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Yes, this is a fanfiction. I haven't written a FanFiction in a long time, so this is me getting back into it via Overwatch. It's been a long time coming, really. I wanted to do a story for a while, and inevitably it was Overwatch related. So here it is. I don't do ships, do don't get your hopes up. I always just felt like stories of Overwatch could work in almost a comic book sort of style. So "Armor and Music" is a series based around Reinhardt and Lucio as a heroic duo, sort of like Power Man and Iron Fist in Marvel. Reading it over, I'm a bit rusty, I feel like, but now with the initial started, I believe I'll improve into the story-writing prowess I used to have. I used to be a big fanfiction writer, but those days fell apart.
This chapter doesn't have too much action, just a simple sort of intro to what brought this uncanny duo together, with some friendly dialogue between the two. So in a sense, it's a prologue, but still Issue 1.
Excuse my poor editing skills on the cover image. Credit for the art goes to the original artists.
If you're an artist yourself, feel free to submit art for future issues! I'd love to feature your art.
And without further ado, read on. I hope you enjoy!
Night had fallen over the Brazilian skyline. A humming sound - the sound of an elevator's surging power as it traveled upwards could be heard through the ears of the man standing inside. Silence, otherwise. Dead silence. Perhaps an occasional grunt, or the faint sound of the man's own breathing would be present - but otherwise, nothing but silence. The elevator was a pure chrome, matching the fancy landscape of the building the man was currently visiting. When it came to the man himself, he was rather tall and bulky - his shoulders wide. Perhaps almost too tall. His head stopped only mere inches below the elevator's roof. His attire was sharp - a stark tuxedo that was prim and proper for the occasion. Within one of his hands was a black walking staff, one of mere looks rather than usage. The man, although old - prevalent via his completely gray hair - was more than capable of walking efficiently. The walking staff was an idea the tailor had given him, in an attempt for adding flair in his looks. Keeping his demeanor bold and upright, the man felt over his grayed hair with his free hand, petting it down to keep it flat. The hair wasn't long, and ran just above his shoulders. Tonight, he had it slicked back neatly for the occasion.
The elevator inevitably stopped with a small ring that resembled a doorbell in sound, causing him to take notice. Twenty-fifth floor. The man's eyes darted to his wrist, where his shiny silver watch sat humbly, ticking away. He was arriving late, but not too late. The party had started at seven, but he had arrived at eight. Surely the host wouldn't mind some slight tardiness - especially after how hard he had worked to dress up for the evening. With that in mind, he stepped into the open hallway of the twenty-fifth floor and looked about for the appropriate door he was invited to. It didn't take long. Through the hallway came the somewhat muffled beating of electronic-genre music. The beats of the music felt as if they were a giant tapping his finger against the side of the building. Perhaps he had dressed for the wrong type of party.
