Chapter 7 A Snow Covered Neon Moon.

Hana trudged into her "office", the thick carpet muffling her footsteps. She plopped a plastic bag brimming with snacks and drinks onto her desk with a crinkly rustle. Sinking into the plush chair, she plucked off her baseball cap, tossing it haphazardly onto the desk before giving her mouse a few impatient swishes across the pad to wake her computer from sleep mode.

As the monitor flickered to life, she queued up a new episode of her favorite show. The opening theme song had barely started when her phone dinged, the notification sound cutting through the stillness of the room. She snatched up the device, her thumb instinctively swiping to reveal the new text.

A groan slipped past her lips as she scanned the influx of theories and wild guesses about why her stream had abruptly ended – everything from medical emergencies to supposed FBI raids. Eyes rolling, she dragged a hand through her tousled hair as she opened screenshots from her team of moderators, brows furrowed.

Craving a caffeine jolt, she reached for an energy drink in the bag, nudging it with her knuckles. But the slim can teetered precariously before toppling over the desk's edge with a dull thud onto the carpet below.

"Ssibal!" The Korean curse tore from her lips as she snatched the dented can off the floor. Warily, she pulled the tab, tilting it forward with bated breath as she said a silent prayer it wouldn't explode into a fizzy, sticky mess of food coloring and caffeine.

The sickly green liquid glowed under the warm light, and a vivid flashback jolted through Hana's mind – the searing emerald glow of a dragonblade slicing towards her chest. She choked on her own saliva, lungs constricting as her heart stuttered and pounded against her ribcage in a frantic drumbeat. Her eyes squeezed shut as her ears began to ring. "물처럼 흐르다. 물처럼 흐르다" she repeated. The vision slowly fading from memory. 

The final tune of the credits began to roll, and Hana uncrossed her legs, sinking back into the plush chair. She exhaled slowly, attempting to push thoughts of the last few tumultuous days from her mind. "Nothing's going on," she reminded herself under her breath.

Her hand drifted to the pocket of her oversized hoodie, fingers wrapping around her phone. She tugged it free and began mindlessly scrolling through social media, glazing over the usual controversies and petty internet beefs between people she didn't care about.

Then a photo on the Instagram page for a local coffee shop caught her eye. It looked quaint and cozy. Her thumb hovered over the screen, about to take a screenshot, when a flash of bright orange made her pause.

There, seated at one of the rustic wooden tables, was the unmistakable coco brown hair and beaming smile of Lena Oxton. "Lena?" Hana mumbled, leaning in closer as if that could somehow clarify what she was seeing.

Sure enough, there was the pilot hero herself, casually sipping what looked like a steaming mug of coffee. But she wasn't alone. Across the table, a vaguely familiar boy made animated conversation, hands gesturing emphatically.

Hana's eyes widened as the realization struck her. "Wait..." She said the word aloud, her phone now raised up to her face as she studied the boy's features more intently. There was no mistaking those blue, the messy blonde hair. "The boy from the convenience store?"

"What the actual...?" She sputtered, at a loss for words as the image of Angela Ziegler caressing the face of the boy at the store came across her feed.

Hana nearly jumped out of her chair as her phone blasted to life, the ringtone shattering the stillness of her bedroom. Her heart stuttered as she glanced at the caller ID - Mercy.

With shaky hands, she swiped to answer, trying to steady her breathing. "Y-Yo, what's up?" She winced at how unconvincingly nonchalant she sounded.

"Hana, are you free tomorrow?" Angela's gentle voice held an urgency that brooked no argument.

"Uh, sure? I don't have a stream scheduled until Sunday, so tomorrow's open." Hana nibbled her bottom lip, unsure what prompted this sudden inquiry.

A slight pause before Angela continued. "Lena has acquired tickets for a theatre production tomorrow evening, and she's insisted we all attend. It's been too long since we've had personal time together as friends."

Hana felt her chest constrict with a subtle pressure, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath her skin. "I-I've never actually been to a play before..." She grasped at the flimsy excuse, anxiety prickling her nerves.

