serum tests.

He nods and leads Hana down the hall to the courtyard outside. He may never have frequented Gibraltar as much as he should have during his Overwatch days, but he still remembers the little garden that Angela started all those years ago. It’s developed into a courtyard overlooking the sea now, and the plants thrive in the warm weather.

Hana twists her fingers together and bounces on the balls of her feet before words start rushing out of her. “Meet him where the corn always blooms,” she blurts out.

Jack leans away from her slightly as he holds up his hands to try and slow her down. “Whoa there,” he says. “You don’t need to talk that fast. Meet who where what?”

“Meet Reaper — Gabriel Reyes — where the corn always blooms,” she repeats in a much slower fashion. She lets out a heavy sigh and explains, “It’s what he wanted me to tell you. I promised to let you know. I don’t know what he meant by it though.”

She doesn’t need to know. When Jack hears it, he already knows.

A voice, rough from lack of sleep and utter exhaustion. Stars, brilliant and throbbing in the black skies above the testing facilities. The dust in the air from the kicked-up dirt that Gabriel constantly scuffs with his worn combat boots. The stiffness of the starched collar of his uniform that digs into the back of Jack’s neck. Pain throbbing at the back of his neck where the scientists injected the newest version of their serum in. His sensitive sense of hearing that splits his ears from too much ambient sound in their midst from the gentle breeze that ruffles his hair to the low hoots of an owl yards and yards away from them.

“Bloomington, Indiana? You really are a farmer boy,” Gabriel laughs. The sound resounds in Jack’s ears with an echoing quality that lasts too long. Despite the pain, he welcomes the sound. Laughter means that they’re not broken yet. Laughter means that they’ve still got some hope left in them.

“Welcome to Bloomington, where the corn always blooms for harvest,” Jack recites. It’s always been a joke between him and his father. There are no flowers in their fields in Bloomington, Indiana. Here, there are only seas upon seas of waving, green corn stalks that hide golden ears of corn in their depths.

Gabriel snorts at that and replies, “And I guess I’d be from Los Angeles, where shit always blooms for you to step on.”

“Soldier 76?” Hana hesitantly says. She repeats it once and then asks, “...Jack? Jack Morrison? You okay?”

Jack blinks out of the vivid memory. He honestly can’t believe that he remembered it, and he can’t believe that Gabe would remember it either. SEP feels like an eternity ago and the memory is such an old one. Still, he knows what Gabe was referring to.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Jack chuffs out. “Memories, you know. I’m getting old too, so that one took a while to remember. Thanks for telling me.”
“Alright,” Hana says as she eyes Soldier. She can’t see anything underneath the visor, but she’s got that deeply suspicious look in her eye. She reaches into her pocket to dig out a bottle of eyedrops and holds it up as she asks, “You need this?”

Knowing Hana, she won’t be satisfied until he does something to alleviate the supposed problem, so Jack grabs the eyedrops. He pops off the visor with ease and uncaps the bottle to squeeze a few in his eyes. It’s Angela’s concoction, and it’s actually managed to help his vision somewhat. He doesn’t know how and isn’t sure if he really wants to know, but now, he can discern shapes a little better without his visor on. It’s not completely perfect ,and it’s not much improvement, but he has to admit that it’s better from complete deterioration. He hands the bottle back to Hana, and she tucks it back into her pocket with relief evident in the sag of her tense shoulders. He pats Hana on the shoulder, and with that, they leave the courtyard and split off to their various rooms. Jack sits on his bed when he reaches his sparse room and stares at the ceiling for a while. Bloomington, Indiana. He hasn’t been back in ages. Granted, he still has his family’s farm there. It’s always been his, and even after his supposed death, Jack took steps to keep it that way. It was a bit of illegal sentimentality, but he couldn’t bring himself to let it go.

The next day, Jack appeals to Winston for a small visit back home. His friend doesn’t even hesitate and insists that he go. Angela hears about it as well and gives him her clearance. According to her, visiting home would be a step towards rekindling his connections with other people and himself, whatever that meant. Lena was more than happy to wait at an abandoned airfield a few miles out from the city, and McCree arranged his rides for him.  He finally ended up back in front of his childhood home a few days after Hana told him about Gabe’s message. The farm is far different than what he remembers. It’s an overgrown mess now, and it’s slowly deteriorating with the weight of age. Jack stares at the dilapidated house and the mess of tangled plants in the fields. Everything is in bloom though. Spring graces that at least. The fields remain a sea of corn stalks despite the weeds and wild nature of it, and the world seems at peace for a few moments.

