The cowboy is sitting with Amin. Tara quietly stares.
They're chuckling over something at the kitchen table- Mercer's laugh is hearty and loud, while Amin's is low and soft. She's pretty sure that the laughter was instigated by the cowboy, who, despite his appearance, is somewhat socially adept.
She stares, hard.
Matthew Mercer. He hasn't relinquished that absurd hat of his yet, despite Amin's insistences that he put it up on the coathanger with his serape (which also remains stubbornly draped over the man's shoulders.) He has yet to light a cigarette in Amin's presence, but the musk of smoke that hangs around him is telling.
He's tall and lanky and big and definitely an athlete of some sort- too lean to be a bodybuilder, maybe a boxer? He's got the right chest girth for it. However, even Tara with her years of sporting knowledge can't pinpoint exactly what this man does. His build is all over the place, and that metallic arm of his is definitely throwing her off.
Mercer begins to speak again. He has deep, honest eyes. Tara scowls.
A friend of Hana's, apparently, though Tara can't see the quiet, sullen girl being friends with this loud and extroverted man. He'd waltzed into their living space with a bold claim and made himself at home equally boldly. Everything about him screamed strangeness.
However, perhaps the strangest thing of all is that Amin seems completely fine with him.
Tara loses her StarCraft game. That was to be expected; she hadn't been paying attention to her match, and the extent of her response to the defeat is a whispered fuck. She pretends to peruse through the DVA Alert news feed while eavesdropping on the adults' conversation:
"-travel a lot, y'see, an' I made some friends on the way."
Amin's voice, quietly contemplative, drifts from the kitchen. "You came to Korea to see Hana?"
By contrast, McCree's voice seems to boom without being intentionally loud, filing the air with its smooth drawl. "Yes ma'am. Family friend wanted me to watch over her. He's a quirky fellow from Japan that's rather close to her."
Mercer seems like the kind of guy you call when you're too drunk to drive yourself home from the bar. Dependable enough to rely on, and does casually stupid things often enough to be non-judgmental of your own stupid actions. So why does Tara just innately dislike him so much?
Maybe because he's lying.
"You're from America, then?" asks Amin politely.
What an unnecessary question. Tara holds back a snort. Of course he is American; Matthew Mercer is the most aggressively American man she has ever seen. Korea has its share of visiting Americans, sure, but most don't wear… well. Whatever the hell Mercer is wearing.
"Sure am. I don' really know my way around this place," he says with a chuckle. Tara can imagine him kicked back in one of the chairs. "Never been to Korea before."
"I hope you enjoy your stay," says Amin politely with her impeccable English. Which was another surprise. Tara didn't know that Amin had an English library downloaded- as far she knew, Amin only ever spoke Korean. How strange.
Then again, Amin had once been some man's housekeeping Omnic, so perhaps it wasn't her choice in the first place. Though… why would a Korean man need an entire English library downloaded onto Amin's disk? That bothers her.
Yes.
That bothers me…
Her fingers begin to tap slowly on the laptop. The back of her neck prickles.
For as long as Tara can remember, Amin had been the same three things: kind, intelligent, and reasonable. She'd been just eight when Amin had picked her up off the streets, promising safety and kindness and all these things Tara had never heard of before. Initial distrust eventually gave way to love when Tara realized that yes. Unlike her biological mother, Amin will never abandon her.
She'd always passed Amin's unchanging nature off as a byproduct of being an Omnic. It's strange to think that Amin too has a past, and that Amin's personality has indeed been molded by time.
Tara's world isn't hers anymore. It's been taken over by Hana, and then by this man. People she doesn't understand anything about, and then- to think that even Amin had something secretly hidden away, something that hinted at Amin not being the Amin Tara knew-
"What sort of work do you do in America?" asks Amin, and Tara stops tapping her fingers to listen more intently.
"I own cows. And horses. Mainly cows, though," huffs Mercer with a broad grin. "My ranch is small, but it's finer than frog's hair, it is. We produce some great cuts of meat. How about you, Missus Lee?"
A rancher? That would explain his physique. His metal arm, a farming accident, perhaps.
But no. No, something still feels off.
Amin hums. "I'm an interior designer and architect. Tara- that's my daughter- she's not out of high school yet, but she teaches taekwondo at a local academy. As for Hana…"
Tara turns her head, just slightly, to see the man's expression. He's visibly more tensed now. Aha. We're entering the realm of sensitive questions.
