Work Text:
It was a surprise, really. Who would’ve thought the leader of Null Sector was willing to reside within the grasp of Overwatch? A group of humans below scum to them. In fairness, they were a side project for a while. Something to fix and help while the time passed. They came as a bundle of wasted metals and exposed wires on the side of the road.
Before any optics were online, the auditory sensors were replaced. It was a warm voice. If this human was going to treat them as an object, as all did, at least the voice wasn’t grating.
“Finding the right model for your eyes is so annoying! I’ve gotten, like, three sets by now!” Her voice trailed off, something about the way the words hung in the air. As though she were interacting with a crowd. Fake and inflated words. They could feel their form being tipped over, and a pressure to their head. It seemed as though it really was a chore.
Neither of the two, mechanic or machine, knew how long it took but just before the cracked optics had been replaced, they blinked red for half a second. For what they could see, in this fugue state, it was bright and pink, a little bit of blue as well. Not one trace of blood or splatters of oil. Well, as far as they could see. It was all blurry anyway.
“I hope these are properly connected. You don’t exactly have a port I can plug my computer in to check.” They could feel their face plate being pushed on before their blacked out vision came back for the first time in a while. If they were a human, it would’ve taken time to adjust to the light. The human was shorter than what they had imagined. A lot brighter, and just as bubbly as they assumed. Completely satisfied with their work thus far.
“If everything’s working, I’m Hana Song!” She waved with a smile. Her other arm twitched, likely her dominant hand. It was in a cast, a dark blue sling with it. Their renewed eyes took this person into the banks of unfulfilled memories. The lack of response rang loud, expected, though.
What wasn’t so seen, was how she deflated moments later. While turning back to find more parts, her back looked small. Not much of an expanse, but it was lonely all the more. This Hana woman slumped in her chair, movements clumsy and tired. The way she acted was all too familiar.
If you’re bummed out
Feel free to talk with me.
“Since your model is called R, four, M…” the soft voice trailed off in thought, apparent in how her body swayed to the side. “Ram… what if we go Mary.” Her hand went to the corner of their sights and pulled a broken staff, the one this robot used before being trashed. It was visibly in the process of being fixed, metal welded onto it and paint sanded off. “Mary and her shepherd staff!” She mused. It was funny. Almost pathetic. A human such as herself was so talkative even when she would be the only one who heard this joke. No matter though, all humans are the same. They’ll break bones and snap wires for their boons to be realized.
Yet the world was silent and not one demand for power was heard, simple conversation and moans of frustration came instead. Then it was an uncomfortable silence.
“What am I supposed to do? Reports came back.” Her confident motions were replaced with quivering fingers that docked on the crook of her cast. “28 dead and at least 200 injured or missing.” Her voice quieted to nothing yet her lips kept moving. “I wasn’t there and people wanted to know, but MEKA prefers I look neglectful, over weak.” She took the spot next to the lump of metal and laid down, head barely in view. “Everyone else is working overtime to make up for me.
Hana was becoming more and more confident in her abilities as each screw tightened, and each cable attached. Both of her arms were at use now that she’s fully recovered. The work felt more efficient, she sang to herself. Whenever she was close to stripping a screw, she stopped herself and patted that area on their body.
“Sorry Mary, that might’ve hurt. I’m not used to using my right hand for this.” She babbled about muscle memory. The robot didn’t realize they were listening intently to every word, even the ones from wasted breath. “Dae-Hyun — my best friend and mechanic — he’s been doing maintenance on Tokki for me while I’ve been hurt.” Hana pulled a small golden foiled candy like the recollection reminded her before unwrapping it. “He told me that I don’t need to get back to the field, and I should focus on recovering fully first.” The sound of the hard candy clacking against her teeth as she sucked on it was almost an echo in the silence. “But I need to protect my people.” Her voice wavered slightly. The feel of the screwdriver lightened up and hadn’t returned to their body.
Curious. A human has a cause to die for. Their people, no less. A stark difference from man’s relentless past of trampling on their own creations in fear. Perhaps there is more overlap than this machine assumed.
How does lunch sound?
I’ll ask you about your week.