Mist tendrils come out of the broken-down house, and a familiar figure consolidates in front of Jack.

“Gabe.”

“Jackie boy.”

The thing that used to be Gabriel Reyes nods at him, and Jack can’t help but stare at his figure. He’s hunted him before in the tall, towering walls of the Necropolis with another aging ghost from his past, but this feels entirely different. He doesn’t see any guns on Reaper, and when he rakes his gaze back up to Reaper’s mask, he hears a low chuckle from the misty demon.

“Can’t get enough of a look, can you?” Gabriel jokes before he reaches up a clawed hand to take off his bone-white mask.

Jack sucks in a harsh breath of Indiana air when he sees the mangled remains of Gabriel’s face. Automatically, he reaches in his thick jacket to pull out a thin, hammered piece of metal and tosses it to the ground. It unfolds and bathes the two of them in golden light. Slowly, ever so slowly, the shards of Gabriel’s face start mending back together into a more human countenance. Gabriel’s eyes widen at the sensation, and he says haltingly, “That… Didn’t work like that the last time I saw your biotic field.”

“Angela upgraded it,” Jack answers.

Gabriel snorts, “Of course. That woman could bring a dead man back to life.”

“Well?” Jack prods. “What did you call me out here for?”

Gabriel shakes his head and chuckles before he settles down on the grassy ground. Jack hesitantly takes a seat next to him, and the two sit in silence in the golden light and stare out at the setting sun. “Well,” Gabriel repeats quietly. He pauses for a while before he continues, “I’ve been waiting here for a couple of days after I finished reporting what happened at Tibet. We had to fish Doomfist out of a mountain canyon. I don’t know what you did to him, but he was alive and angry at the bottom of it. I should have expected that man to survive anything though.” He chortles a little at that but it morphs into a cough.He then turns to Jack and asks, “How have you been?”

This feels utterly surreal to Jack. After years of skirting around Talon’s edges and fighting Reaper in combat, it feels off. It feels like he should be on his feet, hands on his gun, finger on the trigger, the smell of pulse munitions in his nose. Not a dreamy Indiana sunset with a field of tangled corn and the face of Gabriel’s ghost beside him.

“Why are you here?” Jack asks, his voice scratchy and rough. Not as rough as what Gabriel’s is now. The biotic light does what it can, and it does soften the edges of Gabe’s voice. Still, it’s nothing like what it used to be before.

“I asked you to come here because I figured that it was time for some answers,” Gabe replies. He stares out at the horizon as he explains, “You’ve done your own fair share of digging. I thought you’d be more inclined to visit me and talk more. Also, I’ve got some spare time while Doomfist and Amélie heal up. Once they’re back to work, so am I.”

“Alright,” Jack says warily. “Then I’ve got some questions.”

“That’s exactly what that girl said too,” Gabe says. “And I’ll tell you the exact same thing I told her. I’ve got some answers.”

“Okay,” Jack says. “Then answer this: how can you dissolve like that? That mist?”

Gabriel pauses and examines his own gloved hand. He starts saying slowly, “Well, it’s constant cell regeneration and death. That’s the science term for it.” He looks up at Jack and wryly says, “I call it crazy SEP shit.”

“What?” Jack says blankly. “SEP? That was years ago. This is now.”

Gabriel nods, “What was SEP supposed to do? It made us stronger, heal faster, and age slower. It’s why you’re still fighting instead of rolling around in a wheelchair. It was only supposed to do that, but I was a special case.” He lifts up his hand and it dissipates into mist before he reforms it with a clench of his fist. “I’ve been able to pull off this trick ever since then.”

Jack gapes at him before she sputters, “What do you mean? Then why hasn’t anyone else known about it until now?”

“It used to be a lowkey thing,” Gabriel mutters. He clears his rasping throat and says in a louder voice, “People just assumed that I moved fast, and I do. The shadows made me move even faster though, and they gave me the ability to drain some life from the bodies and corpses of both omnics and humans. It kept me alive and durable during combat which was what SEP wanted all along. It got worse and worse as I got older though. I still had it under control, but it was never that bad until I got desperate. I got scared, scared that someone would find out, so I employed someone that I shouldn’t have.” His voice gets sharper and more bitter as he grinds out, “Doctor Moira O’Deorain and her damned genetic enhancements. She said that she was giving me more control over it, adapting my body better to it, and I guess in a twisted sense, she was right. She gave me more control over it, but it was a larger part of me than before. It wouldn’t have been long until it was too hard to hide. But at least she kept other doctors and medics like Angela from finding out.”

