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Hana sat down at the conference table at midnight, a bundle of file folders in front of her along with a data pad. The door was locked, and the room was marked as unavailable. She spread out the files, trailing her fingers across the names on the top. Jack Morrison. Soldier: 76. She wouldn’t admit it without proof (hell, even with proof, Hana might not), but she had a hunch. A tall, mysterious hunch wrapped up in red, white, and blue.


Too similar were the body language and the build, she’d decided, looking at old holoclips of the blonde-haired man who’d once run Overwatch. The pulse rifle (Overwatch tech!) had added to her suspicions. Hell, the guy wasn’t exactly subtle. Hana took a breath, settling her thoughts, trying to convince herself that he was only Soldier: 76 until he was proven otherwise. Her thoughts wouldn’t settle, and she sighed deeply, setting the profiles side-by-side, looking at the non-redacted bits of each.


An hour of digging had only made her thoughts run more wild. It made her want to go confront 76, Morrison, whoever he was. Hana tried to settle herself to no avail, and groaned as she leaned back in the chair, rubbing her eyes. She reached out for her energy drink and took a sip. Just a little longer, she told herself. She needed to know who she was working with. So Hana dug back in, only to be interrupted a few minutes later.


“Agent Song,” Athena interrupted, cool and soothing. “You have a visitor.”


Hana knew. Immediately, Hana knew. Why was he up? Damn him. She closed the folders and set them in a pile, data pad on top. “Okay. Send him in.”


The door opened, a hiss and a click, and soft footsteps approached. Hana looked at the door, at the man in the visor, and sighed. “ Annyeong , old man.”


“Athena tells me you’ve been digging through old personnel files,” he said, no pleasantries. His stance was closed off, defensive. “What are you looking for?”


Hana gave him an incredulous look, master of her trade. “Just looking, 76! Can’t I be curious?”


“No,” 76 replied cooly. “Don’t give me that shit, Hana. What are you looking at?”


She sighed through her nose, and rubbed her face. “I know who you are. Were. Too many coincidences, y’know?”


If his voice was cool before, it was decidedly arctic now, as he eyed her down (so she figured, the visor disarmed her a bit, taking away her ability to tell what his motivations were). “Oh? And how do you know that?”


“Overwatch’s pulse rifle,” Hana ticked off on her fingers. “Your height. Body type. Body language. Speech patterns. The way you try to lead.”


The man kept staring at her. “And who do you think I am?”


“Jack Morrison,” she answered, immediately.


76 was steady, his voice still chilly. “He’s dead.”


Hana narrowed her eyes, steady as well. “Allegedly. There was no body.”


“So the logical assumption is that it’s me?”




They glared each other down for a moment, before the soldier broke their silence. “Who else knows about this theory of yours?”


“No one,” Hana immediately replied. “And it’ll stay that way. I just like to know who I’m working with.”


He was quiet, still, for a moment. Then: “Okay.”


And Jack Morrison took off the visor, leaving Hana a bit self-satisfied. “I knew it. I don’t know why you won’t tell anyone, but I won’t make that decision for you, okay, old man?”


Jack nodded, a small smile playing on his mouth. “Thanks, Hana.”


“No problem, dad,” she replied, making him grimace before he put his mask back on. She laughed as he stepped back out the door.