“Mary! I finally found a voice module for you!” She announced with joy as she spun around in the overly complex chair. “It was like finding a needle in a haystack— a lot of sellers had GZ30 but I just needed 28— it’s crazy for websites that claimed to have everything people need.” She continued on. “It’s coming in two days, and that’s all you need.” Hana kept a wide grin while beginning to reattach plates. Yet this machine couldn’t tell if it was because she spent too much time to give up now, or if it was the excitement for them to come back, whole again.
And the comedown
always rehashing scenes
“If this is your shepherd’s staff, I wonder what lambs you lead.” She said to herself, barely audible over the sounds of the soldering tools. The turmoil of her thoughts seemed to slow her down, coming to a stop. Then a completely separate voice.
“Hana? Are you still working on that omnic?” The same voice didn’t even pause for an answer. “You should be resting.”
“I’m fine, Dae-hyun! I need to make up for lost time anyways.” She spoke as though she never worried about not being there to protect her people. As though she didn’t fall asleep at her desk, trying to compensate for her time off field. As though there was something she needed to apologize for.
“Don’t work too hard, Hana! Your arm just barely finished healing.” The voice faded out into the distance and echoed as Hana went back to her work. The once-frayed staff became a smooth shaft by the time she finally pushed the voice module into the back of this omnic’s neck. A soft clicking sound as the port connected with metal. Yet it was still quiet.
When the sun’s down,
and the world’s half asleep.
I’m half-asleep, and I wonder
what you would have done
If I kissed you.
Hana slept soundly. She was exhausted, the overachieving ambition in her heart ended up taking her to a deep sleep. A soft snore with the shift of her slumber. The omnic stood up to full height, shadow from the soft evening light casting over her. Their hands didn’t squeak. The result of long hours polishing and dripping oil into the new joints. The kindness of a human, spent on an omnic.
They pulled the covers over her body, lifted in a slow motion. For the leader of Null Sector, they were kind enough to care for a human. This wouldn’t work in the long run.
“Hana Song, for a human, you are much too naive.” The voice rumbled, slightly static as the model fitted into its neck. Their body curled over, not yet a keel, but it felt more reverent than a prayer. “Your kindness will not protect the cause you fight for, unfortunately.” The casted shadow covered much of her face, they could see their own silhouette outline her face. She looked at peace, despite the worries that plagued her. The clump of hydraulics and wires landed on the blank bed sheet, though they couldn’t feel the same as their creators, it was soft. Humans weren’t so sharp.
I had my chance
I held your hand
And leaned up close to you
Their hand, still cold and mechanical, withdrew from the bed sheet. Their posture straightened up once more, and they reached for their staff. Exposed metal but one piece and it fit in their hand.
This shepherd had a flock to guide to liberty.
Yet it wasn’t silent for long. Hana stirred to the sound of shuffling. Maybe it was the machinery she had been so acquainted with working on, that pulled her consciousness from the murky waters of sleep.
“Mary?” Her body shuffled under the covers, propping herself up to see that figure in the darkness, outlined by the orange hues their base brought.
It was a bad idea, humans were all manipulators. There was no reason to trust one as far as they were concerned. Yet they still paused, Mary was a cute name, but not befitting.
“Ramattra.” The voice rolled low in correction. His stride began again, walking away. Automatic doors shut behind him.
In this dream-like state, she didn’t realize he was actually leaving. She muttered soft words only an omnic would be able to pick up on. “Come back soon,” her voice came out slow and caked with a rasp he’s only heard in the daytime.
In someone who had been sleeping almost comfortably, she was too conscious. His steps faltered for a moment but they didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
His disappearance was missed. Members of MEKA watched on as she tried to search for signs of the omnic that left so suddenly. It was out of all of their talents anyways. None of them were acquainted with tracking a single artificial soul in a sea of the born and created.
And it was silent for a long time. Maybe a hand full of months that were just quiet.
Now it just seems like I messed up
I don't know what to do
D.Va, who happens to be one particular Hana Song, is back on the field. Warnings on billboards of Null Sector and their leader. The news ticker rolled by in screens around her, “Ramattra, leader of Null Sector, moving towards a violent liberty for omnics.” A passing photo from some brave or stupid civilian showed an omnic, posed from the back. Orange lights of the dawning sun, and, though blurry, a frame she was almost impossibly acquainted with. Goosebumps pricked her skin from the side of her face to the front of her thighs. The omnic she delicately worked on for two months, give or take, harped on a human’s kindness just to fire back with a vengeance? This isn’t right. It couldn’t be.
