It's easy to miss the little details in life. Especially when that life is lived in the quiet but busy city of Busan, the second most populous metropolis of Korea. Whispered gossip here, a stolen kiss there- people will be people and people do not tend to notice.

Amin's no idiot. Amin prides her ability to pick up on the details.

Of course, this skill gets her into more than her fair share of trouble.

Case in point: this morning. The detail of the day is a short little girl dressed entirely in pink, shuffling about in a graffiti-scrawled alley. Amin slows her brisk pace dramatically, pulls out her phone, pretends to text someone. Pretends not to stare. Pretends not to wonder at how humans never seem to notice the peculiarities of day-to-day city life, especially when those peculiarities dwell right under their noses.

The girl is young- fourteen, fifteen years old? Upon closer inspection, she's wearing pajamas tiled with the face of a cartoonish rabbit. Her front is stained an odd maroon, and she's as pale as death himself.

Amin takes an uneasy sidestep towards her. She's seen enough troubled teens to recognize one out on the streets- they all had that strange, hunted look about them as they made their way through life. Shoulders slumped and heads ducked in a silent prayer that nobody would notice them. A quiet tsk tsk hisses from her throat.

There's a duffel bag swinging from the girl's shoulder, and unlike the rest of her, it's new and obviously expensive- Amin recognizes that it's military-grade; Kyung had a bag similar to it while he was still in mandatory military service. Even more suspicious, really. She narrows her eyes, fingers freezing over her phone.

The girl's fiddling with a device of some sort- it's too small to make out- and that's when Amin realizes that the girl's arms are covered in something dry and dark red. A surprised yelp escapes her.

Her hand jumps to her mouth, but it's too late; the girl turns, dark eyes startled. The girl fumbles with the little device, spins around, long legs begin to move-

Now, Amin could let her go, just move on with her day. It's a lazy Saturday afternoon, and the boongobahng stand beckons from the next street down with the smell of fried bread. It would be the easiest thing in to world to just turn around, continue on to the market, to have a warm lunch and then return to her apartment.

There are a million reasons why she shouldn't go after this strange girl- it's cold, it's dangerous, unpredictable-

Amin takes a meditative moment of silence. Turns off her eyes, bathes in the darkness. She's not an idiot. She knows trouble when she sees it. And she hasn't seen trouble like this in a long, long time.

Back away now, Amin Lee. Back away now.

Oh, Amin Lee notices plenty. But Amin Lee was never very good at distancing herself from any of it.

It's a concoction of concern, pity, and burning curiosity drives her to call out "Hey!" The girl freezes.

The poor thing is shivering. It's winter, what's she doing walking around in pajamas? Amin walks up to her, heeled boots clicking a little too loudly against the pavement. She's aware that something is wrong with this girl- she could even be dangerous- but what she's even more aware of is that the girl is definitely in some kind of trouble. This is a terrible idea.

"Hey, is something wrong?" she asks, adopting a motherly tone, despite only being twenty. The young girl's gone complete deer-in-the-headlights mode. "Are you hurt?"

Delicate lashes flutter, dislodging a drop of water that slides down the girl's cheek. Like a tear. She stares up at Amin, lips parted in surprise.

Amin bends her knees slightly, to make herself appear smaller and less threatening to the girl. She repeats, just a touch slower, "Are you okay?" She nonchalantly slides her open handbag from shoulder to elbow, so that the girl can see its contents clearly- cheap lipstick, makeup, a wallet. Nothing worthy of suspicion. Hopefully that would alleviate some of the girl's stress.

Sure enough, the girl's eyes dart down, to Amin's bag, searching for the danger that doesn't exist. Her expression twists into something stony and unreadable.

Finally, a reply. Firm- almost angry.

"I'm not hurt. Nothing is wrong, I'm okay." Her voice is high-pitched, but not unpleasant to listen to- she sounds like a child, far younger than she looks. Amin watches in concern as the girl unconsciously mouths the last two words repeatedly- I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay. An obvious attempt at a lie, though an impressive one. Amin's not met very many people who can put on a brave face like this girl.