Moira O’Deorain. A name that Gabriel only told him in the darkest days of Overwatch. Jack remembers keeping a lot of secrets for Gabe. Moira O’Deorain was one of them. An unlicensed and shamed doctor working for a branch of Overwatch would have killed their public image if the news ever went out. Jack only agreed to keep it a secret because Gabriel convinced him that it was necessary. He believed that the doctor was there for some of Gabriel’s more… Special agents. People like Genji or some others who needed more medical attention than others. He never thought it was for Gabriel himself.

Jack reaches up to take off his visor and stares at Gabriel. Well, he tries to stare at Gabriel. Despite Angela’s eyedrops, Gabriel’s face is still blurry. It’s not as bad as it used to be, but Gabriel lets a low sigh. “That’s what Geneva did to you, huh?” he says with a touch of pain. “I should have gotten to you faster.”

“What?” Jack asks. He thought he knew so much with his research on Talon’s double agents within Overwatch after the blast. Now, he sees that he only saw a small sliver of the entire picture. The puzzle, as Hana refers to it. He’s frustrated with himself and with the world now, but he manages to rein it back enough to keep it from affecting his tone. He clicks the visor back on, hoping to shield some of his expression from Gabriel’s piercing eyes.

“You know why they put us both at the main headquarters in Switzerland,” Gabriel says tiredly.

Jack does. He knows very well. At that point in time, the two of them had sunk deep in a miasma of paranoia. The news channels and media were going wild over Overwatch, and the higher-ups were furious. Neither of them trusted each other very well after the inner turmoil, and Jack remembers how he shouted at Gabriel in headquarters. Gabriel shouted back too, and Jack remembers how Gabriel won most fights with brutal and cutting accuracy. How Ana’s death was Jack’s fault, how Gabriel was right about Amélie being not quite right after the first rescue, how Gerard’s death was also Jack’s fault.

Then, they heard the alarms.

Jack squints at Gabriel’s ghost-like face, and he just looks so, so tired as he says simply, “I threw myself over you to shield you from the blast. It hurt like hell, but my cell regeneration speed was so high that I thought I could make it work. Turns out, it kinda worked, but not really. I’m alive, but I’m like this now. I need to feed on more bodies and corpses to keep myself this way.”

Jack chokes on his breath as he remembers . The weight over his body, his vision darkening, people screaming, his eyes burning from the smoke and mist. Now, he doesn’t know what part of the smoke was the blast’s fault and what part was Gabriel.

Gabriel gives him a painful, bitter smile as he says, “Hey, look at what we are now. We both survived.”

“But at what cost?” Jack whispers back. Tears start forming at the corners of his eyes, and even though he knows that Gabriel can’t see them, he tries to will them away. He grips Gabriel by the shoulders and asks desperately, “Why? Why would you do that to yourself?”

“To save you,” Gabriel replies in that simple, bitter tone. As if that statement was the most obvious, most simplest thing in the world.

Jack shoves Gabriel away, and the biotic light starts to fade away. The little field starts winding down and folding back up over itself, and Jack wishes that he could do the same. Fold up and never see the light of day for a while again. It hurts to know what Gabriel sacrificed for him . It hurts even more to know that he’s been trying his goddamn best to murder Gabriel this entire time.

Gabriel starts fading back into that shredded, wounded version of himself, and with a sigh, he puts on his mask again. His voice sounds more ragged as he says, “Say what you will, but I don’t regret it. That girl told you everything else, right?” Jack wordlessly nods, and Gabriel sighs, “Good. And you’ve done your own research too. Do you see the bigger picture now, Jackie boy?”

“You were right all along,” Jack quietly replies. “All those times during Overwatch when I refused to listen to you. You were right.” He buries his face in his hands, unwilling to meet Gabriel’s gaze despite the masks on them both.

“As gratifying as it is to hear that,” Gabriel says. “We don’t have the time to waste on regrets. We need to focus on the now , and figure out how to bring Talon down. I’ll be working on the inside, but I’m telling you, there’s not much that I can do.”

“What have you done?” Jack asks as he lifts his head.