"Hana Song." Angela's tone shifted into that unmistakable stern, motherly timber that could make even the most battle-hardened soldier feel like a scolded child. "You know it's quite rude to refuse a generous gift."

"I'm not refusing!" Hana blurted, then grimaced. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'll...I'll see what I can do, okay?"

A pointed silence stretched between them before Angela responded coolly. "I expect to see you there, young lady. And please, dress appropriately for the occasion."

The line clicked dead, and Hana slowly lowered the phone, staring at it with wide eyes. Her stomach twisted into knots as she recognized the events being set into motion.

Brian's Point Of View

Brian raises a pointed hand, and a menu of blue icons materializes, one pulsing red—the avatar of his friend. As the ringing chimes in his ears, he asks, "What's up?"

The man's voice crackles to life. "Hey, I just met this guy at Speedy's who claims he's the son of a former Overwatch agent. Join up with me."

A digital envelope appears in the virtual abyss. Brian stares at it, skeptical. A virtual nightclub hardly seems the ideal spot to encounter truthful strangers with good intentions. The neon lights of the nightclub's name beckon, but he imagines the thumping techno already pounding in his head.

Curiosity piqued, he slides open the envelope. His own avatar, donned in a sky-blue bomber jacket, materializes in the nightclub's booth, lined with intriguing black velvet textures. Brian takes in the dimly lit scene, electronic beats pulsing through the simulated space as random patrons mill about, drinking and laughing boisterously.

"Hey man!" a voice yells over the pounding techno, making Brian flinch at the sudden call. His friend "S"'s familiar silver hair and red jacket emerge from the flashing green and purple lights, prompting Brian to crack a smile.

The figure seated across from S that truly captures Brian's attention - a slim, blue-tinted robotic humanoid with a steel shine that seems to make the neon lights move through its phantom-like form. It sits with arms and legs outstretched, perfectly relaxed amidst the deafening club chaos.

"Drop SFX, this guy's the real deal!" S shouts, his voice barely audible.

Brian swishes his hands upward, sliding a virtual dial that instantaneously mutes the thumping techno beat. Suddenly, the gyrating crowd seems to dance wordlessly to silence, their movements taking on an eerie, disconnected quality.

"So you're into Overwatch stuff, right?" The man's voice booms through a digital filter, adding an artificial bass rumble that makes him sound like he's speaking through a fan.

Brian glances at S, who gestures toward the robotic figure. "You don't have to hide your accent," Brian states.

The robotic mask shows no emotion, but the comment seems to resonate. The being leans back for a moment before its head suddenly rises, as if jarred by Brian's words. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, but you have a tinge to your accent," Brian clarifies, settling back into the digital couch.

After a tense pause, the man raises his hand, swiping it across his mask. The disguise burns away like smoldering paper to reveal a pair of glowing red eyes and a set of firmly pressed lips. "My name's Brian," the young man says, extending his hand.

"Lyudmila." The formerly masked stranger accepts the handshake, his piercing gaze locking with Brian's. As they release the grip, Lyudmila cracks a slight smile. "So what do you want to know?"

Brian glances sidelong at S, who seems preoccupied navigating menus. "S said you were the kid of an Overwatch agent."

Lyudmila sighs, shaking his head. "Former. My mother was a former agent." He snaps his fingers, and two glasses materialize on the table before them, filled with an amber liquid. "She was an original member but didn't come back for the war."

Brian raises an intrigued eyebrow. "A bunch of them retired after the war, right?"

"During the first Omnic Crisis, my grandfather was a cadet for the Raptora unit of Helix Security International." Lyudmila waves a hand dismissively. "Back then, they were an actual competitor to Overwatch."

Brian nods slowly, filing away this new information. "Raptora, like Pharah?"

"Exactly. Back then, they were paratroopers, jetpack units deployed to secure rural areas and capture territory." Lyudmila's synthetic eyes flare with intensity. "My grandfather was stationed in Moscow, helping the Russian defense forces take everything west of Arkhangelsk... Back then, due to Overwatch's ties with NATO, any help was off the table," Lyudmila explains, his synthetic voice carrying gravitas. "So while the first Omnic Crisis lasted maybe five years for the rest of the world, the Kremlin spent two decades clearing the subcontinent."