"Hana was on the run, it seems, when we found her." Amin's faceplate is inscrutable as always, though her lights flash a soothing blue. She's being careful. Too careful. "And she was… well…"
Oh, just spit out! Tara stands, and her voice is just a few decibels higher than she intended it to be.
"Covered in blood."
Both Mercer and Amin turn to look at her.
Tara meets Mercer's gaze with a glare. "Explain how that happen?"
The silence is excruciating. The smile has completely dropped off of Mercer's face now, in favor of a grim stare.
Amin starts, low and worried. "Tara-"
"Amin." She breaks into Korean, so that this man may not understand what he simply cannot understand- that Tara has no idea what's going on and that her life is spiraling out of control, and control is all Tara has ever wanted.
"There is no time to be cordial. We need to get to the bottom of this, this entire thing with Hana, and- and we need to start by asking questions!"
She points at Mercer with a scowl, switches rapidly into awkward English. "YOU! EXPLAIN WHO HANA IS." Tara stalks out from behind the couch, so that she may glower down at the seated Mercer. "WHAT KNOW ABOUT HER?"
Tara had only spent one lonely afternoon playing StarCraft with Hana, trash-talking her every turn of the way. They shared a bowl of Dorados and cackled at the orange stains they left all over the furniture.
Unlike the infinitely more motherly Amin, Tara wouldn't say so much that she's attached to the girl, but rather, she feels oddly sorry for her- like a lost puppy that's run away, and has been secretly bothering her since.
Mercer doesn't try and bluff his way out, which would've made her angry.
Instead, he says nothing, opting for a "hmm!" and rubbing his chin, which makes her positively furious.
Tara's voice becomes a growl. "I. Am. Warning. You."
Mercer stays resolutely silent. Tara can almost see the gears turning in his head, finding a way out. There's no use; what explanation could he possibly offer to justify Hana's situation?
"What, then? Mar harkuga upsuhyo? You have nothing to say?" she taunts.
Amin stands, pushing her chair back with a loud grating sound, and her voice is steely with forced politeness. "Tara, that's enough-"
No. It's not even close to enough.
She's so, so close to finally ending this mystery- and that's what drives her to grab the front of the cowman's ridiculous serape, demanding answers, and Amin begins shouting at her and the cowman is saying something oddly quiet about backing off-
There's a flash of metal and Tara stumbles backwards, letting go of the rough fabric, because she recognizes- she recognizes the thing he's holding- no, pointing at her head.
A gun.
Her first instinct is to raise her hands halfway, and to take another step back.
Her second, slightly stupider instinct is to say that's illegal in Korea.
Mercer's hat overshadows his face. Amin lets out a metallic gasp that's gut-wrenchingly concerned, but instead of taking a step back, she takes a step forward. Towards Tara.
"I didn't want to do this," he says conversationally. The man towers over her- he's so fucking tall-and the air around him feels charged with tension. "But you looked about ready to tear off my face, so. Tha's that."
Tara is not easily scared. She never has been, even when she was just a kid, and she'd like to believe that nothing can frighten her anymore.
The fear that trickles down her spine tells her otherwise.
At least she was correct. Matthew Mercer is a liar. Just like Hana. Tara doesn't know whether she wants to delve further into this, or just kick him out of the house. Not that she can do either, even if she wants to- the gun effectively pins her in place.
"So," she growls, hands still drifting halfway between the positions of I surrender and I'm flipping you off. "That is nice gun you have. For a farmer."
"Mr. Mercer," says Amin, calmer than humanly possible. She scoots towards Tara with slow, exaggerated motions, metallic feet scraping the bare floor. "Let's- let's be civil, here. She-"
It's then that the door swings open, entirely too loud and entirely too fast. All heads snap towards the door.
Standing there is a skinny girl in an oversize jacket and a clunky pair of boots.
Right before Tara's eyes, all hell breaks loose.
"McCree?" Hana Song asks, aghast, while Tara blurts "Hana? What the hell-"
Apparently it's then that Hana realizes that her cowman is pointing a gun at Tara, because she rounds on him with a louder, even shriller "MCCREE! What the actual FUCK are you doing here? WHO THE HELL D'YOU THINK YOU'RE AIMING THAT GUN AT?"
"HANA, WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?" yells Tara in angry Korean, fury wiping all traces of fear from her mind like an all-consuming flood. "TELL HIM TO BACK OFF, OR I SWEAR-"
Hana needs no further encouragement. She turns, ever the pint-size terror, and positively screeches at the cowman, "McCree- what- why- just – just put down the fucking gun!"
