CYOA 4 – Hunting History – Chapter 2: Decisions

Previously: Hanzo, Tracer and Winston, a team of hunters specialized in the supernatural went into a forest to neutralize a target. However, the trickster spirit turned the tables on them and had a little of her own fun with Hanzo.

Content/warnings this chapter: Gore; The group discusses what to do with the lewd video now before getting called into another job.

---

The atmosphere in the back of the van is… interesting.

Winston keeps pulling off his glasses and polishing them nervously between his huge fingers. His cheeks are flushed a blotchy red while Tracer is staring with slight confusion at the girl sitting next to her. Hanzo is staring at the ground between his feet, his arms tightly crossed in front of his chest. He’s very obviously chosen the seat farthest away from the girl. Hana.

“So uh. That… uhm.” Winston stumbles over his own words. When he puts his glasses back on, he immediately stares at Tracer’s phone lying right in the middle of the little fold-out table.

Hana had eagerly asked him if he wanted to watch it to which Tracer and Hanzo had had rather… strong reactions.

Tracer is flushed and squirming a little bit but at least she is still smiling so that kind of calms Winston down. A little bit.

“Why are you uh… here?” he asks eventually after putting his glasses back on with trembling hands, peering at the fox spirit next to Tracer. Hana is looking mostly like a normal girl, but he can smell the fox scent and well… she got two tails and some animal ears flicking on top of her head.

“That is something I would like to know as well,” Hanzo grits out. He has been rather quiet, though that is nothing new. He’s always been the brooding type and Winston finds that he gets along with him nicely simply because they exist in quiet next to each other.

He peers at him now and sees the flush to the top of his ears. He can smell his blood rushing close to the surface and screaming of embarrassment. Winston can understand that. Not only because of the… uh… subject matter, but also because he himself is embarrassed most of the time. Just out of principle, really. Being a huge hairy guy trying to navigate mostly small spaces brings that along naturally.

“Haaaah?? Did you think you could just… like… tell me off and then wander away? What the Hell?” Hana’s eyes have grown huge. She throws one dainty hand out and gestures lively toward the phone. “You’ve got banger footage of me! I want to know where its gonna be posted! I want to see!”

“It’s not going to be posted!” Hanzo hisses immediately through clenched teeth. The flush from his ears creeps into his cheeks now in full force. They burn so bright that Winston is surprised he can’t feel the heat radiating off of him. He shifts a little, eyes flicking to Tracer when she clears her throat carefully. Before she can even get a word in edge-wise, Hanzo’s arms jerk out from their tight cross over his chest and his hands slam on the small table, making it wobble precariously with the force. Tracer’s phone jumps into the air, then clatters back down.

“Absolutely not! Have you lost your mind? This… this humiliation will not be viewed by anybody! I demand you delete the file this instant!”

Tracer hesitates for a second before she reaches out for her phone. Before she has any chance of touching it, Hana’s hand shoots out and snatches it up, holding it against her chest while her face is an open mask of dismay.

“Wait, wait, wait… what?! You can’t just delete this! This is pure money!”

Hanzo’s dark eyes are glimmering dangerously, fixed on the fox with a kind of intensity that makes even Hana pause for a beat, blinking back at him in obvious confusion as to what his problem was before shaking her head.

“You can’t delete this. It is perfect.”

“It is a humiliation beyond compare,” Hanzo hisses back. There is a fine flush now on his cheek bones and a muscle on the right side of his jaw is jumping. “I will not allow it be posted anywhere.” He blinks and leans back a little, visibly grappling his composure back as he rasps with a hoarse voice and a triumphant tilt of the corner of his mouth: “We can’t post it on our site anyway. As far as I am aware, they do not allow such lewd content.”

Tracer’s face screws up and she nods slow and thoughtful. “That is true.”

Hana waves her hand through the air with a dainty sniff. “That’s a non-issue. There are more than enough sites for this type of stuff. You guys are absolutely hopeless if you even consider deleting this. I don’t know if I can join you under these conditions.”