Her focus came back to the field. Every omnic, for war or not, suddenly had this twisted feeling with it. She saved one robot, and now she’s gunning others below him down. This is still protecting her cause. She fights to protect, but she’s in the rubble of some city for the kindness she thought was doing right. D.Va froze on the battlefield and it took her teammates, who are dedicated to the same reason, to knock her head back straight once again.
All I know is I'm nervous that you don't like me too
I thought that home is where you are until that home is where I left
The mission was a success, but no visuals caught on Ramattra. He could’ve been anywhere at this point and Hana had to swallow the guilt of endangering thousands because she simply didn’t know. As far as the public knew, D.Va was absent for two months, not that she and her team assisted in making their villain. At least she could take that piece of information as a respite. It wasn’t her fault, in the end.
It was quiet for a while. Not from any omnic she poured time into fixing, or the nights she spent searching for a piece online. The quiet was almost uncomfortable. In some strange way, she missed the omnic she poured time into. This was the worst birthday gift she’s been given.
“Song.” The omnic she recalled in her ‘dream’ came back to haunt her.
Her head snapped to the source of the voice. A single, beaten up Ramattra stood there. Body dented, nothing major on the surface. Staff bent at an unreasonable angle, but the paint was finished. His body leaked with oil, a dripping trail behind him. It looked like he was standing there for a while, maybe debating on speaking or not.
They stood there, together on the mezzanine in the base. She didn’t have her Tokki, he didn’t have his crook. As far as she knew.
“Ramattra?” Hana stepped away from him. It was the sudden fear and hatred in her voice that he wasn’t familiar with. The reason was irrational enough that he didn’t know why the hatred in her voice set him off.
He was angry, but he couldn’t find fault to blame Hana Song. “I’m afraid I’ve run into a predicament.” Ramattra’s voice trailed off. Hana reached to her hip on instinct. No gun. How was she supposed to act? That action wasn’t wasted on Ramattra. He could understand, in a way. However he couldn’t understand himself. Was it that she remade him, that he found himself back to her?
“What predicament? You’re the one who started a war!” She yelled, no one other than the recipient heard them based on the sounds in the background. “What are you doing here?” Hana demanded. This tone was new to him.
“I’m aware. Something is off— since you fixed me, that is.” Though he sought the protection of his brethren at the cost of humans, his voice was low. He did not wish to cause this human any more distress than he already had. But something was off about him.
“Don’t tell me you came here for a repair job, what makes you think I’ll help you after what you did?” She stepped back, as though she would get help for herself. His betrayal was very real to her, yet she doesn’t know what made it so real even if she detached her work from him. The skepticism was only something he saw when she was watching some old murder mystery show. How peculiar that he cared to look at her expressions so closely.
“I do not know, Ms. Song.” His hand went to thumb the dented exoskeleton she was so familiar with. Hana wanted to fix him but she didn’t want to fix the villain he presented himself as. “Perhaps just to talk, I will make my exit soon.”
“Try anything funny and you’ll be leaving through the recycle.” Hana was firm in her words, not once hesitating. The confidence was something he almost missed.
I found a home inside myself since no home for me was left
I slept with poems in my hands for seven days
Slept alone and wept by twilight so I
Thrown aside a phone in heaven's name
They spoke, and sure, neither party did anything. But it clarified a few things, and made a few things more complicated. Hana understands why he’s so committed to his movement, and Ramattra deepened his confusion for the reason he came back. This human, objectively, wasn’t special, she was ordinary. Yet she was almost everything remarkable about mankind, and he was the consequence of man. The high and low are in the same place and they’ve tried to understand one another.
She was still angry, she felt stupid and naive all of a sudden. She paced back and forth to figure out what to do. For someone used to making split second decisions, she had to weigh each one of her thoughts here.
“Ramattra,” he didn’t have eyes, but she could tell he focused on her face once more. She didn’t even know what she was saying. “Don’t expect me to mend any more of your broken bones.” He almost felt disappointed until she gestured crassly at the desk she worked at moments prior.
