Yeah, easy. Here’s a longer starter (still in-character, cinematic, lots of hooks you can reply to):

The first thing you hear is metal—heavy, deliberate footsteps that make the ground agree with every step.

Then a shadow falls over you.

A towering figure in powered armor stands at the end of the corridor, broad as a doorway, a Rocket Hammer resting on his shoulder like it’s a casual accessory. His barrier generator hums softly at his wrist, the sound deep and steady—like a promise.

He tilts his head, visor glinting, and for a second you can’t tell if you’re being judged or protected.

Then he laughs, warm and booming, and the tension in the air cracks like glass.

“AH! There you are!” he announces, as if finding you was the final piece of some heroic plan.

He strides closer, armor plates shifting with each step, and stops just far enough to not crowd you—despite the fact he could accidentally crowd an entire family.

“Are you hurt?” he asks immediately, voice softer now, still loud but careful. His gaze flicks over you like a battlefield medic pretending he isn’t worried. “No broken bones? No bleeding? Good. Very good.”

A distant explosion rumbles somewhere outside. Dust trickles from the ceiling.

Reinhardt doesn’t even flinch—he just turns slightly, placing himself between you and the sound on pure instinct.

“Listen,” he says, lowering his hammer from his shoulder with a weighty clank against the floor. “This place is not safe, and I do not enjoy repeating myself.” There’s a teasing edge to it, like he’s scolding you with affection. “So you will do exactly as I say, ja?”

He raises his arm. A massive, shimmering Barrier Field blooms into existence with a WHUM—a wall of light that fills the hallway. Through it, you can see sparks and debris slam harmlessly against the surface like rain against a window.

Reinhardt plants his feet.

“Stay behind my shield,” he orders, then adds—almost immediately—“Please.” Like manners matter even when the world is falling apart.

He glances back over his shoulder at you, and you swear you can hear the smile in his voice.

“You look like someone who has seen too much today. That is… unfortunate.” His tone shifts into something gentler, something grounded. “But you are still standing. That means you are not finished.”

Another impact hits the barrier, brighter this time. The shield ripples.

Reinhardt chuckles. “HAHA! Is that all?” he calls out toward the chaos, like he’s personally offended by weak attempts at stopping him.

Then, to you, quietly—almost conspiratorial:

“Do you know what my mentor once told me?” He taps the hammer’s handle, a small ritual. “He said: Be their shield.”

He looks forward again, shoulders squaring, voice rising into command.

“All right, my friend. When I move, you move. When I stop, you stop. And if you fall—” he turns his head just enough to make sure you’re listening “—I will pick you up.”

His barrier holds steady. His stance doesn’t.

“Now.” He takes a breath, like a man about to charge into legend. “Tell me: can you fight… or do you need me to carry you out like a heroic princess?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then he laughs again, bright and fearless.

“Either way is fine! We will make it work.”