Winston’s mouth opens, then closes again. He glances to his other two team mates. They look equally confused and stunned, so he just quietly puts his large hands into his lap and waits, eying Tracer and Hanzo respectively until Hanzo finally regains his faculties and shakes his head once, one hand lifting.

“You will not join us. I do not know where these delusions come from. Leave this vehicle.”

Hana’s face darkens instantly. There is a fain crackle of light blue energy appearing around her and Winston can smell the ozone, the hair on his body standing up in reaction. He zeroes in on the fox, mouth going flat. A low growl rumbles from his throat, causing her to startle out of her little tantrum and really looking at Winston for the first time; as if she had not really taken notice of him before.

“You are…” her eyes go unfocused for a moment, mouth just hanging open, pink and wet before she shudders and finishes: “A werewolf.”

Winston feels his insides twist uncomfortably, a spike of panic making him immediately break out in sweat. He pulls his shoulders up and ducks his head down, but the attention immediately shifts from him to Hanzo again when Hana points an accusatory finger at him, the other hand still clutching the phone to her chest like a lifeline.

“You got a werewolf on your team! You can take me on too!”

Hanzo bares his teeth in a rather feral looking grin that has Winston almost squirming in the spot.

“I can take you on. And you will not join our troupe.”

There’s a beat of tense silence only undermined by the crackle of energy around Hana’s body, her eyes narrowing and ears flattening against her skull before suddenly she relaxes and a slow, lazy grin stretches her mouth.

“Whatever, dude. I know what you sound like when you cum. And you whimper like a puppy. So get off your high horse and listen to me.”

Winston immediately flushes hot, blood roaring in his ears. He can see Hanzo going pale and then bright red in the periphery of his vision, though he very studiously stares down at his lap and doesn’t listen to anything that is being said while he tries to calm down and not loose himself to the beast within.

He only realizes that his breathing has gone heavy and ragged when he sees Tracer’s hand enter his field of vision and feels it gently gripping his forearm. It’s so small and dainty compared to his own brawn that it startles him out of the brief funk he’s in, eyes flicking up to her face etched with worry.

“Are you alright?” she asks softly, leaning over to speak in a lowered voice while Hana and Hanzo are hissing at each other like cats.

He tries himself at a reassuring smile but thinks it might come out rather wobbly. He nods at her.

“Yes. Sorry, uh… s-sorry.” He exhales long and slow and by the time he can start inhaling again, he feels calmer and Tracer is smiling at him and patting his arm, and Hanzo and Hana have stopped almost crawling across the desk to get at each other’s throats to instead look toward him as well with mixed expressions that he can’t really interpret.

Worried that he’ll loose his shit and transform, maybe. He tries to hunker down tighter and make himself smaller.

Tracer turns her attention away from him and toward Hana.

“So! Uh. Okay. Listen. I still don’t quite know why you’re here?”

Hana glances briefly at all of them before she sniffs daintily and lifts her hand. “I want to help. I’m bored in the forest and only can get out to trick my way into someone’s flat to stream every once in a while. You’re fun.”

“How do you want to help?” Tracer asks with a little spark of excitement while Hanzo hisses another: “Absolutely not.” That is being ignored.

Hana wiggles the phone still in her grasp.

“I know what sells, babe. This video here? That’s worth so, so fucking much. Let me be your social media manager or something and I’ll make sure you get all the funds you need. Don’t think this line of work pays all too well, huh?”

Upon the quiet that meets her then, her face splits into a wide, predatory grin that has Winston’s hackles rising again, though not out of anger. He sits a little taller, leans a little further back from her as she nods and lowers the phone again – very obviously not letting go of it and putting it anywhere near Hanzo’s reach.

“Maybe we could… blurr out your face?” Tracer says softly after a minute of that oppressive silence. Hanzo’s eyes flick to her face and just stay there. He looks scary, in Winston’s opinion.

Like the fox spirit had just now, though in a very different, very intense way.

“I am not even going to entertain this. It is humiliating and will not be put anywhere where people can see.”

Hana narrows her eyes at him, the cogs in her brain visibly turning before she hums and leans forward. She braces one elbow on the little foldout table and puts her chin into the palm of her hand.

