With Overwatch's approval rating down, Reinhardt comes up with a way to muscle in to the public scene to gain new support. Enjoy!
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"We are now three days out from a failed terrorist plot in Zurich, where a Munich-based cell of Talon members attempted to detonate several timed bombs at the Overwatch Headquarters. Right now, while casualties remain low thanks to the fast intercession of the Overwatch team, a growing movement in Zurich is demanding that Overwatch remove its headquarters from the city for, as they see it, 'needlessly endangering the lives of citizens.' Despite Overwatch maintaining a reputation for fast and effective response to terrorist attacks and combat situations, public opinion is starting to sour on the task force, with many questioning how safe Overwatch is really keeping the people of Earth."
"That's enough— newsfeed off," Mercy said, the snow owl shaking her head. She was sharing a table with some of Overwatch's other champions; Winston, the green and blue tree frog Lucio, and the draconic archer Hanzo.
Lucio shook his head first. "What a mess— how'd we manage to look that bad when we did so good?"
Before anyone could answer, they heard Reinhardt's heavy footfalls, the powerfully built lion humming the first few bars of a German drinking song as he came bearing full lagers for his teammates, grinning broadly. He stopped, however, as he saw the look on everyone's faces.
"What is all this?" He rumbled, furrowing his brow as he passed out the drinks. "We have just had another flawless victory— not only did we send Talon running like rats, we managed to do so while keeping an entire city safe. We should be happy with that, ja?"
"You've not been watching the news, have you?" Hanzo asked. "Apparently, even when we do our jobs correctly, people are still not happy with us."
Reinhardt's smile returned as he shrugged his broad shoulders. "I stopped caring about personal glory a long time ago, my friend. What matters is we did the job we set out to do. The right people know what we did."
"That's a noble sentiment, Reinhardt, but this is actually a problem," Winston replied. The gorilla swirled his drink for a moment, deep in thought. "I've been hearing things— higher ups are starting to wonder if our expenses are justified. The orbital platforms, the R&D expenses to keep our gear up to date, it's all being called into question."
"I've been talking with Sombra— based on what she's seen and what she's dug up, someone in Talon has been putting a lot of money towards buying up influencers, media figures… They're trying to undermine our support with people," Lucio said, running a hand over his head. "I didn't think it'd be this effective."
Winston turned to the lion. "I was hoping you could help us. We need… for lack of a better term, a charm offensive, and you are one of our more popular members."
Reinhardt blinked. "Oh, ah… what would you like me to do? An interview circuit or something?"
Winston shrugged. "Maybe. But I want something that utilizes your talents more— no offense, if I were to put someone out there in front of reporters, it would be Mercy."
The lion nodded to the owl. "Fair. But then, what do you want me to do? A… demonstration, a tour of some kind?"
"Competing in something?" Hanzo offered. "I won acclaim first from an archery contest."
"Something physical, I shouldn't wonder…" Mercy said, stroking her beak thoughtfully. "Even at your age, you're exceptionally strong and fit."
"Not to mention every time a shirtless pic of yours ends up online, it shoots up into the stratosphere…" Lucio muttered.
The lion let out a bashful laugh, running a hand through his mane. "Oh, come on! I gave up on showboating a long time ago."
"Think about it all the same, Reinhardt," Wilson said. "You have the full arsenal of the Crusaders at your disposal— if you think of a way to drum up support or win back acclaim for Overwatch, let me know."
The lion pondered Winston's request for the rest of the afternoon, as he tended to his workout for the day. The Crusaders of Germany looked for exceptional people to serve, and after all his years of service, Reinhardt would not let his standards slip. His battle-scarred body still rippled with strong, hardy muscle; broad shoulders and thickly roped, sinewy limbs developed from years of swinging his massive hammer, a wide back and deep chest from years of wearing his armor. He had been uniquely gifted, ever since he was young— something in his DNA left him as one of those rare recruits the Crusaders didn't even need to provide supplements, as they did for others to bear the weight of their arms and armor. It had been a point of pride for him that the cocktail of enhancement chemicals called Balmung was something he never had to use; in fact, he kept it in his locker as a reminder.
The lion huffed as he dug into his locker, and pulled out the small syringe of a clear liquid. Forty years of service, and he had never needed it— but if he needed to be a little more impressive to win back support for Overwatch, maybe this is what he had been saving his dose of Balmung for. Forty years…
"With my luck, it expired after thirty nine," he muttered, then found a good vein on his arm, and stuck himself with the needle. He breathed in sharply as he felt a sudden, pulsing sensation that made his fur stand on end— it came in waves, little rolling tremors across his body as he realized to his shock and awe that his body was beginning to change and grow— the hardened, battle-scarred muscle along his body ballooned and warped before him, his chest jutting out thick and impenetrable as his barrier fields, filling in the space around it with dense, hard muscle. The hard-won scars on his arms warped and widened, forced to cover a much larger landscape of brawn that billowed out underneath his white fur like an avalanche.
The lion's head rolled back on a thick column of a neck, as he let out a roar when the energy inside him had nowhere else to go— he stared at his newfound brawn, the tank-like dimensions of his body, and almost felt like laughing from exhilaration. His enormous arms looked hard and large enough to warp metal, earth-shaking legs with thighs thick as tank treads. The hefty burls of brawn on his back took up the entire hallway, he could almost touch either side of the room simply by standing, arms at his side.
"Mein Gott…!" Reinhardt rumbled, still looking at himself, tensing his arms and watching biceps like boulders swell up and dig against his engorged pecs.
"Reinhardt? Reinhardt!" The voice of Reinhardt's squire, Brigitte, crackled over the intercom. "Is everything alright down there? I heard you shout!"
"Huh? Fine, all fine, Brigitte!" Reinhardt said with a laugh. "Just… Tell Winston I think I found something I can do… And… Get me in touch with someone from the IFBB."
There was a pause on the other side of the intercom; Reinhardt could just imagine the bewildered look on his squire's face. "The… The bodybuilding organization?"
"The very same!" Reinhardt responded heartily, watching his own pectoral muscle billow out like a wave as he bounced his pecs. "I have a, ah… proposition for them."