Gabriel shrugs, “You know, the usual hunting for double agents. I’ve focused mostly on old Blackwatch agents, but you? You’ve gone after the politicians themselves, Jackie boy. How many bank account numbers do you have from them now?”

“Too many, but I’ll find a use for them,” Jack grumbles. He used the entirety of one to get himself, Hana, and Hanzo to Eichenwalde with new outfits and gear to boot. He still has more bank accounts in his reserve to use as he sees fit, but he knows that the politicians and the corporations still have more untapped banks at their own disposal.

Gabriel nudges him in the side and says, “Better you than them, huh?”

A burst of laughter bubbles out of Jack’s lips to his surprise. Gabriel laughs too. His laugh sounds more raw — torn and choked off too soon — but since he’s not wincing in pain, Jack assumes that’s just the way Gabriel’s voice sounds like now.

“You know,” Jack says slowly. “Angela could fix you if you came back with me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Gabriel sighs. “I know she could, but I need to continue my work. You do your thing, I’ll do mine.” Jack can’t see Gabriel’s face anymore, but he pictures his sad expression in his mind’s eye. He’s seen it enough to call it up in his memory without a second to lose. It’s the kind of expression Gabe wears when the lights go off and the jobs are done.

“I trust you,” Jack says suddenly. “You know that, right?”

A moment passes in silence, and in that moment, the sun finally sinks down beneath the horizon. Red and orange bleed out past the horizon to blend in with the twilight that settles over the sky. Jack forgot how peaceful Indiana was in the nighttime. The wind rustles the corn stalks, and while Jack stares at them, Gabriel clears his throat and thickly replies, “I know.”

The two remain sitting there until all traces of the sun fade out in the night sky. Then, only one figure remains sitting on the grass while mist and smoke drift away towards the cornfields.

Chapter Text

“So.”

“So,” Hanzo repeats back. He watches Genji warily. Currently, his brother’s leaning against his doorframe with his visor popped off. Only metal cups the edge of his jawline now, and Hanzo can see that the tips of Genji’s hair are a familiar neon green. The rest of his hair is dark as he remembers though. The scars on Genji’s face bunch up as he furrows his brows and does a poor imitation of Hanzo’s expression. “So,” Genji repeats again.

Hanzo sighs heavily and reluctantly gives in as he stands up from his table and asks, “What is it, Genji?” He shuts his journal and sets down his pen before he gives his brother his full attention.

“I came to return something,” Genji answers as he holds up the carving in his hand.

Hanzo shakes his head firmly and insists, “No, that is yours. I saved it for you.”

Genji eyes him and says in an accusing tone, “You didn’t even know that I was alive when you left Hanamura all those years ago.”

Hanzo is left speechless, and he struggles to find the right words in the depths of his mind. Those days after the incident were filled with mindless, numbing anesthetic and then burning pain once the drugs wore off. Then, he found out that he didn’t even need drugs; grief was enough to numb everything. He takes in a deep breath before he confesses shakily, “I took it to keep a memory of you.”

Genji observes him with a keen gaze just like he used to when they were young. Then, he pastes on a grin, sharp and bold and falsely innocuous. The kind he always used to wear. “See,” he teases. “That wasn’t so hard to admit.”

It actually works. Hanzo snorts out a choked laugh before he can rein it back, and he dryly says, “I see that you’re just like who you were before.”

The expression on Genji’s face sobers up, and his eyes click from green to dark brown. “No, not really,” he admits. “I’ve changed. I’ve become a different person than who I used to be before.” He takes a moment to consider himself and look down at his metal-cased hands. “But I think it was for the better.”

“Is it… Was it painful?” Hanzo suddenly asks as he stares at Genji’s hands too. It’s a question that’s been burning at the back of his mind since he first saw his brother, but now the question slips out past his lips without even a moment’s notice.

“My body?” Genji asks as he tilts his head. “Yes.”

Hanzo sucks in a sharp breath, and that familiar, throbbing guilt rears its ugly head up in the back of his mind.

Genji raises his eyebrows slightly and points at Hanzo’s own prosthetics. “Not sure how else to describe it but look at your legs,” he says. “Think about how long it took for the prosthetics to sync up with your real nerves, for your legs to adapt to the strain and pain. Now, think about that pain for your entire body, learning how to walk and talk and live again, learning how to fight with it.”

“I am…” Hanzo thickly says with absolute misery. “I am so, so sorry. Forgive me, brother.”