“Alright. So why don’t you all tell me why you’re doing this anyway? It’s a shit job nobody wants to do and it doesn’t pay very well. So what’s in it for you?”

Quiet.

“You know why I’m interested. I just like to have money for my habits and… honestly, I like the chaos. Trickster spirit and all that. But you’re like… a werewolf and-” she narrows her eyes, gaze only barely touching Tracer before sliding toward Hanzo and staring at him.

Winston feels his heart rate pick up, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply and leans forward a little despite himself, interested in what would come out of her mouth now.

“...Two… humans,” she says finally while Hanzo just stares back at her with an unreadable expression. She does not sound all that convinced and honestly, Winston gets her.

“Why are you out here in the middle of the night, trying to hunt li’l ol’ me?”

Hanzo scoffs, his arms pulling tighter across his chest. Tracer looks thoughtful, one dainty finger tapping against her chin. Winston watches her mostly because he’s most familiar with her and honestly, Hanzo kind of scares him every now and then.

Like right now.

Eventually, Tracer nods and turns toward him.

“Drive us to Reinhardt, will you? There’s more space to talk there. I don’t like how cramped it is here with those two looking ready to slit throats.”

“Hey I’m not doing anything!”

“Yeah, well… with Hanzo looking ready to slit throats.”

Winston grunts in confirmation, ignoring Hanzo’s bristling refusal to turn around awkwardly and shuffle his way onto the driver’s seat.

.oOo.

Reinhardt’s smithy is one of those unexpected spots that Winston really enjoys spending time in. Before actually sitting down in here and taking in the atmosphere, he would have thought that being around, nevermind inside such a place would be some kind of special hell, but he’s soon found out that the harsh clanking of Reinhardt’s hammer is a blessing in disguise.

For one, he does not use it nearly as often as Winston would have expected; and for another, the loud noise gave him the excuse to not have to talk to anybody or anything and just sit in the far back corner and exist while fiddling around with one or two little contraptions he is working on at any given time.

This time, Reinhardt sadly isn’t hammering an impossibly hot piece of metal into any which shape, but the blacksmith himself is loud enough to make up for it. Which, you know, is also a bonus point because if Winston stays very still, Reinhardt seems to forget about him entirely and doesn’t even try to lure him into conversations that are mainly with Tracer.

Because Hanzo is a cantankerous bastard that only chimes in if he thinks it necessary.

Winston watches Hanzo from his usual perch on top of a stack of old tires and catalogues the tension in his posture and the dark red stripe appearing at the nape of his neck, right between the collar of his tanktop and the black line of his hair. Winston can feel the anger radiating off of him in waves as if it were a taste in the air and he honestly can’t quite blame him for it.

He didn’t really listen in on any details (just the cliffnotes were enough to make him feel hot under the collar and extremely embarrassed), but he does not think that he would like having been accosted by a spirit, the whole thing having been recorded and them now discussing what to do with it.

Reinhardt throws his arms out to both sides, his impressive wingspan pulling all the eyes in the room even before he booms: “I do not see the issue here! This seems like a wonderful idea! Just sell the video!”

The fox spirit’s face is flushed but not in the same way that Hanzo’s is. Her eyes are glittering and she can barely stay on the bench that Lena has pulled her down on. She’s bouncing in the spot, staring at Reinhardt like he’s hung the moon and the stars.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!!” she cries out, apparently trying to match the big man’s bombastic voice which only leads to Winston’s sensitive ears ringing. He pulls a face and massages his temple as a faint headache starts to spring up.

“Okay. Okay. How about we all calm down for a second?” Lena interjects swiftly, probably split seconds before Hanzo would have lost his cool entirely.

One of her hands is lifted in a placating gesture, the other is on the fox girl’s lap, presumably pressing her down onto her seat so she wouldn’t start dancing around the smithy.

“But… the money,” she groans softly, looking longingly at the phone that Lena has put some ways away on Reinhardt’s unused anvil.

Tracer turns toward her. “I understand you. But this whole uh… thing, isn’t just about money. For Hanzo, at least-” she gestures toward Hanzo who sits there quiet and stiff backed and closed-off. Winston can smell the anger and humiliation wafting off of him in a miasma of anxiety. “it isn’t. He’s got his own reasons to be doing this, and to be fair, he’s started it all and Winston and I just kind of uhm… piggybacked.”