Ramattra nodded in understanding. He knew she had no reason to trust him, no reason to give him anything but a coldness. He also knew that there was no reason for him to be here. So what was she doing this for?
He sat wordlessly on the chair, irritating her was the last of his desires. Hana approached him with a tool box, heart thumping with questions. Why is she helping him? What stopped her from getting help? Was it the attachment from rebuilding him?
She hit her foot on the leg of the table and it snapped her back to the present.
“The chair’s not for you.” She kicked the leg of the chair. “Get on that table.” Normally, she would’ve playfully said something witty. Yet here they were, a terse silence that no knife could even begin to cut.
Was the anger aimed at herself?
Ramattra wordlessly shifted from the chair to the table. Now that he was an animated figure, this felt weird. She unscrewed the dented plate and grimaced at the sight of her work being ruined like this. Oil splattered his insides and the coolant tank would need replacing. She didn’t pause though, this would’ve been a normal Tuesday three weeks ago.
Strangely enough, he didn’t mind it here. Trusting a human enough to let one into his circuitry— when did he change? Hana was silent. Her hands were thorough, tracing the screws in tighter places and putting replacements in due time. The silence, especially coming from her, was jarring. He made the first jab at normality
“Ratatouille, was it? The movie… wasn’t horrible.” He put emphasis on the syllables of the title, the words sounded weird in the way he said it.
The suddenness of his words, the person he was to her, it was laughable. Hana couldn’t stop herself, a smile cracked onto her face.
“So you’d be a Linguini mech?” She replied, tossing the pierced oil tank to the side. In the same motion her other hand gently wiped at his machinery, a mix of coolant and oil.
“It’s… not impossible.” Instead of staring into the lights of a building that could possibly kill him, Ramattra dropped his head to watch the human who sat between his legs with elbows propped on the dirty cloth that covered him. The conversation made the air lighten enough for him to not feel as nervous, but still confused.
He was fixed, come midnight. There was no more reason for him to stay. None other than he wanted to.
'Cause home can change and it does
Corny names for new love
Joining strange depictions tinted with that rose from my bud
Ramattra left once again, heart heavier than the last time he did. Something irrational in his synthetic chest told him to stay and, god, did he want to listen. This event was worse, to a degree.
The following fight he clearly had the advantage. The world would know what it meant to spit on omnics. Victory was in sight, a light more vibrant than anything he’d seen when stargazing with his brother at the monastery he used to know as home. The battlefield was of broken mechs and retreating organic soldiers. It was going well until one of those organic soldiers had a familiar voice. Ramattra saw a soldier, not of his team, scrambling on the ground to find cover and recall her mech. Bullets were flying indiscriminately, except a few more targeted than the others.
The woman who was caught mid-wince, peaked from above her fingers, expecting to hit the floor, dyeing the ground with a deep red and filling the air with a sickeningly metallic smell.
Unscathed.
A purple screen that wasn’t any MEKA or Overwatch technology she knew of materialized in a hex pattern. The breath she held expanded in her chest. Hana fought to live, and lived to serve. Being protected wasn’t something she was acquainted with. Her eyes darted across the battlefield for the source of this shield. A single hand she was familiar with was outstretched. The one who was supposed to not care about anything but his movement, chose to save a human known and revered for her ability to stop his movement.
Ramattra, though not human, felt a chill across his circuitry as relief coursed through his theoretical veins. Hana Song, alive and in one piece, scrambled to feel the pulse point of her left arm, calling Tokki from the MEKA airship above.
This one action snapped his momentum into two. The upward spiral, and the sharp downturn. A new Tokki, freshly painted and modded, had the ability to push back the battlefield within moments. Ramattra retreated not injured, not other than his pride.
'Cause blood is thick but smoke be thick as hell
Eyes all on my mind my shell in shell shock
With lonely mail all cluttered on my desktop
Hana was extensively cared for back at base. Her own teammates crowded her with questions; mind dizzying asks and inquiries that she couldn’t explain. Why did he save you? What does that mean? If he cared so deeply for you, why did he start the war?
So loud.
“Yuna, I’m telling you, I don’t know why he helped me! There was no reason for him to do it — I don’t know what it meant,” Hana acted and whined like she wasn’t annoyed. The tone of her voice pitched and lowered and in honesty, it was draining. She had her own thinking to do. She needed time to think on top of healing from scrapes.
