Hana paused the video. She looked at her own hands, calloused from years of pro-gaming controllers and flight sticks. Butch had been looking for someone like her decades before she was even born.
That’s when she saw it: a classified file labeled General_-_Butch_-_Overwatch_-_D.Va_Hana_Song_-_...
As she bypassed the encryption, a grainy video file flickered to life. It wasn't a battlefield recording. It was a workshop. A burly man with a salt-and-pepper buzz cut—General Butch—was arguing with a technician. Hana paused the video
"You don't get it," Butch’s voice crackled through the speakers. "You can build the thickest armor in the world, but if the pilot can't feel the machine like their own skin, they're just sitting in a coffin. We need someone with reflexes faster than the AI. We need someone who treats combat like a game they refuse to lose." That’s when she saw it: a classified file
she said, snapping a selfie with the explosion in the background. "GG."
With a perfectly timed Self-Destruct, the Gwishin was reduced to scrap metal. As Hana stood amidst the cooling wreckage, waiting for her new mech to be air-dropped, she looked up at the moon. The legacy of General Butch wasn't in the files or the steel—it was in the pulse of the pilot who refused to back down.
"System's checked! Ready for combat!" she chirped, the familiar HUD lighting up her face.