A Walk in the Park

Hana went back to the car, the new shoes creaking slightly in that stiff way they often did as she crossed back over the street. She made a face as she walked, the layer of plasters stuck over her kitty feeling incredibly uncomfortable, the little patches of glue on the bottom-most layer of them giving her what felt like an unfortunate, gooey series of kisses on her labia as she walked. She rubbed on them as she walked, making little sounds of discomfort until she finally opened the driver-side door and crawled back in, careful not to flash her red, gently pulsing posterior at anyone as she did. This day, she concluded, had been a horror show. Never before had she been publicly humiliated, stripped, chained up, unwillingly fingered, face-fucked or brought to climax by a fat-faced merc before. Her cheeks glowed at the memory of Roadhog's tongue up inside her, the wet appendage gliding over her clit, sending little spasms of — she shivered at the thought — pleasure through her body. He had taken the opportunity to enter her most treasured place, the one she usually didn't even let boyfriends see until a good few months into any relationship. It was one thing to be slapped on her hind quarters, or have her boobies groped by such a disgusting figure, but to be eaten out by him? She covered her face in a private moment of shame, her legs slamming shut in response.

When she'd calmed down, she opened her eyes, leaning her head back into the leather seat. She couldn't properly decompress, couldn't fall apart just yet. There'd be time for that later, when she returned in disgrace to Overwatch HQ in whatever the hell clothing this was supposed to be — she looked down at herself, thinking she must look like she was wearing her own father's clothes, and cringing internally at the idea. Mr Song was a stern figure, he would no doubt be most displeased by the video of her that was now circulating all over the airwaves and internet. When next he saw her, she wondered if he too would draw her across his lap and pull up or down whatever she was wearing, doing his best to tan her cute little heinie as punishment for bringing disgrace on the family. She tried not to think about that too much, this day had been very sexual, and she preferred not to bring such feelings into her estimations of her father. She was just glad he wouldn't ever see her with Roadhog's cum on her face, that might kill him right then and there.

Now wasn't the time for her to dwell on her parents, though. Now was the time to repay whoever had done this to her, whoever had made her show so much of herself to the world, whoever had put her in this situation where she'd been **** to suck off a hired gun and have herself sucked off by him. She went back to earlier that day, remembering the presence of those guards Roadhog had been palling around with. The Park Rangers, Korean street gang, common hoodlums, or so their reputation suggested, and yet they'd been outfitted with equipment and weapons that indicated there was...more. Roadhog would have known everything, but Roadhog was in the wind by now. Hana sighed and put her hands behind her head, trying to think. Overwatch! The idea finally came to her, Winston would have a database on local criminal enterprises and their recent activities, but that would mean getting back into contact with Winston, which would be difficult on account of her headset being gone.

There was another way. A year or so back she'd memorised a certain phone number, a help-line that didn't go direct to Winston, but came damned close. Hana would need a phone however, and the blazer she was wearing hadn't one, and obviously she had lost hers a while back. She looked at her wrist, where a scrap of glove and wrist from her suit still clung on for dear life. There was a little ring around her wrist, which functioned as a communicator. Her MEKA was no doubt still waiting either at the bank or back at OHQ now, the only problem was the communicator's circuitry had been threaded throughout much of the suit. Destroyed as it was, she didn't suppose there was much use in it. She prodded at it vainly, then sighed. A-a phone booth, then? Did any still even exist? She sat up and got out of the car, drawing the blazer tightly around herself as she walked in the other direction down the street. As she walked, she saw a few lumpen, misshapen pieces of metal on stands that might have been phone booths at one point, before wear-and-tear and vandalism had taken their toll; continuing on, she eventually came to one that looked only marginally less battered than the others, but whose caller ID screen was still lit up, flickering gently in the dim light of the evening.

Hana went up to it, gingerly reaching out and picking up the receiver, fishing around in the blazer's pockets for change, then slotting a few coins in. She dialed out the number from memory, then pressed 'OK' and listened as the dial tone spun up. For several seconds she waited, feeling very much exposed as the cool breeze played across her almost bare legs, and looking around to see if anyone were watching her. When the call at last went through, she breathed a little sigh of relief and held the receiver closer to her face. "Hello?" She said, quietly.

"Overwatch Help Line speaking, how can I help you?" A man's voice asked, the voice gave her pause, Hana thought she might have heard it somewhere before, but no answer came to her, so she pushed on. "Hi, yes, uh...I need to speak to Winston?"