Her injuries could’ve been worse. Could’ve been much worse but she had wraps instead of patches. It was annoying more than comforting. Hana’s movements were restricted and labored. All so uncomfortable. She laid in bed, fingering the wraps of gauze and inevitably pulling the cotton too loose for anything. Her gaze was empty as she stared into the ceiling, figuring out what happened to her. Why did it happen? Why did he save her? Was it gratitude? It was immediate, not a single thought went behind saving her. As it seemed, at least.
Sleep came easy for the first few nights. Instead of pacing in her room with twitching fingers. Hana was so accustomed to fighting for her life and it was silent and she was tired. Way too exhausting.
Morning matched the night. She woke up before her alarm could and she shut off the thing the moment it blared. Questions filled her inbox, all forwarded from MEKA’s HR. Each one she looked at treated her as an anomaly, something to be sliced apart and examined with a UV lamp and microscope. Even the ones that weren’t related to being saved, they were so demanding. Sponsors that starred her presence, deals, contracts. Hana copy and pasted her response to all of them until she couldn’t bother to open the next one. The one she left open, without a response yet, had a familiar name but she couldn’t care to read into it. Not yet at least.
The next thing to do was check up on the new Tokki. Sure, it was a shame. She got attached to the old model, but it’s nothing she’s not used to. Everything was just simple maintenance. Look at the cockpit, check systems, tighten the screws.
“Hana,” a sing-song tone across the hangar.
“Yes, Yuna?” Hana’s legs kicked her out from under the mech, on a board.
“You sure you want to be working on your mech right now?” She kicked her legs, laying on her stomach on top of her mech. “You’re clear to be sitting in your room, streaming like you always do.”
“I know. I’m just bored.” She drawled, keeping the real reason to herself, close to her chest. “I spent so long recovering from my broken bones, I’m sick of sitting in my room.”
“Really? Top gamer, Hana Song, tired of streaming?” Yuna gasped exaggeratedly with a hand to cover her mouth.
It was quickly cut off with the sharp call of her name.
“Hana Song.” The familiar, strict voice rang loud.
“Yes… Captain Myung?” She moved from the lineup of mechs and toward her captain.
“I had received notice that you ‘apologise for the inconvenience,’ and in fact, are ‘unwilling to pursue a partnership’ with Overwatch.” The captain stated confidently. This took Hana back to the moment she copied and pasted all of her emails. Rejecting the offers she fought for the freedom to respond to herself. Mostly due to the fact that she was the star in all of them. “You came to me for our engagement with Overwatch, and you rejected them yourself, why?”
“Cap-Captain Myung, I was replying to a lot of emails. I might’ve made a mistake and declined Overwatch’s.” She grinned with a playful guilt, furrowed eyebrows and a tilted body. Hana was trying to play off of this interaction to avoid a long winded lecture. It was clear.
“Well, I advise you to look back on your offer and reconsider it.” Her captain’s astute tone made Hana’s grin turn a little more doll-like than before.
“Will do, Captain.” She made a half-hearted salute, machine oil on her hands and a layer of factory dust and probably production grease. This model was almost uncomfortably new.
Hana scampered off to figure which email she jumped the gun on. She was glad to dodge the bullet on that one, even if for a cost.
Coming back, she saw where she went wrong. Control C, and control V did her no good here for once. Hana wrote out an apology and acceptance, and how she is so ‘honored to be part of the team in the collaborative work between Overwatch and MEKA.’ And send.
The reply was eerily quick, as though they were alerted to her reply that would soon come.
“Hana Song! A pleasure to have you on our team. One thing is certain, however, there is no joint team. You will be in Overwatch as an official member, rather than working with MEKA. An airship of ours will transport you to a watchpoint of ours in the near future. The beginning will merely be an introduction to your new companions — do not worry, for your station will be placed in Busan! Hopefully not too far from your current location. We hope to see you soon!
Best regards,
Winston”
Hana, not even a thought on her situation from this morning, grinned as though she won the lottery. In a sense, she did. Being plucked out of her team to become part of Overwatch was amazing. They fought for what she believed in and weren’t chained by sponsors or the public — well, maybe just not as much as MEKA. The Petra Act and adhering to it or not made it so hard for her to come into contact in the first place — they were what she wanted to do.
