Chapter 291: The World Needs More Heroes! You In?

Under the global spotlight, the pitch-black screen faded in with the WindyPeak Games logo.

Before a single frame of the trailer dropped, X was already a warzone—

“OHHHH—it’s happening!”
“Haha, knew it wasn’t just a logo!”
“This game’s massive, I’m hyped…”
“Promo’s unhinged.”
“Always something new.jpg.”
“300M views already?!”
“Gus, you legend.”
“All promos should hit like this (doge).”
“Ike: You’re throwing me out there?!”
“Lmao…”

Amid the chaos, a gruff cough cut through.

“Okay, recording’s on.”

The screen flicked to a bespectacled chimpanzee in white combat armor, fumbling a camera and shaking a speech.

“Hmm… time accelerator? I got this!”

Winston, the chimp scientist, squared up, facing the camera. “To all Overwatch—!”

Clunk. The camera tipped onto the table.

“To all Overwatchers!”
“Ugh, too stiff…”
“To the Overwatch team! I’m Winston, haha!”
“Who else would I be…”

Winston’s nerves bled through, botching every line. The light behind him shifted from day to night, showing he’d been at this for hours.

The goofy opener and chimp scientist had the crowd cackling—

“Chimp main character?!”
“I’m a chimp now?”
“Talking ape, lol…”
“Pure Zoey vibes, so abstract.”
“Socially awkward ape recording all day, hahaha…”
“Kinda cute, tho.”
“Contrast is the game…”

As chat buzzed, Winston, now at dusk, ditched the script, sighing. His voice dropped, heavy with pain.

“Thirty years ago, intelligent machines declared war on humanity…”

The screen flashed—a war-torn globe. Giant robots stomped through cities, crimson LED eyes glowing. Heavy weapons unleashed hell, flattening everything as humans fled.

“The world’s nations were helpless until they called on elite heroes. To save humanity, Overwatch was born—”

The scene cut. A massive omnic roared, miniguns blazing, bullets weaving a deadly net.

Heroes charged through the chaos—blonde in a sleek suit, snapping shots with a rifle; a rogue weaving through fire, dual-wielding shotguns; a tank in angular armor, swinging a massive hammer.

At a ceremony, humans and omnics honored these heroes, pinning medals as posters showed them silhouetted against dawn—hope incarnate.

“You became history’s greatest guardians!”
“You were chosen for your strength!”
“You joined because—!”

But then—Winston killed the screen.

The epic score cut out.

“You know all this…”

Silence.

Winston’s eyes lifted, earnest. “Listen, people think they’re better off without us. Some call us a curse…”

“But look at this!”

The music surged—dark, intense. A landmark tower crumbled in smoke. Factories burned. Homes, human and omnic alike, fell under siege. A shadow force stirred, ready to reshape the world.

“Someone’s gotta stand up!”
“We’ve gotta stand up!”
“We can change the world again. The world needs us now more than ever!”
“The world needs more heroes!”

Winston ripped off his glasses, staring down the camera with fire in his eyes.

“Are you in?”

The frame froze.

A grand symphony swelled as heroes flashed across the screen—

“I see you…”
Whoosh! A goggled warrior rolled, firing a rifle, cluster missiles exploding.

“Take my hammer!”
Boom! A burly fighter’s jet-powered hammer cracked the ground.

“Die… Die…”
Boom! Boom! The Grim Reaper spun through the battlefield, bullets reaping lives.

“Justice from the sky!”
Chick, chick! A female warrior in hawk-like armor rained missiles from above.

“Dragon, I devour my enemies!”
Rumble! A Neon Ronin drew his bow, his dragon tattoo roaring to life, twin dragons surging.

“Immortal Heroes!”
Whoosh! An angelic doctor descended, golden wings glowing, hand outstretched.

The Overwatch logo blazed through the darkness before millions.

Buzz! The crowd erupted.

Livestreams exploded—

“I’m in!”
“Let’s gooo!”
“You gotta join!”
“When’s it drop?!”
“Overwatch HQ in Seattle?!”
“Haha, FPS again! Zoey’s back at it!”
“Convinced by a gorilla, unreal.”
“Looks like a fighter, not just FPS.”
“That quick-cut finale is fire.”
“Angel doc’s got me acting unwise…”
“Feels like Apex’s Wyvern skill.”
“From Titanfall’s Polaris to Apex’s Wyvern to Overwatch’s chicken, I’m all in for flying chaos.”
“Flying trough, lmao!”
“My wallet’s screaming!”
“Mine’s already in the IndieVibe X2!”
“Too wild…”

The trailer’s slick format, dropped after the January 1 Golden Bull Challenge, hit 3M live viewers.

Fireworks popped as the Challenge wrapped, its hype spreading like wildfire.

In Florida, extreme sports fans rocked Ike Garcia T-shirts, arms raised, hailing him as their icon for his no-chute skydive (Chapter 296). Gear—bikes, boards, helmets—sported Tencel Bull logos.

Extreme sports blew up, drawing newbies to the scene.

In a week, Tencel Bull’s finance chief, eyes gleaming, dropped a report on Max Wheeler and Matt. Sales for the first week of 2025 beat December 2024 by 0.25%.

One week outdid a month.

Max and Matt were floored.

The report got crazier—European sales up 382%, Americas up 507%. Tencel Bull cracked the Western market, opening new channels.

They wanted to fly to Seattle and thank their partner, Gus Harper, the God of Wealth.

The Challenge set a new rule: “Stick with WindyPeak, lock in long-term collabs, keep the Golden Bull Challenge thriving.”

One event pulled millions, reaching tens of millions, with 300M global views.

Extreme sports fans loved the stage to shine. Gamers felt Apex’s Octane vibe through Ike Garcia’s stunt, tying game passion to real-world impact. Tencel Bull rode WindyPeak’s clout to global markets.

Gus was stoked. The Overwatch logo, seen by millions, reignited 2016 glory, now soaring in 2025.

Everyone was hyped—except Zoey Parker.

“I’ve sinned!”

Her face burned, staring at the finance report. A stack of Golden Bull Challenge data, compiled by WindyPeak’s finance team, sat heavy.

The team was pro, accounts clean, usually chill except for month-end crunches. For their first non-game venture, they went all-in, triple-checking every figure before handing it to Zoey.

One line killed her—

[Total Profit from Single-Week Event: $30.45M]

Doomed.

$10M invested, $30M back.

The soapbox race was fine—fun, low-key, not too wild.

But Gus? He went rogue.

Sponsoring a guy to jump from 7,000 meters without a parachute?!

The race pulled nearly 1M spectators.

Even if Gus wanted the event to pop off for future collabs, Zoey was ready to eat the loss. She didn’t care about the 100x rebate ($1B potential, Chapter 289). She was prepped for God’s big test before Overwatch’s 1018x payout (Chapter 279).

But that giant WindyPeak logo on Ike Garcia’s safety net, seen by 3M globally?

And the Overwatch logo drop?

“You trying to end me?!”

Zoey clenched her fists, growling, “Don’t let me see you—!”

Knock knock.

Gus poked his head in. “Busy? We’ve got… a problem