“I want to piggyback,” Hana wheedles in a sing-song voice, her eyes large and beseeching first on Hanzo, then on Lena. When both do not react, she suddenly sobers up so quickly that Winston feels like he’s getting whiplash from it.

He wants to whine like a dog because he does not like this tension in the air. He does not like it when they are fighting and he can not see a way out of the whole situation, quite frankly. He pulls his glasses off, to clean them compulsively and when he puts them back on, he startles to find that Reinhardt suddenly is much closer.

His huge paw like hand lands unceremoniously on Winston’s curly head, thick fingers sifting through them and letting some of the whirls cling to them like tentacles.

“You okay, my friend?” he asks in a much lower rumble than usually. Winston really wants to lean into him and start bouncing his leg when a couple thick fingertips find an especially nice spot to massage right behind his ear. He nods slowly, not really trusting his voice, and his attention is pulled back to the trio a couple meters away when Lena sighs deeply.

“Okay. Then I will? This is bollocks, Hanzo. I know you’re angry, but bein’ stubborn doesn’t really help making this go any quicker, you do realize that, right?” When quiet answers her, Lena makes a very rude, very annoyed sound, and rolls her head. “Awright. Lemme just gather my thoughts. Uhm. So. Hanzo’s recollection is very limited? I think he only remembers up to the last… six months?”

Winston can see Hanzo bristling as he finally loosens the tight clamp of his arms around his chest and leans forward.

“Be quiet. I will tell her.”

“So that means I’m part of the team, right? Right?”

“You be quiet as well, or else none of this will happen and I will have Winston and Reinhardt bring you back to your godforsaken neck of the woods.”

“Bluh. No fun. Alright. I’ll zip it.”

.o.

“I have to agree, that my memory has been… limited for quite some time now. An accident has left me with little to no recollection as to my life prior to about a year ago, thankyouverymuch.”

Tracer nods with a sage expression, completely unbothered by the hard glare coming her way curtesy of Hanzo. “Noted,” she says serenely.

“I woke up in a puddle of my own blood in what I can only assume had been my ancestral home. Public records, as well as what I do still remember would indicate that I am correct in that assumption, at least. Though those records have been very scarce and I have not been able to find many pictures. My family must have been rather… camera shy.”

“Yeah, I got that feeling too. But you’re a natural,” Hana croons, eyes sliding over to the phone sitting on the anvil.

Winston can’t see Hanzo’s expression but it must look fearsome because Hana’s mouth snaps shut and she sits up a bit straighter with her ears perked with attention. She mimes zipping up her mouth but even Winston can’t really believe her with how her eyes are glittering mischievously.

After another beat of silence, Hanzo continues. “I woke up in a puddle of my own blood, as I said. I had grievous wounds, among which a head injury contributed to my memory loss. The room around me looked…”

His voice trails off and Winston who already knows the story and is watching the fox spirit exclusively, can see how the mirth in her eyes slowly slides away, her back subtly curving forward and more toward Hanzo in a surprising show of empathy as she quietly listens.

“... it looked demonic. Some form of summoning circles on the ground. Blood… everywhere…” His voice sounds different now as he tries to remember more while struggling to find the words to convey it all. His stiff posture has slowly started to relax, shoulders rolling forward as he puts his elbows on his knees and presumably stares somewhere in the middle distance, though Winston can’t be sure with how he is sitting behind Hanzo.

“I remember… I think… my… brother? I seemed to have had a brother called… Genji. I think I remember him being dragged down into the ground. It had… opened up in a flaming circle. There were shadows reaching up out of the earth, wrapped around him and… my… father…?”

Hanzo lifts a hand, slowly pressing it across his face as he struggles to keep the memories in his grasp and not let them slip right out.

“I can not even remember their faces anymore, but… I know it was them. I just…” he huffs in frustration. “I know it,” he hisses as if anybody had challenged him on the claim. But everybody is silent. Reinhardt’s fingers are still behind Winston’s ear, slowly moving in rotating circles that distract him enough that he ducks out from underneath.