Still, something is very unsettling about this entire confrontation. Her eyes flicker down to inspect the girl's limbs- yes, the strange stuff painting the girl's arms and shirt is definitely blood. She obviously got in a fight. Abusive parents, maybe. Took with the wrong crowd? Then, a far more logical thought: What am I doing here?

She brushes her cashmere scarf over one metallic shoulder, hiding her uneasiness behind a thin smile. "So… ah… the red… liquid… is that all-"

"It's not mine," the girl blusters, voice going from high and soft to high and sharp. "I- I'm not hurt, or anything. Thank you for, uh, n-noticing?" She edges away from Amin, who suddenly has the image of a wounded animal trying to escape the reaches of a friendly human. "I'll… I'll be going now."

Amin's optics narrow and she makes up her mind in that same instant. It's genuine concern that moves her to offer, "You can wash up and change into something else back at my place."

The girl does not look afraid anymore, just confused. Her eyebrow arches in suspicion as she asks, "Do I know you?"

Why was the girl so hesitant? All Amin was offering was a hot bath and maybe some food. She crosses her arms, frustration growing steadily, but patience as limitless as always (or so she liked to think). "No. Does that matter?"

"Of course. You're a stranger, and-"The girl seems to unfurl, quick as a whip, and all of a sudden the bag is on the ground and her arms are slightly raised. Amin takes a hasty step back; the pose looks strikingly like something she'd see in a martial arts movie.

The girl's tone is accusatory. "Are you with Talon?"

What? Was that a gang of some sort? Amin hasn't ever heard of a 'Talon.' Her confusion is evident in her voice as she swears, "No, I'm- I'm not with anyone. I just want to help!" Back away now, Amin Lee. Back away now-

"Help," the girl repeats. Amin doesn't know if it's just an echo of what she said or a plea. The look on her face is haunting- desperation, touched with uncertainty. "I… I don't need…" She swallows, relaxes her stance.

It's the perfect chance to get away. She doesn't need help. She says doesn't need help, you foolish, soft-hearted piece of-

It's too late. If she doesn't do this, the girl's expression of quiet lostness will be permanently seared into her memory archives.

"If you want to come with me," says Amin gently, "I won't call the police."

Part of her prays that the strange girl will say no, or run away, or scoff at her and leave. Amin knows she's right- this girl is trouble in its worst form. She watches nervously as the girl's hands clench around a band- no, a bracelet that wraps around her wrist. The rabbit charm sounds like a bell against the delicate glass beads speckling the leather.

Finally, she looks up. "Okay."

Hana hadn't actually expected Genji to just leave her there. She'd thought that at the very least the cyborg would be there to see her off in the morning. She'd thought- she'd thought that he'd leave behind a note, or maybe say goodbye before he left.

(Some childish part of her, buried away beneath layers of lies and masks, had sincerely believed he would never go.)

Instead, she'd woken up to the sound of crows singing hoarse-throated on the eaves of the storage room, with nothing but a duffel bag and a blanket that Genji must've tossed over her in the night. No note, no sign, no anything- not even a trail of blood for her to follow, even though he'd been bleeding all over the place; God knows how he managed to do that.

The message was abundantly clear- do not follow me.

But God knows she tried. She looked everywhere. She'd even returned to that terrible alley where Genji had been shot, where all signs of carnage from the day before had been fenced off with bright yellow CAUTION tape. A gaggle of curious passersby stood around gawking at the scene, despite the lack of anything spectacular to see- just ominous red stains and security Omnics brandishing electricity poles.

No signs of Genji.

Genji. Hana doesn't know what to think of their conversation- hell, she doesn't even know what to feel. The thought that there had been a tragic motivation behind Genji's every brotherly move, some sort of dead brother situation?- the thought that Genji fully expects her to be able to survive all the way to Seoul- the feeling that Genji considers her basically family, the feeling that he was-

-dead. Almost certainly dead.