A chill runs down Brian's spine and he subtly shivers making Lyudmila smile.

"Eventually, they made their way to the omnium in Sakha," Lyudmila continues, "and deactivated it, bombing it until it was buried in rubble."

He takes a sip of the virtual drink. Brian follows suit, but immediately recoils as the simulated flavor assaults his senses - a foul, medicinal taste that seems to coat his tongue. Pushing past the unpleasant sensation, he refocuses on Lyudmila's words.

"At the end, my mom was born. Then, ten years later, the second crisis happened." There's a somber edge to Lyudmila's tone now. "At just fifteen years old, my mom began training for the Raptora unit, like my grandfather before her. She joined the fight, and four years later, when the second crisis ended, I was born."

"So how did your mother join Overwatch?" Brian asked, leaning forward slightly.

Lyudmila raised a hand, his expression serious. "Patience...after the Omnic Crisis, Overwatch remained as a global peacekeeping organization. But there was also Blackwatch." With a flick of his wrist, a hovering 3D image of the ominous black and white skull insignia materialized between them.

"Overwatch wasn't legally allowed by the U.N. to operate in countries that didn't agree to its supervision. Russia was one of those places. My mother had retired from Helix Security after they relocated to Cairo to guard the powerful AI Anubis. Then one day, a letter arrived with a job offer she couldn't refuse."

Lyudmila's eyes took on a conspiratorial glint as he dropped his voice low. "It was good money, and it allowed her to stay in Russia. The catch? She'd be operating as a covert spy for Overwatch within Russian borders, working for the underground Blackwatch division." He shrugged. "You've seen the news clips - you know what they eventually got busted for."

Brian nodded slowly, the pulsing nightclub beats seeming to fade as he listened with rapt attention.

"When Blackwatch was exposed, my mother was left with the remains of one of their contingency outposts, set up in case of another Omnic uprising." Lyudmila leaned in closer, his eyes boring into Brian's intensely. "Now imagine you're her. You have the power, the know-how, the drive to build a better world free from the shackles of corruption. What do you do?"

Brian's eyes widened as realization dawned. "She...took power?"

A slow smile spread across Lyudmila's features. "Precisely. She recruited former Helix agents across Russia. Thanks to the anti-Omnic defense program called the 'Blackwall' leaving the entire eastern region cut off from Moscow's control, they were able to operate unfettered."

He drained the last of his drink, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "By the time the Russian Defense Force declared its independence from the Federation with help from NATO weapons, it was too late. The RDF, with my mother at the helm, controlled everything east of Krasnoyarsk. The first priority?" His gaze hardened like steel. "The complete destruction of every last Omnic threat to Russian soil, by any means necessary..."

"so what happened?" Brian asked.

Lyudmila's crimson eyes flared with barely contained rage. "Overwatch happened." He spat the name out like a curse.

Brian's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Without regard for borders, for sovereignty, for the good of the Russian people - Reinhardt led an Overwatch strike team into RDF territory." Lyudmila's fists clenched, knuckles whitening. "They laid siege to Benioff and killed my mother."

Brian's eyes widened, and he shook his head slowly. "Why? Why would they do that?"

A mirthless chuckle slipped from Lyudmila's lips. "Because the members of Overwatch are corrupt to their core. My mother was a hero, trying to save an entire continent, and because there was suspicion of her former Blackwatch ties, she was judged and condemned without trial."

He leaned in closer, his words laced with venom. "For the crime of serving her country when it needed her most, she was thrown away like garbage by the very people who once came to her begging for her help."

Brian's head swam as he tried to process it all. "I...I don't believe this."

Lyudmila scoffed loudly. "It's the truth, comrade. Think about it - look at Overwatch's vaunted heroes. Jack Morrison wanted to create a world of peace and prosperity for all. And what did the great Reinhardt do to further that noble goal?"

In one forceful motion, Lyudmila grabbed the front of Brian's shirt, dragging him so close their noses nearly touched. His eyes bored into Brian's intensely.

"He killed Morrison. The hero murdered his own commander without a second thought."