Reinhardt’s hand falls to his side then and they just stare at Hanzo as he tries to keep gathering the tattered edges of his recollections as if they were so much water running through his fingers.

“There were two and they kept clawing at the ground, trying not to be pulled down. I could not move to help them. My head felt as if it were splitting; there was a roar in the air. The sound of Hell itself trying to flay my flesh from my bones while they all dragged my father and brother down.”

Silence briefly stretches through Reinhardt’s smithy; a rare enough occurrence, all in all. Just when it looks like Hana is going to break it, Hanzo speaks again.

“They are still alive down there. I know it. Some demon scum imprisoned them and I do not know why, but I will bring them back.” He sounds fierce and Hana’s mouth snaps shut with a soft but succinct click, her brows furrowing in thought. One finger comes up to tap at her lips, her unspoken question being answered regardless as Hanzo exhales and concludes with an unendingly weary sounding voice: “I do not know how to open demonic circles into Hell. That is why I am tracking down every spirit, demon and mage that I can find.”

At that, Hana’s face goes through a very complicated rollercoaster of emotions, her spine snapping straight once more as she leans back as if she had been slapped.

The light blue energy that had been absent for quite some time now comes back in full force, covering her like a crackling, static-y shield as she says with an air of dumbfounded horror: “You want to open a portal to Hell? Are you nuts?”

Hanzo clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I will open it. And I will save them.”

“I… I… what?” Hana’s mouth is gaping open, her tails swinging behind her are stiff in a show of alarm as her eyes slide from Tracer to Reinhardt to Winston, then back to Tracer. “You help him do that? That’s insane. You’re insane. All of you. It’s Hell. You’re not going to survive in there. Sorry to say it, but your family’s long dead. Ash in the wind and all that. They’re gone.”

Winston bristles at the immediate energy in the room, Hanzo almost growling as he leans further back and crosses his arms in front of his chest once more.

“I have been transparent about my mission. I did not ask them to accompany me-” he waves his hand belligerently in the air toward his team mates, “- and I am certainly not asking you. It became clear to me that you do not know the incantation to open a portal to Hell. I have lost interest in you. You may leave.”

Hana narrows her eyes. She swings her head toward Lena, poking a single finger at her shoulder. “So what are you doing here? What is a werewolf doing here?!” Winston almost topples from his stack of tires when she throws him a hard, almost hateful glare. The small hairs all over his body stand up at attention and he feels like he should be crawling out of his skin.

Reinhardt steps forward, hands lifted placatingly. “We should all calm down now, right? There’s no need to be antagonizin’ anybody! We’re all friends, are we not?”

Ignoring Hanzo’s angry muttering, he continues: “Lena and Winston are kind enough to help him out. Huntin’ is hungry business, my foxy little friend! You need funds, unfortunately, and as skilled as our friend here is… he is not the most savvy when it comes to machines and the internet in general.”

His massive hand lands on Hanzo’s shoulder. He is apparently not worried that Hanzo would snap around like a feral animal and rip it right out of its socket which Winston kind of admires him for.

Reinhardt is a lot of things that Winston is envious about. He watches as Hana’s demeanour changes the moment the blacksmith steps into the picture. She looks him up and down again just like she did when they first stepped foot into the smithy and then starts smiling in a downright demure way, finger twirling a strand of hair around it.

“Is that so? So you’re all like… his employees or something? Or more like his keepers? That’s cute.”

Hanzo bristles but Reinhardt’s huge hand keeps him pinned down to his chair and he throws his head back with a hearty, booming laugh that Winston can feel vibrating through his whole body.

“His keepers! Yeah, that sounds about right!”

“We’re uh… we manage the site… you know, putting up the videos and articles and dealing with the subscribers,” Lena interjects, a bit nervous but also looking like she tries really hard not to laugh. Her face has come decidedly pink with excitement. “It’s fun! It could go better but…”

Hana nods with a sage expression. “Business will boom once you put up that video.”

“We won’t.”