Tears should come, but they don't. Hana's grown up. Or so she likes to think.

At the very least, Hana had the transceiver that allowed her to speak directly to Tracer. Tracer, the bubbly Overwatch agent that has recited more than five of the twenty-or-so Overwatch speeches Hana knows by heart. If anyone knew what to do in this dire situation, it would be her. In a world without Genji, a world without an anchor, this woman would be the replacement.

Thirty-three times did Hana press that button. Thirty-three times Tracer did not pick up.

At that desperate time, standing rain-soaked in the alley, she had felt like she was falling to pieces. She still feels like she's falling to pieces, even in the relative safety of some stranger's apartment. She doesn't know which subway to Seoul she has to take, or where in Seoul she's supposed to go to. She doesn't know anything about Talon except that they are big and bad and dangerous and totally outclass her in every single way, from brains to numbers to firepower.

For hours she had wandered in circles, from the bread stand to the market and back, unsure of what to do, grinding gum between her teeth until it dissolved into wet sugar. Eventually she had been reduced to pacing back and forth in an alley, clicking that stupid red button over and over and over and over again-

Then the Omnic lady had called out to her. Offered help. Extended a robotic hand in friendship, obviously recognizing someone in need.

And Hana had tried to refuse, because she's gotten to the ridiculous point that everyone on the streets seems suspicious, seems to be a Talon agent in disguise.

It took a little while for her to realize that if the Omnic was in fact a Talon agent, she would be dead whether or not she went with them. The thought that finally convinced her to follow the lady was vague and half-baked, a result of frazzled nerves- If I die today, it might as well be after taking a hot bath.

So there she stood. Hair dripping with water and now smelling faintly of jasmine shampoo. Crouching over some stranger's sink, scrubbing at the hem of her pajamas, trying to get rid of that awful maroon stain. A clearly impossible task, but Hana's not sure what else to do at this point. Discolored water and soap bubbles run down the side of the sink, flowing freely onto the floor.

There's a gentle knock at the door- more of a tap, really. Hana swings her head to look at the doorknob, checking, with a wild flash of fear, to see if it's locked. She lets out a shaky exhalation of breath when she sees that it is, though she's not sure why. Locked doors provide the illusion of safety, I suppose.

Emotions at odds with logic. Nowadays everything about her seems to be in conflict.

The Omnic's voice floats in, robotic but warm. "Can you open the door, dear?"

Hana looks down at the tiled floor, which is a wet mess. She throws a towel onto the floor in a pathetic attempt at covering the puddle. It doesn't work very well. Flecks of mud and water drip from every wall in the blindingly white room- the bathroom has been thrust into mayhem and she knows it's all her fault. Hana twists and pulls on the doorknob fully expecting the lady to throw her out upon the horrid sight.

The Omnic's silver faceplate has deep grooves on the sides, giving the impression of high, regal cheekbones. A model number catches light from where it is etched under one of her eyes- ET-03. Her optics flash a soothing blue as they swivel over the drenched room. Wordlessly, she holds out a bundle of fabric through the crack in the door.

Hana stares. They're clothes. And hell, they were nicer than anything she'd ever worn.

"Will this do?" warbled the Omnic, her strange, disembodied voice oddly soft. Hana blinks away her stupor, and she can't pretend to be annoyed by the Omnic's interference anymore. She's genuinely taken aback by the strange lady's kindness, and tries to work out the catch- what could this person possibly want in return?

"Ah, yeah. Er- thank you," Hana mumbles, taking the bundle from her. The Omnic hums in satisfaction(?) before disappearing behind the closed door.

The bundle of fabric unfolds into an airy pink blouse and soft black leggings (and Hana wonders why everyone automatically assumes her favorite color is pink, even though it's actually red.) She works quickly- peeling off her pajamas before slipping into the new clothes, stuffing her belongings into the duffel bag.

