Lilith707
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Summary
“It’s not a real kid, Chase.”
Chase is technically underage, he’s a year away from being able to drink but the bartender didn’t bother to check his ID. Chase has always looked a little older than he was, it works in his favor now.
Nobody at a hero bar like this would assume he was so young.
“How the fuck do you think that?” Chase asks, spits. His hands still shake with the memory of it. The beer in his hand shakes with the tremors of his hands. “How the fuck do you do it?”
Mechaman sighs, deep, disappointed. He leans back, taking his whiskey with him.
The rest of the Brave Brigade was downstairs, drinking in victory, dancing with the other heroes, celebrating.
“It’s the Astral Pulse.”
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Summary
Robert Robertson does not have superpowers. He was born completely normal, regular, plain. No deviations, nothing new, nothing special. Following the schematic.
But just because someone is born normal doesn't mean they stay that way.
An accident with the Mecha Man suit in his teenage years leaves Robert down a heart, and cybernetically enhanced, his ability to continue living tied to the suits power- and to the Astral Pulse. -
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Summary
Robert Robertson cannot die.
It's a fact of life the same as any other. No matter how intimate he becomes with death, he can never truly die.
This changes nothing. This changes everything.
Series
- Part 1 of Mecha Man Undying
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Summary
Robert knew it could happen. The damage to his back from the fall was immense, and there was a chance, but he didn't think it would happen. He didn't think his legs would give up on him. He didn't think there might be a way to fix it. He didn't think the team would care. Seems he got a lot wrong. Might as well take the time to find out who he is without the pressure of Mecha Man on his shoulders and the inability to use his legs. Good thing Flambae is willing to carry him until the uphill battle is won.
Series
- Part 1 of For the Love of Robert Roberston III
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Summary
As it turned out, Robert really was Flambae’s type.
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After dealing with Shroud once and for all, Robert Robertson finds that it's hard to have a personal 'thing' going on when your, ahem, person of...interest...is as subtle as a fireball. Romance isn't dead, it's just locked behind HR's code of conduct.
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“...Hell yeah this some Britney, bitch! This one is for Robert—where is he—there he is! Robbo at the bar! Yeah! Luckiest fucking fucker in all of Southland! ‘Cause guess who fucking fucked him—oh yeah, back to the chorus! Uhn uhn…”