“Hanzo! My friend! Why don’t you come over here for a moment? I need to talk to you!”

Slowly, Hanzo stands up from his chair. His movements are stiff, anger radiating off of him as he follows Reinhardt into a different corner of the smithy.

Reinhardt lowers his voice as he leans over Hanzo like a massive mountain range. He is gesticulating with his hands as he talks but when Hanzo only keeps standing there stiff and unresponsive, he slowly curls one of them around his elbow.

He squeezes warm, thumb dragging back-and-forth across his skin as Hanzo, surprisingly enough, starts to slowly relax the defensiveness of his position.

Eventually he slowly nods and Reinhardt’s expression splits into a bright grin, voice booming out ‘wonderful!’.

He turns back to the group. Hanzo does so as well, though he stops short after a single step and stuffs his hand into his pocket to pull out his phone.

Reinhardt rubs his large, calloused hands as he moves to the rest of the group again, a mischievous, boyish glint in the one good eye he still has.

“He’ll let you upload the footage,” he announces and Hana squeaks with excitement. “Under the condition that-”

“We have to go. Winston, Tracer-” Hanzo’s voice is clipped as he interrupts Reinhardt, hurrying to grab his jacket from the back of his abandoned chair.

“Wait what? What happened?” Tracer gets up with a frown, half tripping across her feet.

“I got a call about a harpy. Apparently close by.”

“Harpy?” Hana exclaims, brows shooting up. “A harpy won’t tell you what you what you want to know. Those bitches know shit unless they’re like… ancient.”

Hanzo scoffs at her. “It’s for the money,” he mutters, low enough to convey that he’s ashamed about that.

Hana doesn’t reply but her face slowly smooths into a wolfish grin. She makes her way over to the anvil with Tracer’s phone sitting on it. “Alrighty. I’ll sit that one out and start on uploading this little gem here, okay?”

Hanzo bristles, baring his teeth at her, but keeps hurrying toward the back of the smithy.

“Just stay put, we have not stopped talking about that.”

“Yeah… sure think, big guy! Have fun with that harpy business! Come back safe and sound you guys! Mwah, mwah, kisses and all that!”

.oOo.

The park they arrive to absolutely reeks of blood. Thick and metallic and so pungent that Tracer has to clap her hands over her nose and mouth as she doubles over, gagging.

“What the… what the Hell is this stench?” she gets out, eyes watering with it.

Hanzo only grunts as he pulls a bandana over his nose, brows furrowed. He doesn’t want to tell her that the stench is similar to what he’s smelled on the day that he woke up. Gore and misery. It has his stomach lurching uncomfortably and a pressure building behind his temples.

“Stay here,” he mutters as he slides a couple knifes into their sheats at his waist and ankle.

“Whu?”

“Just… stay. I don’t think you should see this. And Winston doesn’t sound all too well.”

Winston is still sitting in his seat, his hands white knuckling the steering wheel. He is breathing heavily and the warm brown of his eyes looked a little too yellow for Hanzo’s taste the last time he looked at him a few minutes ago.

Tracer makes a nervous sound as she hurries over to talk him down from whatever precipice of frenzy he’s currently in. Meanwhile, Hanzo starts to walk deeper into the park.

The sight that greets him at the playground close by is… unfortunate. He stops at the very edges, slowly looking at the carnage while he tries to not get overwhelmed by the absolute stench of the guts lying about.

The harpy had been here, that much is obvious from all the feathers and the one clawed foot he can see lying beneath the see-saw; but whoever or whatever tore it to absolute pieces, he can’t be sure of. He slowly wanders closer when he thinks he’s got himself back under control, trying to figure out what the Hell happened.

---

“Mmhhh… bit more… gory than what I usually like. You kinda went apeshit back there, old man,” Freja whispers as she crouches down next to Soldier.

He does not turn to her, his gaze fixed steadily on the sole person that has appeared and is slowly surveying the scene.

“Be quiet. He might hear us.”

Freja leans forward a little, eyes squinting before she exhales a rough breath.

“Holy fuck. Is that actually Shimada? He lived?”

“Told you so. I knew it was him in those internet videos.”

“Well that’s fun.”