Mercer- no, McCree, which is an even more Western name- seems overly reluctant to let go of the thing. " Song, yer friend here's going to-"
"-kick your ass, you deserve it-" snarls Tara, because he lied to her and now she feels like an utter fool-
Hana seizes McCree's arm, unsuccessfully attempting to shove it down and away from Tara's face. "For Heaven's sake, what is she gonna do? Tara's only seventeen! What are you again? A fossil? Put the gun down-"
McCree curses, slides the revolver back into his holster with unnecessary flourish, and continues with a frankly insulting "Ignore 'em and let's just ditch this place-"
"If you just leave I will cut you," warns Tara, and her first wild impulse is to threaten the ridiculous pair with the nearest fork.
"I only came 'ere," and real anger begins to peak through McCree's calm façade, "to retrieve Song. We're leavin', and there ain't'-"
"No, we're not," yells Hana stubbornly. "I came all the way here-"
Amin's words cut through the air like God's own knife, the shining voice of reason amidst the raging battlefield.
"Everyone, please calm down."
And like a heavenly miracle, the room falls silent.
Tara scowls as she eyes Amin, who picks her way between Tara and the opposing Hana and McCree. She's not big by any definition, what with her slender form, but she's tall- taller than most Omnics- and even towers over McCree.
The cowman apparently feels threatened by her presence, and Hana has to slap away his hand away from where it is inching towards the revolver.
"Mr. McCree," pronounces Amin carefully in a modulated hum. It's impossible for Tara to detect any hints of anger or frustration in her voice. The perks to having a synthetic voice. "Normally, my guests are free to leave whenever they choose. But in this case…"
Her head swivels smoothly on its neck of wires, towards Hana.
"I feel that we are deserving of an explanation."
"Don't have one," mutters McCree, only to gruntas Hana elbows him sharply in the side.
"Amin-nim. Tara," says Hana firmly in Korean. Her feet are placed at shoulder width, planted into the ground with an air of immovability. "First of all, let me apologize for this total idiot. I don't think he has many friends."
She shoots McCree a nasty look. He raises an eyebrow. "Mind speakin' a language I understand?"
In Korean- "Unfortunately, I do." She turns back towards their direction, and her shoulders sag slightly. "Anyways. I just came back to say… to say goodbye. That was all I had planned. I didn't intend for any of this to happen. If you would just forgive me, I'd do any-"
She thinks she can just ask 'forgiveness' and walk away?
Bullshit.
Hana's eyes are round with apprehension when Tara walks towards her. Jabs a finger into the girl's chest. Saying the words is like incinerating a thousand-kilogram burden that's been weighing on her mind for what feels like ages.
"Who the hell are you?"
Because Hana is a mysterious intruder on her life.
Because Hana has an armed guard that would look at home in any spaghetti western.
(Because Hana had been fun to play StarCraft with.)
(Because Hana might be a decent person, so why all the lies?)
McCree and Amin hover uncertainly around her and Hana. Perhaps they want to intervene. Let them try; Tara will take on anyone right now, gun or no gun. She just wants answers.
Hana's brows draw together, and her response is robotic. "Hana Song. Fourteen or fifteen years old. I already told you this."
"You did what?" sputters the cowboy from the side, as if introducing yourself by your actual name is simply unheard of.
"That doesn't tell me anything," points out Tara. She points a wayward thumb at McCree. "Who the hell is he? And speak in Korean, so that he can't understand."
Hana's eyes shift towards him, and suddenly lowers towards the ground. Her voice is soft and childlike, like it had been when Tara first met her. "My… um… escort."
Escort? What for? "You said you were homeless," Tara snaps.
"I am."
"You're on the run?"
"…Yes."
Tara narrows her eyes. "Who are you running from that's making you travel with a gun-toting cowboy?"
McCree grunts reluctantly. "Listen, I'd sure 'ppreciate it if you spoke in a language I can understand-"
"Shut up, McCree." Hana chews, slowly, on what's probably four sticks of bubble gum. "I'm..."
The girl's resolve visibly strengthens. Hana straightens her back, tosses back her hair with a scowl.
"I'm joining Overwatch."
Tara stares. Hana's cheeks go slightly pink, but she stares defiantly back.
Of all the things that Tara was expecting to hear (I'm a criminal heiress, the yakuza are after me, I robbed a bank and now I'm on the run), this made the absolute least sense.
