For those of you who read stuff I write this is on par the course: me ditching an idea but not having the guts to delete my old stories. This is the idea i had while i was in the shower a week ago and it took me this long to want to write it but HENCE a muse (literal, in some cases) caught me off guard.
Basically I'd tell this in the story but the premise is that Overwatch lost the omnic war due to a betrayal. This is the grimdark post apocalypta that ensued. Expect some gritty edgy shennanigans. If you like it I do feed off reviews, the precious few i've gotten. DVA Centric, I'd say, and some shipping "Tease" here and there but no true shipping. I'm a big guilty fan of Dad76 and Momcy elements though so expect that piece of fan schlock in here.
Love, the V
This is the girl. She is small. She is hungry. It is the morn, and the room holds no light for her. She is alone, again.
Brown hair, supple and soft. She is bathed regularly.. Her hands shake as she curls into herself. There is nothing in the room around her. Her eyes are open but there is nothing to see. Bright, brown. Afraid.
(Hana Song)
Frail were those hands, but like a surgeon's. Cracked pink paint on her fingertips, calloused hands twitched, red and aching. She was on her side, curled up, her own skin offering the warmth that kept her sane, with no other. The cold ground chilled her side, as she was allowed no clothing to shield herself.
She whimpered.
When she was seventeen, the bad guys won. She never found out how, but those were the last days of triumph. With Baby (that creature of hot pink, newborn steel), she soared through Korean airspace, beholden to none but her own two hands and the enemy, tyrannical beast of gears and metal. Endless, nameless. Her fans adored, and she shone, brighter than the stars.
This is my song. I am a diva. Watch me burn.
Soon, she was the only one in the sky. It was too late, too late to fall back, too late to escape.
They shot her down.
When she fell, she hit the ground. The machines killed her friends and her eyes saw the burning buildings, the defeat. Hana was comforted only by the inevitably that she would meet the same fate. Her head would be separated from her shoulders, and her tale would end. Korea melted under the omnics, and the government was mechanical within the week. The men who once lived there filled mass graves behind the city. Her parents had always been gone, but now, her new family joined them. She would join them soon, and that was solace where there was no other.
The machines were cruel and allowed her no such luxury. Her head stayed on and so did the shackles.
Lab Rat
Snippets of the world reached her ears, overheard conversations between metal overlords. Man had fallen, and the Omnics had taken it all.
God damn it.
White rooms, so many white rooms. She was strapped down onto the table, screaming, screaming. How many rabbits do you see? How many rabbits do you see now? Is the rabbit an object of your affection, Human? Human, why do you love this rabbit? Human, do you still like the rabbit after its skin has been removed? Human, why are you sad? Human, are you in pain? Is this pain?
Human, you are in the top percentile of humans. What is exceptional about your physical body? Human, are you of different manufacture? Human…
Stop
Put the specimen back in storage.
She wore nothing but her plugsuit, and when she was in storage, it went for a wash. Song was stored in a practical storage unit, three by five meters. She was allowed to take bathroom breaks, and fed a diet of pure nutrition once a day. There were no others like her, so they didn't cut her open and scoop out what they found interesting. Meatbags were a dime a dozen, but her programming was valuable.
(For Now.)
Her heroes had died, she figured. In the hours where she was blind, fumbling around in the dark, she wondered about what had happened to them. Were they in storage as well? Were they buried in mass graves, stacked with the same citizen folk they protected for their last moments? What of Overwatch?
Nothing.
The hours she spent, solitary, became her time for dreaming.
And what dreams she had!
She imagined telling another human being about those dreams. There was no one to tell, so she told herself. She told Baby.
"Baby, do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we had won the war? And put these things in the garbage? Where did Morrison go? I miss my bed." Her voice cracked.
"Baby, I wonder what they did with you. I hope you're in one piece." (She caressed the neon carapace, glimmering pink in the morning sun. She perched in the cockpit, her gloved hand slipping around the joystick, the sweat from her palms condensed onto the tough rubber. She breathed. She placed her boots on the pedals, and drank in the heat of the engine, the roar of the beast within, tearing through her soul, a duet of woman and beast.)
Baby probably had been dismantled and the pieces used to construct more omnics. The pink metal headpiece, a head. The gun, grafted onto a bastion unit, mowing down schoolchildren.
It was the hours, endless hours, that stole her soul. The robots could go to hell but her own body was breaking, minute by minute. Her hands twitched, her knuckles were white. When was her next meal? Too far, too far.
Clang.
Her eyes widened, but she closed them again. She had been unable to sleep. She couldn't go back to the room like this. One more hour, please..
Clang.
Muffled speaking.
"-s there anyone out there.."
And then, there was light.
Red line. Inert, his visor. Face mask, pale forehead, white hair. The orange light cast his shadow across her, enveloping. His hands clutched a gun, larger than her arm, glowing, shedding blue onto the black room. Armored, jacketed, blue and white.
Human.
In her fever she does not question it before her, but lies, stone.
"My god.." It's slate, the voice, hard and strong. Footsteps near, and she curls in on herself.
"Angela, I've found the pilot."
She feels arms, human arms, clutch her around the back. And then she is lifted, pulled close, fetal position, bare skin against the synthetic jacket. Her eyes drifted open, and she shifted her unfocused gaze over her would-be rescuer.
"I'm gonna get you out of here."
"Who are you..?" Hana whispers.
"I.." Pause. "I'm just a soldier doing my job."
And he walked, bobbing her up and down, holding her close to his chest as he shifted into a run. Bright orange light, bright white light, mechanical clicking. Bleary as she was, she didn't see the broken machines, pocked with bullet marks, pieces embedded in walls, torn and dead.