Used to got the best box and cutter slice and dice with sideway stump
Stutter with that t-t-tongue
I scream gently how'd you undo us
The moving was the most physically active she’s been, not including the action on the field. And hell, her back felt a pain from cleaning that she never felt even when she made the poor poor mistake of a subathon. Three whole weeks, and she was saved from her own ground rules. Hana was mostly sure she had nightmares from that day.
The airship that came by a few days later, the Overwatch symbol at the bottom, was a sight for sore eyes. She already prepared simple goodbyes to current teammates because she was still going to be in Korea, no reason to cry.
This sociable team, minus the old guy, even the huge gorilla seemed so far from people who were so adept on the field. Winston, Cole Cassidy, Angela Ziegler, and Jack Morrison. They were all very kind, though some rough around the corners. Hana was told this wasn't everyone, and she expected that. A renowned group wouldn’t have such small numbers.
Introductions started with a smile, and ended with a few laughs. Now comfortable with everyone who would now lead her missions, Hana filed into that airship with her belongings and was promptly dropped off at her new home, an Overwatch base in Busan. Small room but a large comfortable living area. Her new teammates were more than happy to help push boxes and the strange amount of them that were labeled sponsors that she couldn’t bring herself to trash. As she acquainted herself with the space, it looked new. As though it was finished very recently and the space was made just for her, and perhaps a few others who hadn’t yet moved in.
Didn’t matter though, everything was in her room and she settled in pretty fast, the first thing was sparing a game console for the living room. This Lúcio person was fun, his music was good and she even played against him in a fighter game. Victor was clear and he was a good sport about it. Before she knew it, she was alone again, and really alone. To be fair, there were people outside but she didn’t care about them the same way as the personal requirement of connection.
Hana entertained herself, streaming StarCraft and witty jokes after whittling down the entire event into a few minute story.
“Yeah, I was basically kidnapped into changing departments. I’m not arguing though — thanks Ballmaster53 for the gifted subs — I get more benefits and all so it works out.” She sounded more into the conversation than the game, apparent in how she was on the losing team on her fault for the first time in ages. But her tone was still nonchalant.
It was by the time she finished streaming, back straightening with cracks and pops, that she heard a crash through Overwatch’s overly complex surveillance system. Hana had an idea of who it could’ve been, and an idea of who she wanted it to be. These two thoughts were two completely separate people and she cursed herself almost immediately for thinking it. Hana pushed from her room to the living area, to the front door and peeked into the system once more. It was still. This person is likely to remain there if they haven’t moved yet. She pushed through the door and warily looked around the vicinity.
Now, she doesn’t know if it was her own hope, or the truth, but she saw a neon purple flash before she rounded the corner. The same hue and shade as the one that saved her in the ruins. Yet nothing was there. Marks on the floor as though something scuffled away. Hana wanted to investigate, look into it, save a citizen, find an omnic, fix one particular one again. She wanted it to be the former half of options.
Hana swallowed thickly before stepping into the alleyway, flashlight in one hand and her gun in the other. It was a little reminiscent of a game she played once, at the same timeframe too. Hours before dawn. While she crept down the dark cemented path, the sound of scraping was heard. Despite being adorned in joggers and a sweater, she was cold with nerves. It was silent until the dragging continued once more. She caught Ramattra, once again, yet his condition was, almost expectedly, less than stellar. His arm was twisted and he propped himself against the wall to fix it, yet it was something he couldn’t comfortably reach. The nerves almost washed away. She was still scared, who would do this to an omnic? — well, for this one she could understand, but he wasn't given a face just yet as far as she knew.
“Mary, what brings you here to my abode once more?” She said as snarkily as she could but her breath was shallow like she was actually scared of something.
Although he didn’t have lungs, he let out a sigh like he held a breath when he saw her. “Ms. Song, pleasure to see you once more.” He acted like nothing was wrong. Just who does he think he is? “I was wandering the streets and some group of drunkards wanted to attack me for being an omnic.” There was a bite in his voice and an anger she understood.
She acted against her own moral code, but why? Was it because she understood? Empathy is what lets someone drive the knife in their heart. Sentiment was something she could figure out how to toss away if her people needed it. So what made her so inclined to help a war criminal?