Because. After all. Overwatch is deader than Tara's parents.
Perhaps McCree can understand English very well and Korean not at all, but 'Overwatch' is an unmistakable word in either language. His frown equals Tara's as he steps towards Hana, and consequently, distances himself from Amin. "Song, they shouldn't know this."
"They have every right to know." Hana crosses her arms, tone suddenly brisk and informative. "McCree is taking me to Seoul, where I'll be meeting the reformed Overwatch. There's a terrorist cell on my ass called Talon. They chased me here from Juseong, y'know, that little town that's nearby. My previous… escort got hurt and that's where all that blood was from, in case you were wondering. Life sucks and I'm probably going to die."
A terrorist organization? Hana- she'd been covered in blood, sure, but a terrorist organization? "Wait, why would a terrorist-"
Hana ducks her head, avoiding eye contact with her. "Wait. Let me finish."
Now, Tara is by no means patient. But something about the way Hana looks at her- silently begging her to stay quiet for just a little longer- stitches her mouth shut.
McCree has crossed his arms and somehow lit a cigarillo in the millisecond Tara hadn't been paying attention to him, filling the air with the heady scent of nicotine. The look on his face reads pissed off, but curious. Something Tara can sympathize with, for once. Amin's head is tilted owlishly to one side.
Hana continues. "By being here I'm putting you in danger, yada yada ya. So… we're going to leave. I just, um, wanted to tell you. Before I do."
"You can stay for as long as you like," says Amin immediately in English. "You and Mister McCree both. If you really are in trouble-"
"Tha's much appreciated, ma'am, but we wouldn't want to take advantage of yer hospitality for any longer," finishes McCree smoothly. His eyes form silent daggers at Hana. "We shouldn't have ever come 'ere in the first place. Hana is telling the truth; we're not safe to be around."
"But why?" The words tumble from Tara's mouth. "Why would anyone go after you? Why would- why would anyone want you?"
Hana hesitates. She looks at McCree, who simply shrugs.
"Cat's out of the bag. Tell her if you want," he drawls with pretend carelessness.
Hana turns back towards Tara. A bitter smile peeks through her stony face like a crack in a mask.
"The only reason why anyone wants me is because I have the fastest reaction time in the world. You see, I'm pretty good at games," she explains. "They think that those skills can translate… into robot-driving or something; they weren't entirely clear on that part."
Eh?
"I was under the impression," says Tara carefully, hands on her waist, "that the fastest reaction time in the world belongs to, uh, this streamer. Called DVA."
Hana shrugs, shoving her hands into the jacket pockets. She scuffs at the floor with a booted foot. "You wouldn't be… incorrect."
A bubble of gum slowly swells to life at Hana's lips. She's obviously watching Tara very carefully for a reaction.
Tara is briefly bewildered.
"You're not DVA, though."
"Why can't I be?"
The gum goes pop.
Eh?
"You're saying-"
"You were wondering why I'm so good at StarCraft, right?" Hana smiles at Tara, the corner of her lip twitching as she does. "When I left my house, I obviously couldn't stream anymore, so… yeah. That's why she- I mean, I have been missing."
A silent five seconds follow.
Hana adds helpfully, "I'm DVA."
Another five seconds. Hana's words take a while to sink in, like a flailing truth through the quicksand of Tara's mind.
When it finally hits the bottom- no.
NO WAY.
A shriek jumps from Tara's lips, totally involuntary and totally , McCree, and Hana all jump in surprise as she stomps over to the couch, picks up the holoboard, and hurls it discus-style at Hana.
McCree looks ready to jump forward and intercept it, but Hana's hands shoot out and snatch the thing out of the air with ease. Tara is practically shouting now-
"LOG IN." She stabs at the holoboard with her finger. "Prove it." She refuses to believe that this scruffy fifteen-year-old girl is the DVA she's been watching for years now, less because she thinks Hana isn't skilled enough, and more so because she just can't be DVA- the one with the high-pitched voice and the childish giggle, the one that seemed so fucking happy all the time-
Hana shrugs and props the holoboard open. Clicks on Starcraft. Tara leans over her shoulder, staring as Hana's fingers scuttle like spiders over the keyboard.
A tap of the Enter key, and she's in.
Welcome back, DVA
The look on Hana's face is expectant as she turns to look at Tara, who is only vaguely aware of her presence. The letters seem to bore into her eyes.
DVA.
"What the fuck," breathes Tara. McCree leans over her to peer at the holoboard as well through squinted eyes.