Corridors of the dead shells, windows of square sunlight. Orange, accented with yellow, early day. 76 didn't want the mission to last long enough for daylight, but there was nothing to be done. Korea was a nightmare to dismantle. His comms were going crazy, and every man, woman, and omnic in the country was soon to be aware of the new status of their beloved nation.
(Free)
(For now)
"Mercy, I'm going to need you to extract someone. I'd estimate about one hundred pounds, five foot two. Heading to exit C, ETA seven minutes."
The swiss doctor's soft voice confirmed her availability. "This is going to have to be one of the last, 76. The Red Stripe's approaching."
"Affirmative."
He jumps down a flight of stairs, boots clattering onto the concrete. He drifts back into the rhythm of his morning runs with Tracer, the velocity and the inertia of his old body hurtling down hallways, stairs, unable to be stopped by anyone or anything. The wind rushes past his jacket (he remembers the gaudy coat, oh how it flapped around) and he breaks through a glass window with his boot, the crash making the slip of a girl in his hands twitch.
He can't land in a roll or do any slides, so he's steady, on two feet, thundering across the rooftop.
Korea's gotten complacent. Security's weak, now, and the fewer bolt heads in the way, the easier it is for Overwatch to dart in and out like a hawk. The orange glints across the glass panels, shadowed in the alleyways between steel buildings. In the distance, the rotors of a helicopter pierce the quiet.
The iron giants pass, and there she is.
Winged, arms outstretched, she floats down, descending onto the rooftop, white and orange and yellow, platinum blonde hair flapping around in the breeze. He spares it little thought, and he nears her. He places the girl, carefully, in the hands of the guardian, who nods and, without another word, ascends again, great golden wings flapping, flying to the helicopter.
Jack Morrison wants to join her, get out, out of this machine hell.
But there's work to be done.
"Genji, what's your status?"
"There's been a.. complication, Commander."
"I'm on my way."
And so he runs.
When she awakes, it's to a white room and… soft humming. She didn't know when the man had left, but now, she was.. Elsewhere. Warm, clothed. She breathed in sharply.
The humming continues, and Hana keeps her eyes closed. She listens to the soft sounds of the woman on the other side of the room. She's still hazy, still delirious, still stuck in that black room.
She opens her eyes.
"Why, hello there. How are you doing, Liebling?" A woman, blonde hair (so bright!) strafing over her forehead on her right, tied up in a ponytail. Bright blue eyes full of caring (mother?) and a gentle smile on her full lips. Hana takes in every inch of her face, her own brown eyes wide open, scanning, saving. (angel, she notes)
(Is this a human, a real human?)
"Ar-are y-you real?" She didn't mean to sound so choked, so broken. She does anyways.
"Hush..," The angel places her hands (warm and soft, unlike Hana's torn fingers) on Hana's wrist, rubbing it softly. "I am real, and you are safe. It's over, your pain is all over. You're safe now."
Hana Song's eyes grow wet, they burn. Her mouth opens and she lets out a warble, a break. She can't help the hot tears that slide down her cheeks, and she can't help the way she grabs the woman's arm, a railing over an endless chasm.
Human
"Who." She says, wiping her tears away. She's garbed in white as she sits up, under soft silk blankets. Her eyes blink around the room, cataloging, saving. It's white but it's not like That Room, it's not harsh, the light is.. Good, it's soft, it's warm. There's trays and trays of medicine, tools, papers, (Plush toys, how cute!), and the door is right there.
"I'm Doctor Angela Ziegler of Overwatch. And we've just rescued you from the Korean Omnic stronghold. We've departed and are heading for our temporary base, at which point you'll be free to choose what you want to do."
"..Ok.." Hana's stopped crying (embarrassment that it is) and she's let go of Angela's arm, and takes deep breaths. Her mind is moving at light speed through the universe, databanks of hidden info that she had locked up, cabinets of interesting information, memories of stuffed bunnies and sweets and treats and (Mother?).
"Now, would you mind answering a few basic questions for me? I can come back later if you need some adjustment time." Angela smiled. Hana doesn't want to refuse.
"No, I-I'm fine, please ask me.."
"Alright, question one. What is your name and age?" Angela wears a white doctor's coat and has a clipboard on her forearm and a pencil in the other (when did she procure those?).
"I'm.. Hana Song." It takes longer than she understands to say that. So long. Who is Hana Song? She's not Dva, obviously. Dva died with her friends on that day. Hana is just what her mother called her. Hana isn't what she is now, but it'll have to do.
Angela nods, quickly scraping her pen across the paper. A peaceful silence reigns for a moment.
"Oh, I'm eighteen." Hana quickly adds, a slight warmth across her cheeks.
God I'm human again I just felt awkward
Angela laughs, and Hana smiles.
"Alright, what do you know about Overwatch?"
"Well, I know it's a peacekeeping force put together to fight the.." Don't falter, Song. They've been your daily life for the last three years. Don't break down on yourself like this.
"The.." Dammit, Song.
"Yes, that's fine, it's fine." Angela places her hand on the teen's shoulder and squeezes, not missing a beat. Hana looks down at her hands, which are covered in.. salve?
"I.. was captured three years ago." She says.
"You don't have to talk about it, Hana. We can heal those wounds.. when they're not so fresh. I won't be asking any more questions, so you can relax." She places the clipboard on the table and turns around, shuffling a few papers.
"Okay.."
"I'll hold off the simple medical examination until a little later. Is that fine?"
"Uh.. yeah."
The doctor smiles at the teen, and exits the room. "Call me if you need anything, I'm right outside this door. Anything at all, okay, sugar?"
"Yeah, I.. Okay."
Her head thuds back into the pillow. She can't sleep. Her eyes watch the white ceiling, so pure, so.. Bright. No more dark rooms.
No more dark rooms… She's going to cry again.
The future is a question mark