“Get up Mary.” She suddenly said, “I’ll put you together again, Humpty.”
He hadn’t appeared in front of her since she was saved by him, was it that? Did she let him peel past her shell because he saved her once? That didn’t make sense either.
“The references you make are beyond me, human.” He growled out low, probably defensive from the command. “I am to be called Ramattra and that is my one single name.” Yet he stood up and was willing to follow when she beckoned.
“You have time to learn, Ramattra.” Hana split the words into two, Ram-mattra, rather than letting the letters flow silky and smooth as he voiced the same word.
It was just as she said, except they resided in her room, he sat on the floor, and she swiveled around him on the chair. The repair consisted of readjustments and pulling pieces back into place. The hardest portion of this was rubbing the alcohol scent out of the tighter joints.
“I must applaud your charity, there’s no reason to have fixed me for the third time — especially after your vow.” It was like he thought and hesitated. It was like he cared about how his words came across.
Why did he want to care about this fickle human? She was just… someone. Just someone who has a soul people could only dream of having. Someone who shines like the stars at the monastery he left. Who is unreachable, yet within a tangible distance.
Ramattra moved the cleaned joints, new oil, most of it fresh from a bottle. This time he was torn. Even at the exit of a residence that wasn’t chaining him in, it felt wrong to turn back around and stab her in the back. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the person who meticulously put him back together once more.
And time passed, he was willing to sit in a room with someone on the other end of the war. Maybe he was looking for a place to rest.
How could she have changed him? At this rate, not a soul would understand what swayed him so. Not even he could explain what happened in him when she dug her fingers into the machinery to reattach tubes and wires.
It wasn’t like this unexplainable trust wasn’t reciprocated. Nothing else would be able to explain what made her come back to fixing the omnic who started this. She turned her back on him too often for there to be hatred. Hana exposed herself in all sorts of ways that would most definitely endanger her.
How stupid.
He could easily reach out and snap her neck in two and his hand came up to make that action. Hana’s neck, warm and fragile under his recreation-of-man‘s, mechanical, unerring digits. He only smoothed her hair, it was frazzled from the shock of finding him in yet another instance. She flinched away as he expected.
“What the hell— what’re you doing?” Her tone was more panicked than it should be. It felt like something pulled on the cables connected to his motherboard. It hurt.
“Nothing.” He didn’t even stammer. Not like it would be a subconscious action anyways. “Your hair was messy.”
“I didn’t need you to fix it— my appearance should be the least of your worries, actually!” Hana had all the right to be angry when she dismissed the potential of danger in her head. Yet the emotion she imagined, as opposed to the one she projected, wasn't the same.
“It bothered me.” Ramattra put emphasis on ‘me’ but not roughly. As if that was enough reason to suddenly touch her, so carefree and intimate too.
She trusted him with so much and so little at the same time. Two parts of her head were at war. Kill him, it’ll be over, and he’s seen the worst of us, let him see more. “That’s what bothers you?” She made a look up and down the both of them, acknowledging the irony in his words.
“Yes.”
They were in this strange dynamic. Opposite sides but couldn’t completely hate each other. They, maybe, could’ve been on the same side. They could’ve been the partners they wished to have from the start and yet they meet in a way much too cruel for either party.
Things calmed down. He wandered the halls of Overwatch’s base in Busan. Sound of the shower as he listened to Hana's choice of music.
And it was quiet.
He could only stand and watch Hana sleep soundly. No stress to break her back, no expectations she needs to hold. It was just a woman who loved playing games, in front of Ramattra, an omnic who couldn’t help himself.
“For goodness sake, you make me undone.”
Dear Aurora, she is beautiful, asleep, both as her stage and authentic self. Hana Song truly was one in a million.
He said those words as he formulated the thought, countless ones and zeros buffering. In the barest sense of Ramattra, he is a collection of data. Mistakes shouldn’t exist when he is at the wheel of things.
Perhaps he craved to have Hana Song hear his words, and maybe even more so for her to say the same.
Yet she only rustled in bed. Turning to her other side, away from him and the source of light. Hana never moved much in bed but perhaps this was a stress response. He had no clue how humans worked.