She's about to step out of the bathroom when a floor-length mirror catches her eye from the corner. It's mostly fogged up from the humid air, but what remains clear and glassy steals her breath away.

Hana can't help but stare. It's been a long time since she's really looked at herself. In the short span of a week, she seems to have shot up a couple inches, gaining in height what she lost in weight. A lot of weight, it seems, as her face seems gaunt and her eyes a little too hollow for a living person. She swallows, following the bobbing motion of her throat, skin pale enough to fade into the white backdrop of the bathroom wall.

Her hair falls past her shoulders in dripping black-brown locks. At least now that it's wet it's not frizzy. Draped in the overlarge blouse, which vaguely resembles a poncho, and sporting the too-long leggings, which extend past her ankles to the tips of her toes like socks, she looks…

…better than she's looked in years. The kind of person she wouldn't be afraid to show to her millions of Twitch followers. She wonders if she's become more confident. Wonders if being hunted down is what really did it in the end, raising her self-esteem.

Yeah, right. I'm still a nervous wreck.

That doesn't mean she can't still pretend, though. Hana flashes a smile at the mirror. DVA smirks right back.

The Omnic lady is humming a mechanical tune as Hana walks into the living room. The edges of the song are surprisingly soft and whimsical, though Hana can still notice a mechanical grating sound whenever the Omnic tries for a low note. Hana combs her fingers nervously through her hair and waits for the Omnic to notice her.

She does. Looking up from the potted geraniums she was watering, she turns to face Hana, voice warm with appreciation. "Ah, you look so much better now."

"Really? I thought I looked pretty fabulous before." The joke slides from Hana's lips as easy as you please, and even she's taken aback by how natural it sounds. The Omnic's optics flash (blinking, Hana realizes) once, twice.

After a long stretch of silence, she turns back to her geraniums and empties the cup of water she holds above them. "In any case, I am glad that you are feeling better." Her modulated voice somehow seems much friendlier now.

Feeling better. With a wave of shame, Hana recalls how terribly she had treated the lady upon their first meeting. "I…" She swallows, looks down at her feet. "Er, what's your… name?"

The Omnic looks up at Hana, blue-lighted gaze steady. "My name is Amin Lee. And you are…?"

Genji has warned her about this. He had been laughing that day at the market, as Hana joked with one of the fishermen about the large octopus trying to escape the man's grasp. The man had asked Hana what's your name, child, and Genji's laugh had disappeared as he interrupted Hana's reply with a brusque "Her name is Tokki."

A joke. She'd thought it was a joke. As it turned out, he was dead serious as they walked away from the pier, warning her that a name is not a thing to be given so freely, Hana.

And so though Hana is loathe to continue deceiving Amin-nim, she decides with a fake little smile that this lie was a necessary evil. For as much her sake as my own.

"Call me Tokki," she blathers on. "It's just a stupid nickname, really, but I'm more comfortable with it than my real name." She peers hopefully at the Omnic- Amin- who nods in understanding.

"Then, Tokki, is it okay if you wait here for a bit?" Amin steps out from behind the counter, and Hana can only now appreciate the luxurious full-length wool coat in which the Omnic is wrapped. Is she rich or something? I wonder what she does for a living. "I need to go pick up Tara from school."

Tara? Pick up from school? It has been a while since Hana has dropped out, but even when she was in second grade, she walked home from school by herself. That's how it almost always was in Korea. She doesn't ask about it, though, and instead smiles again.

"Sure."

Amin inclines her head, giving Hana a thoughtful once-over. Then she turns and leaves the apartment, still humming that lovely tune.

As soon as the door closes, Hana races to her duffel bag. Pulls out the transceiver, thumbs the red button once again, hoping, praying that someone will pick up. It didn't have to be Tracer- it could be anyone, literally anyone that she could talk to, someone she didn't have to lie to-

No response. Hana yells in frustration and throws the transceiver at the floor, where it bounces off the carpet and blinks innocently from its place on the ground.