Genji sharply replies, “I’m not telling you this so that I can get pity. I don’t need that pity. I’ve spent ten years of my life with pity from other people. I’m explaining what happened to me so that you can understand.” He pushes away from the doorframe and starts pacing in Hanzo’s room. “It was hard at first,” he continues. “I was furious every day. I wanted to return to Hanamura with my sword, but then, I heard that you left. The elders must have been so angry with you when you left. I was still angry too, and I wanted to find you, demand to know why you did this to me only to leave in the end.” He pauses to suck in a breath and paces once more. “But then, I was placed from the medical bay to Blackwatch. To Commander Reyes. It was damn hard to adjust, but I met better people. I made friends. I found a different kind of family in Blackwatch, in Overwatch. I moved to the monastery after Overwatch fell apart and spent my time meditating with Zenyatta. I healed. I learned to be a better self.”

Genji suddenly stops and says, “Oh, don’t give me that look, brother. I’m telling you this because I believed that you would learn to forgive yourself and make yourself a better person than you were in the past. We can both move past this and help make the world a better place. What do you say?” He holds out his hand to Hanzo, and Hanzo’s left to stare at it, speechless once more.

“They do not trust me,” Hanzo says in a rush of words. “I have promised… I have promised to join their ranks, to become an agent along with Hana and Soldier 76. I know what duty requires from me, and I will do it. But they do not trust me. Not like they trust Hana, not like they trust Morrison.”

Genji lowers his hand and exhales. Quiet surrounds them except for the barely-audible thrum from Genji’s chest, carapace, armor, whatever it was. “If it wasn’t for Commander Morrison, I doubt Overwatch would have let you go unharmed,” Genji admits. “Even now, they don’t trust you because of what you did to me. They didn’t think that you would change so easily. But you did something at the monastery that none of us would have expected. That will go a long way towards earning their trust.”

“McCree,” Hanzo suddenly says. “Why was he the one to reach out to me first?”

Genji shrugs, “I actually don’t know. He’s the one that knows the most about me out of anyone here. After that, it would be Lena — Tracer — who I’ve talked to most outside of Blackwatch. You will have to ask him yourself.” He gives a weak smile, a hesitant one, to Hanzo as he says, “You’ve changed, brother. Change is not always a bad thing. And if you ever need someone to talk to, then I am always available. I am sure that Zenyatta would be happy to help you if you needed it as well. But, do you accept?”

Hanzo hesitantly reaches out to take Genji’s hand as he says, “I… I accept.” His hand closes over the warm metal for a firm handshake. A sudden thought flickers in his mind, and before he hesitates once more, he uses his grip to pull Genji in for a rare and tight hug.

The medbay is as white and sterile as always, and the machines there click and hum quietly in the background. Angela’s in her white doctor’s coat, tapping her foot with mock irritation, as Jack settles down for his check-up.

“Tsk, tsk,” she says as she unloops the stethoscope around her neck. “I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again. We can fix your eyes if you agree to surgery and nanobiotic repair.”

Jack rolls his eyes and quietly thanks the visor for the ability to do so without Angela seeing. “And I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again. It’s fine . Save your resources for someone else who needs it more,” he shoots back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he knows that he’s past his prime. SEP serum is the only thing keeping him on the battlefield now, and even then, his hair is still white and his joints ache faster if he doesn’t go through his proper stretches and exercises before and after combat. It’ll be better for Angela to save her resources for someone else younger than him, someone else to continue on the burden. He’ll stay and fight for as long as possible, but he still considers it to be a waste of resources to fix his vision.

Angela lets out a tired and exasperated sigh before she snaps, “You are not a waste of resources. How many times do I have to tell you this before you’ll believe it?”

Jack shakes his head and replies, “It’s fine, Angela. Don’t worry so much. I’ve gotten used to it. It’s a part of me now that I’ve gotten used to.” His hospital gown crumples under the force of his grip as he tightens his hold on the edge of it. He’s not lying, but half of him does want the vision back.

Angela eyes him as she runs through the basic procedures with her quick and nimble fingers. “Mmm, alright,” she reluctantly concedes. “But the minute you change your mind, you come to me, alright?”

“Alright,” Jack says, eager to end the conversation.

There’s a long silence as Angela finishes up the rest of the check-up. She loops her stethoscope back around her neck when she finishes checking Jack’s heartbeat, and she deftly measures his blood pressure, examines his eyes and ears, and everything else that she can think of. She starts putting her other tools away back in their respective spots as she suddenly says, “Doesn’t this remind you of old times? The check-ups, the dinners together, the practices we always had every morning?”

