[It's no wonder when Talon grabs him. Reinhardt had been willing and prepared for the possibility; he'd placed himself as the wall between Talon and his team, after all. Gave the other agents time to escape as Talon forces bore down on them. He was their shield, and he doesn't go down easy, gives Talon a fight they'll never forget until they finally manage to sedate him and everything goes dark.
When he wakes, he's unsurprised to find himself bound and surrounded by Talon. They want answers, of course, secrets they hadn't been able to pry out of Overwatch's corpse when it was destroyed, and they inflict injury after injury on Reinhardt in an attempt to break him. But he stays silent. He refuses to speak, goes so far as to refuse to vocalize his pain if he can help it, because even that much feels like giving Talon too much. Reinhardt would never jeopardize Overwatch. He would rather die than speak a word to these villains.
At the rate they're going, he very well might. An ungraceful way to go, to be certain, but there's some glory to be found in denying the enemy their victory as well. Reinhardt is content enough with the idea.
As big as he is, as accustomed to battle and pain as he is, Reinhardt has a high pain threshold, but extended torture can push past the most stubborn of men. Reinhardt still doesn't speak, but he's started spending most of his time stuck in an unfocused haze of pain and aches, broken only when he's dragged back out for Talon to add a new fresh heap of agony on. Ruined hands, a shattered knee, lashes across his back. Blows from fists across his face and stomach. Darker patches of skin where electric currents were applied. Once the screaming agony has faded, time tends to blend and eke away in a blur of general aching. When the sound of footsteps approaching his cell comes once again, Reinhardt has no way of telling how much time he's lost, how long he's been in Talon's clutches overall.
He has no energy to fight. Let Talon struggle with his weight, he'll remain defiant to the end, even if it's in the most passive of ways.
It takes him a long moment to sink in what's happening. To realize he's not being barked at or hauled up by impatient hands. To register the feeling of a gentle hand running through his hair. Once the odd tenderness in the touch hits him, his eyes gain some focus, gazing at Angela instead of through her.
Angela.
His mouth curls at the corners, managing a genuine smile for her, a shadow of his grins and yet still more than what a man in his condition should be able to muster. But Reinhardt Wilhelm prides himself on getting up each and every time he's knocked down.]
Angela. [His voice is a quiet rasp, worn from a refusal to speak, a refusal to voice pain in the face of Talon's efforts.] What are you doing here, engel? This is... not a place for you.
[Of course he's worried about her instead of himself. Of course.]
I WILL WAIT FOR YOU
When he wakes, he's unsurprised to find himself bound and surrounded by Talon. They want answers, of course, secrets they hadn't been able to pry out of Overwatch's corpse when it was destroyed, and they inflict injury after injury on Reinhardt in an attempt to break him. But he stays silent. He refuses to speak, goes so far as to refuse to vocalize his pain if he can help it, because even that much feels like giving Talon too much. Reinhardt would never jeopardize Overwatch. He would rather die than speak a word to these villains.
At the rate they're going, he very well might. An ungraceful way to go, to be certain, but there's some glory to be found in denying the enemy their victory as well. Reinhardt is content enough with the idea.
As big as he is, as accustomed to battle and pain as he is, Reinhardt has a high pain threshold, but extended torture can push past the most stubborn of men. Reinhardt still doesn't speak, but he's started spending most of his time stuck in an unfocused haze of pain and aches, broken only when he's dragged back out for Talon to add a new fresh heap of agony on. Ruined hands, a shattered knee, lashes across his back. Blows from fists across his face and stomach. Darker patches of skin where electric currents were applied. Once the screaming agony has faded, time tends to blend and eke away in a blur of general aching. When the sound of footsteps approaching his cell comes once again, Reinhardt has no way of telling how much time he's lost, how long he's been in Talon's clutches overall.
He has no energy to fight. Let Talon struggle with his weight, he'll remain defiant to the end, even if it's in the most passive of ways.
It takes him a long moment to sink in what's happening. To realize he's not being barked at or hauled up by impatient hands. To register the feeling of a gentle hand running through his hair. Once the odd tenderness in the touch hits him, his eyes gain some focus, gazing at Angela instead of through her.
Angela.
His mouth curls at the corners, managing a genuine smile for her, a shadow of his grins and yet still more than what a man in his condition should be able to muster. But Reinhardt Wilhelm prides himself on getting up each and every time he's knocked down.]
Angela. [His voice is a quiet rasp, worn from a refusal to speak, a refusal to voice pain in the face of Talon's efforts.] What are you doing here, engel? This is... not a place for you.
[Of course he's worried about her instead of himself. Of course.]