"Yer famous, Song?" he asks curiously. Hana shrugs again.
"In a way." She sounds so damned casual, as if being fucking DVA- #1 World StarCraft player and hailed as a gaming god- is absolutely nothing. "I… thought it would be awkward if I told you."
"Holy shit." Tara takes the holoboard from her, as if maybe the Welcome back, DVA would somehow disappear if she were not constantly looking at it. "How the fuck? I-" She turns, the revelation hitting her like a sledgehammer.
"Were you holding back?" she demands. "When we played." Because no matter how insane Hana Song's abilities are, DVA's abilities are better by far.
Hana bites her lip as she shrugs uncomfortably again. "I… uh… well, you knew about me, so I didn't want to take any risks…"
Tara had always privately assumed that DVA was in her mid-twenties, maybe early thirties- after all, the enigmatic gamer streamed all day, even during school hours. To think that someone could get so good at a game by the age of fifteen is almost incomprehensible to her.
DVA. Hana. One and the same. Tara would be fangirling if it weren't for the fact that- well- it's not just anyone that is DVA, it's this… it's fucking Hana that's DVA- a homeless street urchin with nary a penny to her name.
But then again, why else not? Hana has that vaguely familiar, childlike voice. She has the skills, obviously. She has the looks- cute and perky, like any popular female streamer- though unlike them, she doesn't use her looks to gain views, carefully ridding her online presence of any photos.
But then again-
Hana shifts self-consciously. "Do I have something on my face?"
She just can't get over the strange disconnect between Hana and DVA. DVA spoke like Life was her favorite relative, and she loved him with all her heart. Hana spoke like Life was dead to her.
"You're so different," concludes Tara with a scowl. She bites the inside of her cheek as she tilts her head, studying a flushed Hana from all angles. "It's like you're two different people. Like... goddamn."
Hana makes jazz hands and says dryly, "Well, it's not like I can draw viewers in with my charming personality as is, eh? Oh, there is something on my face. Ew."
Tara watches, dazed, as Hana scrapes flecks of mud off of her cheek.
This is the StarCraft idol that sweeps the competitions. Watched by millions. The one Tara has watched on many a lazy afternoon with hanging jaw and wide eyes.
I've listened to Hana's voice for hours, Tara realizes through her stupor, without meeting her even once.
It was a part of her schedule. Go home, pop open Twitch, get on the DVA stream, and listen absentmindedly while she does homework. Like clockwork, that had been what Tara did every single day. How was it possible that Tara hadn't recognized Hana for who she really was from the very beginning?
Or... more accurately, who DVA was from the very beginning?
McCree clears his throat.
"Well, I've been, er, lost for the past twenty minutes. Care to fill me in? In English?"
Cultural Notes:
Homogeneity: First off, if anyone thinks I'm portraying Koreans as racist for staring at/acting strange around McCree, I apologize. That was not my intent.
HERE'S WHERE MY INNER GEOPOLITICAL ANALYSIS GEEK COMES OUT HOLY FUCK I'M SORRY TO MY ENTIRE NERD-TEASING FOOTBALL TEAM I AM ONE OF THEM
South Korea is a very homogenous country- the vast majority of Koreans are ethnic Koreans, in fact many Koreans don't personally know one other person of a different race. So it's less that Koreans are racist and more of, you literally don't know that many people of different races in Korea. I'm just your average white guy, but even I felt a little conspicuous when I visited Busan. That isn't to say that they were rude to me or anything- I met a lot of people, and all were super kind and polite.
Of course, big cities in places like Busan are slowly becoming melting pots, and therefore becoming more racially diverse over time. So I'm not saying your average white man will get singled out on the streets like McCree.
Then again, your average white man is not fully decked out in cowboy gear.
So, yeah. Make of that what you will Xp
Starcraft 2: Immensely popular in Korea; also the login doesn't actually say "Welcome back [USERNAME] but let's just say whatever version of StarCraft they have in the future does.
A/N:
I've been reading through your guys' comments. They make me so happy. They also suggest some common themes and opinions about the story, which I will be responding to by modifying the plot accordingly :)
One very, VERY common question that is being asked is where is Genji? When is he coming back? It's been asked so often that I'm considering writing a little segment next chapter with what he's doing right now, because the last time we heard from him, he was bleeding and being chased down by Talon.
So if you have an opinion on this matter (whether I should write that segment updating his current situation or not) please comment it! Once a general consensus is reached I will act upon it.