This is another thing that Jack doesn’t want to admit, but he answers, “Yeah. It does.”

Angela sighs wistfully and sets the last tool away. “I missed this,” she admits.

Jack remains quiet, and Angela takes that cue to launch into her own little speech. In quick words and fast breaths, she says, “For what it’s worth, I want you to know that I appreciated you coming back. I still don’t know how to feel about the lies or how you survived or the fact that you’ve been alive this entire time, but thank you. Thank you for coming back. Thank you for being honest. You belong here, Jack.”

“Thanks, Angela,” Jack gruffly replies. A hard knot of guilt settles at the bottom of his stomach when he considers all the secrets that he still harbors. Angela gives him a small and gentle smile before she leaves him alone to change back into his regular clothes. As he slides his familiar jacket back on, he sees a small notification in the bottom right of his tactical visor. It’s from a caller that he’s marked as “special.” He has a deep suspicion as to who it is, but he bids goodbye to Angela and hurries back out to the courtyard to take the call. He treads quietly but quickly, and thankfully, no one stops him or follows him.

“Can you make sure that I’m alone, Athena?” he calls out as he goes. “I just want some privacy for a while.”

“Very well, Commander,” she replies back smoothly from above.

He spares only a moment to take a long look at the coasts of Gibraltar and the sapphire-blue seas before he answers, “Hello?”

A mysterious voice, rich in its accent, rich in its timbre, replies back, “Hello, Jack.” It’s a voice that he feels like he hasn’t heard in centuries, and he misses it dearly.

“Well, well, well,” Jack says as he crosses his arms. He knows that the caller can’t see it, but it makes him feel better to do it. “I thought you were going to stay dead forever.”

The voice laughs and says chidingly, “I thought the same thing of you. I’ve heard on the news that the infamous vigilante, Soldier 76, was spotted in the Shambali monastery of Tibet. According to my sources, you were fighting off Talon troops with the runaway heir of the Shimada empire, an old Blackwatch agent, a Shambali monk, and a thief who stole a mech from a deceased superstar. Care to explain more?”

Jack tilts his head up to stare at the skies. Hardly a cloud is in the brilliant blue sky, and the only blue that rivals it is the seas lapping up against the shores of Gibraltar. They offer him nothing as an answer unless he wants to talk about how pretty the skies and seas are in Gibraltar, and that would only leak his location. There’s nothing that he can’t hide, so he exhales and replies, “I’d be happy to explain more if you came back. We could have a cup of tea. Your favorite.” The last phrase is pointed, jagged in his mouth as he says it, and he feels that aching knot of guilt once more. He thinks he might relate to Angela more in this moment though.

The voice chuckles, “I wish I could, Jack. You know what? I might take you up on your offer, but I still have business left to resolve. I’ll contact you again when I’m done with it.”

“Then why did you call?” Jack wonders. He furrows his brow with confusion. Surely the call must have something more to its purpose than just this.

“I just wanted to check up on an old friend,” the voice mysteriously answers. “Can I not do that anymore?”

“No, no,” Jack hurries to say. “You can.”

“Well, if that’s all,” the voice sighs out, sibilant and barely audible. “Goodbye, Jack.”

“Goodbye…” Jack responds. When the call clicks off, he quietly finishes, “Ana.”

“Go away.”

D.Va laughs and leans in even closer to Hana as she croons, “Should you really be saying that to me? You know I’ll never go away.”

Hana curls even closer to the wall and clutches her pillow in her arms, trying to ignore the voice in the back of her head.

She’s on her bed in her room with soft k-pop music playing in the background. McCree and Tracer hung fairy lights along the perimeter of her ceiling while she was gone. They also painted her desk, dresser, and headboard a soft white to match the light walls and the dusty pink comforter better. In her absence, they also brought in a little speaker system with a little note on it that said, “Your PC set-up is coming in the mail.” After running out to thank them in person, Hana thought that it might be a good time to relax and have some time to herself. That’s what the doctor advised her to do as well, so she turned on some soft music through her speakers and tried to relax. D.Va made it nearly impossible though.

“I can try at least,” Hana snaps.

D.Va swings her legs against the side of the bed and hums, “So, it’s been a year since your death.”

Hana shoots her a deathly glare and replies sourly, “You don’t need to remind me.”

D.Va claps her hands together and says, “Let’s go over what you’ve done so far. A mission debriefing if you will.”