What am I doing? What am I doing? Where the hell is Overwatch? Where the fuck is Genji?

She knows that she can't stay here for long. Talon is almost for sure already searching for her, and if they found this place- well, she doesn't know Amin very well, but Hana knows she would never be able to live with herself if the kind Omnic died because of her.

Die. She can almost see the lady's wires strewn across her picturesque living room, painting the clean walls with oil.

The world presses in on her from all sides, shattering the illusion of safety. The landscape painting of Hallasan Mountain and innocent pot of geraniums seems all too real and frightening. Yes, that's right. Talon could come bursting through the door, any second now...

She counts down from ten, screws up her face in concentration. Waits for the black-outfitted agents to come knocking, even though of course they don't. In fact, the room is dead silent, except for the sound of Hana's heavy inhalations. She's being stupid, she can't think straight-

A sharp sense of panic invades her mind, her sense of calm. Hana kneels on the ground, fingers threading nervously through her hair. Half-formulated plans and ideas spin in an endless loop through her head.

What Genji had told her: Get to the station. Take the subway to Seoul-

But which station? I don't know, I don't know, why won't they pick up?

Meet Overwatch in Seoul-

But where the fuck in Seoul?

-a name is not a thing to be so freely given-

My name is Hana, it is DVA, it is Tokki.

Her breath hitches. A mental breakdown, that's what she was suffering from: a completely silent mental breakdown in the living room of a strange Omnic. She wants to laugh, but if she laughs, she would also cry, so she chokes back her emotions and continues to think.

I have the transceiver, they'll contact me eventually.

Overwatch will be there to guide you-

I don't know, I don't know, why won't they pick up?

I believe in you.

You're like a sister to me.

Overwatch knows what to do, they'll contact me eventually.

Think, think! A route to Seoul, a route to Seoul-

-dee-dee-dee. Dee-dee-dee-

Hana's thoughts, her body, her feelings, her entirety freezes in place, heart jumping into her throat. Her eyes lock onto the transceiver. She hears the sound, sees the sound, tastes the sound.

Dee-dee-dee. Dee-dee-dee.

Her hand latches onto the transceiver. She presses down on the big red button, her spirits inflating like a balloon, high with hope, drunk off of the wonderful and terrible feeling of maybe. Was she dreaming? Delirious, maybe? Perhaps she'd spent so much time seeking that sweet, sweet sound that it became a figment of her imagination. Yes, there had to be a catch- it couldn't be-

A voice with a marked British accent chirps from the device like a song from Heaven.

"Hana Song, is that you, love?"

Wasn't even going to write past a chapter three in the beginning, and then look where we are today. Sixty followers! Absolutely incredible.

Thank you, each and every one of you, for supporting me- whether you're just someone who quietly follows the story or someone who comments on every chapter. You guys make my day.

I finally got over my sickness. First thing I did was sit down and finish writing this chapter! It's a bit of a set-up for the next segment of the story, which I promise will have some heartfelt conversation between Hana and Lena.

Amin is an OC, and yes, she is completely Omnic. She may seem a bit randomly placed right now- but don't worry, she'll seem more grounded in later chapters.

Jfb715- Thank you so much for pointing out the error. At the time, I was a bit of a mess and didn't have time to go over the story more than once, haha. Your help was much appreciated.

Anonymous Guest- I hope you had a wonderful birthday!

Translation Notes:
Boongobahng- Goldfish bread, same as the bread from the last chapter.

Tokki- means 'rabbit' in Korean.

Hallasan- means Halla Mountain, so technically I was grammatically incorrect when I said Mountain Hallasan (which would mean Mountain Halla Mountain!) Put the extra 'Mountain' in there for clarification.

Culture note: Especially in the cities, people in Korea usually walk or take a taxi everywhere. I remember my friend in Busan didn't even own a car; she biked everywhere. This includes very young children on their way back from school.