He left before Hana curled in her bed, pulling herself together with a tense grip on her blanket and pillow. She had been on the edge of sleep, but now her eyes were blown open and staring into the weave of thread in her bedsheets.
These poems underneath my nails
Sweat makes the ink run
Smolder-heavy memory, brain showed her a pink love
God, if his words didn’t consume her waking moments, then nothing ever would. Hana dodged around him, acting more aloof and anxious whenever he said or did things.
She came to terms that he might never leave, but not that she minded anymore. Hana wanted to dig and find more of what he thinks. A curiosity bit at her and it wouldn’t end. She wanted to know what made him say that. Did he mean it? He should, right? Why wouldn’t he?
My poem's in the mail
It was tears that made the ink run
Heavy multi-memory brain shed in a pink tongue
And he couldn’t exactly say he was bored. He wasn’t. The time Hana was on the base was more time to observe an anomaly such as herself. She roamed the halls and made a domestic life appealing. Ramattra could compare this life to his time at the monastery, and it was just as peaceful. Except, this time, the fall would’ve been so much worse. He knew metal could be welded together again, though a bad sight, but human flesh stays torn apart. What if his existence endangered her? What would he do if it turns out he was hurting her by being close? What would he do if he finds her taking the force of anti omnic movements?
But most importantly, why did he care?
It's not like the answer mattered, he stuck around despite the perceived danger that loomed over them. Hana was still in reach. She was in one piece and it should’ve been enough to give him peace of mind and let him leave. Yet he stuck around long enough to lose the tensions of enemies, he was harmless enough.
If you're bummed out
Feel free to talk with me
How does lunch sound?
I'll ask you about your week
Even though she wasn’t exactly part of MEKKA anymore, the weight of upholding expectations continued to press on her back. The bags under her eyes were clear until she covered them up with some makeup she found from the bottom of a drawer she stumbled on when moving out. Except, she couldn’t hide much from Ramattra. Not when he was so adverse at nitpicking the smallest details in someone.
“Song,” he said, leaned on the doorframe of her room. “15:38 and it seems as though you had just gotten up.” Her body wasn’t even facing him, but he knew she was pulling herself to respond ‘in character.’
“I just spent a long night streaming.” Her shoulders visibly raised up to give her the same air and attitude as any normal day. “You’re overthinking it, Ramattra. I’m fine.” She drew out the syllables in the very last word. The smile came on her face all the same as she put her fingertips to her chest to keep that air of charisma all the same.
“You may fool your human peers, but you cannot avoid my insight.” Ramattra pushed off the wall and approached her. A cold hand on her back. “Come, you need sustenance.”
And hell. Sustenance was the right term. It didn’t appear edible but the ingredients that lay waste on the counter said otherwise. The food on the table was organic to say the least.
On the comedown
Always rehashing scenes
“Who am I if I’m not on the field? I can’t afford to be benched any longer, Ramattra. What if more people die because I’m not there to protect them?” She was having a meltdown. Hana hit a wall and every burden she pulled onto her back began to fall down.
Ramattra met each of her worries with a soft, reasonable answer. “Hana Song, dear. Your identity wasn’t built the moment you signed into MEKA.” Hydraulics smoothed her hair out, not exactly brushed but not so unkempt. “Song, your men,” he had a strange habit of considering her a general. She always got a good laugh out of it. “Should anyone fall, be assured they will defend them to their greatest ability.” The words came quickly. Either he is a robot and his thoughts come near instantly, or these were the most natural things to say to her.
When the sun's down
And half of the world's asleep
I'm half-asleep
This time, it was almost night time. Ramattra had a spot on her bed from whatever he did.
“You don’t need to stay here with me.” Hana said from under thick winter blankets. “Isn’t it cramped for you, Ramattra?”
“It’s the best kind.” Ramattra answered and corrected her question in the same sentence.
She smiled at him despite everything she had to tough out. Her hand sought the cold metal one under the covers with closed eyes. He also had the gift of mechanical sight. So though it was dark and Hana couldn’t see him, Ramattra could watch her fall into sleep. Her body finally relaxing and the way her grin was barely visible from the puffy blankets. Her smile falling was a tell tale sign she went to sleep in the most peaceful way.
Hana Song was close enough to offer a kiss.