A memory surges up to the forefront of Hana’s mind. She remembers those painful mission debriefings. How many dead. How many missing. How many mechs recalled without pilots in their seats. How many soldiers lost to tides. Cold, brutal numbers without any humanity, only robotic obedience and commands from ranked officers.

D.Va smiles, bold and confident, but Hana knows the pain that it hides. It’s the smile that she always wore for a cocky delivery of her own debriefings. She knows the stony, curling satisfaction of watching her higher-ups glare at her during her mission debriefings. You’ll never take my humanity away , she remembers thinking during one particularly bad debriefing. I’ll remember these people as more than just numbers. That’s more than you’ll ever do. It was never anyone from her squad, but she still knew the other lost pilots. NeSsie. Rogue. Mochi. Lyn. Those were their gamer tags at least, and those were the names burned into the big memorial at base with their real names in smaller characters underneath.

D.Va’s smile turns to a wry one now, less sharp, less arrogance. “First, MEKA. Now, Overwatch. Congratulations.”

“And what have I really done?” Hana asks as she shifts her position enough to stare directly at D.Va.

“Surprisingly, a lot,” she admits. The pink triangles on her cheeks seem too neon, but Hana blinks her eyes hard. When she opens them again, the color returns to normal.

“Okay, then can you leave me alone now?” Hana tries.

D.Va lets out a pealing laugh before she says tauntingly, “I’m nothing but a manifestation of your guilt. I can never leave as long as you feel so ridiculously guilty for everything you’ve done. I wonder who feels more guilt, you or Hanzo?”

Hana refuses to say anything, but she can feel herself simmering with anger. D.Va cocks her head and examines Hana before she says, “But I’m also a manifestation of your confidence. Your emotions. Your mask in the spotlight. I’m the little voice at the back of your head, telling you to do better, be better, be number one, to win .” She laughs again, but it’s not as loud as before. “Your conscience, I guess?”

“If you’re my conscience, then you’re the worst conscience in the world,” Hana dryly replies.

D.Va flashes her wink and says, “At least that makes me number one on the list of worst consciences.”

“Or the very last on the list of good consciences,” Hana grumbles.

D.Va’s expression sobers and she says, “But really. You’ve done a good job. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thanks,” Hana replies with as much biting sarcasm as she can muster up.

D.Va rolls her eyes at that and asks, “So, what are you going to do now?”

“Live,” Hana replies simply.

“Huh?” D.Va sputters, taken completely off track by that simple answer.

“I’m going to live for myself a little,” Hana clarifies. “Figure out all the problems I had and fix them.” She takes a deep breath before she says out loud, “Dr. Ziegler says I have PTSD.” It feels entirely different to say that sentence out loud after years of pushing down the truth. All those flashbacks, all those nightmares that left her waking up in the middle of the night with cold sweat running down her back, all of those were symptoms. Everything from her hands shaking for a few moments before gripping onto her mech controls to the manifestation of D.Va herself, it was all that.

“I already knew that, and you knew it all along,” D.Va accuses. “You just never wanted to admit it. Face it, I’m not going away because you’re not willing me away. I’m still here. I’ll always be here as long as you make enough space for me in that pretty little head of yours.”

Hana shoots her a dirty look and sullenly says, “Therapy helps.”

“And who’s the person who said that she was too busy for therapy all those years ago?” D.Va asks as she shakes her pointer finger at Hana.

Hana lets out a long and heavy sigh. It’s true; she denied herself therapy by lying and saying that everything was fine during her doctor’s appointments. She shrugs and says, “The military never really offered us the option anyways. It was either working or streaming or both. No room for therapy in my schedule back then.”

“Alright,” D.Va says reluctantly. Her expression softens, and she says, “I’m proud of you. You’re doing well.” Her outline starts to fade away as she finishes, “Sooner or later, you won’t even need me anymore. Good luck, Hana Song.”

Sunsets in Gibraltar look like as if jewels stained their brilliant colors across the skies and clouds. Ruby red and amber orange stretch closest to the horizon line where the sun’s rays stretch out. Amethyst purple and rose quartz pink dust the edges of the red and orange until it fades out to turquoise and sapphire. The light gleams against the lapping waves of the sea and further reinforces the fact. Seeing everything from the rooftop of the base only emphasizes the beauty of the setting sun and the end of another day. It’s also the last day of spring before the world turns into a hot and sweltering summer.