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, then, "I'm afraid we don't allow civilian callers to reach our operatives directly, if you could send an e-mail or-"

"I'm not a civilian!" Hana cut him off, "I'm an operative myself, actually! It-it's Hana Song? D.Va?"

Another pause, then, in a friendlier tone. "Why, Ms. Song! I-yes I think I do recognise your voice from earlier today. The elevator?"

Hana realised now she was talking to the man she'd shared the ride up to the hangar with before leaving HQ that morning. That felt like it had happened a million years ago, now...she could scarcely believe she was still the same person. She'd never have imagined then that things would go horribly wrong in the hours following that moment. "Ah, right...hello again. I'm sorry I can't spare any more time, I'm on an-important mission, I need intel from Winston but my communications equipment is busted. Could you patch me through?"

"Of course, Ms. Song! Happy to help!" The man replied, and Hana heard him pressing a few buttons on his phone unit. "Patching you through now," He added, and then he was gone, the dial tone coming up again as she was transferred to Winston. Despite knowing the friendly, super-intelligent ape for the past few years, Hana couldn't help but feel like a bundle of nerves as she waited for him to pick up. What would she say? What would _he _say, in light of all that happened? Her sudden disappearance and then her...exposure, all over the media. Would he be disappointed? Angry? Would he pity her, or scorn her? She brushed her hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind an ear. She had to believe that her friends and colleagues wouldn't blame her, that they'd see the situation for the awful manipulation it had been.

The dial tone rang twice more, then was interrupted by a click, and she heard the voice of Winston booming down at her over the line. "Hana? Hana are you there?" Winston asked, insistently.

Hana couldn't help but smile a sad little smile. "It's me, Winston. I'm here!"

"Thank goodness! I-we were worried sick about you! Ever since you went offline at the bank, and then the stories broke..." He trailed off, then hastily followed up, "I wanted no part in seeing anything the newsreaders described, Hana. The rest of the team feels the same way, in fact we've been spending most of the day thinking up a plan for how to solve this little situation, I've been devising a prototype techno-virus that could conceivably wipe every trace of that video from-"

"Winston," Hana cut in, "I-I'm glad to hear all of that, I really am...but...I need your help with something."

Winston shifted tack without missing a beat, "What's the situation, Agent Song?"

"The people behind that video, whoever got things in place to record me...in private. I'm going after them.

"Alone?"

"Alone," She said, firmly.

"But I-I...alright, Hana. If you want to handle this alone - I won't say if you think you can handle it, because I know you can - but if you really feel you need to go solo for this, I'll respect that. What do you need?"

"The Park Rangers, the Seoul-based street gang?"

She could hear Winston's fingers clacking heavily across the keyboard. "I have the file up here," He said, after a few moments.

"The leaders, who are they?"

"By all accounts, Joon-Ki and Joon Sup, the Park Brothers. Founders and leaders of The Park Rangers."

Hana moved a little closer to the phone, "Now, can you tell me where they might be hiding out?"

More clacking, then a triumphant hum. "Got it, I think. An old tenement block on the northern side of the city. It's been marked for demolition for several years, but no work appears to have ever actually started. Some city councilman being paid large sums to stall the work under the table, no doubt."

"Address?" Hana pressed, eagerly.

"55 Yosae Avenue, I can't get any more specific than that, so assume the entire building is under the gang's control."

"Hearing you loud and clear, Winston," Hana flexed a wiry bicep under her blazer, this was going to be...cathartic. "I'll contact you later, Winston."

"Alright, Hana. Good luck."

"Oh," She said, suddenly. "One more thing, could you send a new control bracelet for my MEKA?"

"Of course, funny you should mention that actually, we just got it back to the hangar after the police impounded it. You know you left it back at the bank?"

"Yeah," Hana sighed, "I know."

"The ring will be in the nearest mailbox to the building, look out for one when you arrive."

"Got it, " She nodded, "Love you, Winston."

"...Same to you, Hana," And with that, she hung up, spinning on her heel and striding back toward the car. Once back inside the driver's seat, she put the key in the ignition, and felt the engine roar to life. She put her feet on the pedals and her hands on the wheel, ready to go. What came next would make her efforts in the dungeon look like a dance rehearsal, and just as well, she was relishing the chance to get some payback. She drove on, determination etched into her features as she made her way toward 55 Yosae Avenue.