Hana remembers the heat of the first day — that one, eventful Tokyo day — and how sweat dripped down the back of her neck. On this day, she wears her pink bomber jacket instead of a tight bodysuit and idly flips her identification card in her hands.

“It’s been a year,” Hanzo muses. He unloops his flask from his belt and takes a long and heavy swig from it. Hana deeply suspects that it’s sake even though she’s told him multiple times to carry water in it instead of alcohol. Hydration was important, after all.

Hana kicks her legs against the side of the building — sitting on the edge has its perks — and replies easily, “It really has.”

“Time flies by quickly. You young’uns don’t really understand that until it’s too late,” Soldier adds.

Hana glances over at him and teases, “Oh, that word makes you sound like McCree.” That comment earns her a disgusted noise from Soldier 76, and she leans over to nudge him in the side. “Don’t think too much about it,” she adds. “Sounding like McCree isn’t the worst thing that could happen to you.”

Hanzo snorts and says, “There are a lot of worse things, but sounding like an outdated cowboy seems to be untasteful to me. Regardless, the news does not know what to make of us anymore.”

“Yeah,” Hana chimes in. “They called you a criminal.”

Hanzo bristles and snaps, “They called you a criminal too.”

Hana makes a face and complains, “Ugh, yeah, they did. And it’s even worse than being called a regular criminal. They made me sound like a copycat.”

It’s true; the world believes that the infamous mech pilot who destroyed large swathes of the Shambali monastery is nothing more than a thief and a copycat. Some kinder articles call her a vigilante who managed to steal a mech from MEKA and modeled herself after the late superstar, D.Va. It’s incredibly unsatisfying to read about how she’s nothing more than a fake of the real star, especially when she’s the star herself.

“It just makes me sound like an imitation,” Hana continues in her tirade. “I hate being an imitation. That’s just a fake and worse version of the real thing! Being an imitation of myself makes it even worse.”

“So, what do you plan to do? Reveal yourself?” Soldier asks. His red gaze looks even redder under the golden light of the sunset, and part of the light gleams off the metal parts of his mask too.

Hana shrugs, “I don’t really know. The South Korean military marked down a bounty for my capture and the return of my mech. Looks like they can’t recall it anymore after Brigitte and Athena overrode MEKA’s controls over recall.”

At least she got her mech back. It was safely delivered with a small note that was signed off with nothing more than a blocky “M.” After further inspection, Hana found that the software for her mech was even more efficient than before, and Brigitte built better armor for the hull. The mech even came back with a fresh coat of pink paint. Hana lovingly added a bunny to the side of her mech, and Brigitte helped her with some of the fine-tuning and calibrations for the rest of the mech. Now, it was more powerful than ever, and Hana got to spend some quality time with Brigitte.

But mechs aside, Hana turns her attention back to Soldier 76 as he says, “You can’t stay dead forever.”
“That’s true,” Hanzo adds as he nods along.

Of course, those two would know . One supposedly being dead and one being responsible for someone supposedly being dead. Being dead had its perks sometimes. No one came to bother you about autographs, and you didn’t really have to present yourself to the world as much as you used to. The mask of anonymity was comfortable, and Hana doesn’t know how to feel about taking it off. Half of her misses the spotlight though. There was just something about the glittering light that drew Hana like a moth to an open flame.

Hana stares out towards the brilliant sunset and lapses into silence. The sounds of gulls crying over the wind and the light sea breeze helps her relax her shoulders. She tips her head up to stare at the edges of the sunset and the clouds before she says, “Well, whatever I do, remember that I’ll always be a part of Overwatch now. My country needs me, but so does the world.” After all, there wouldn’t be a country to save from the raging omnic in the sea if Talon spread their armies across the globe. Her head spins just from thinking about the different places that she’s been to in just a short year. Imagine how many more places she would have to travel to in order to protect the world and her country from the clutches of Talon.

“That’s very heroic of you,” Hanzo comments.

Hana flashes a grin at him and says, “Isn’t it? I guess we’re all heroes now.”

“What’s the phrase Lena always says now?” Soldier hums. Hana glances at him, and despite the mask, she knows that it's just a rhetorical question. Tracer says it far too often for any one of them to ever forget. It's just one of her classic lines now.

Hana stretches her arms up above her head, almost as if she was reaching for the sun itself. A grin spreads across her face, brighter than the sun, and she lowers her arm to confidently reply, “The world could always use some more heroes.”