Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

THEN

Robert is hiding from his father’s co-workers in the garage lab.

That’s nothing new. His father is the only one of them with children, so he’s pretty isolated when there’s a get-together. He’s pretty isolated no matter what- it’s not like he can bring friends over, not with the Mecha Man Astral parts and various Brave Brigade gear laying around the house, and his father doesn't let him out of his sight, except for Robert’s classes and his father’s work.

It’s too dangerous, apparently.

Can’t risk the life of the next Mecha Man.

So Robert is hiding from a bunch of early-30s super heroes in his father’s workshop, and he’s tinkering with one of the defunct Mecha Man Astral suits. It’s an older model, and he’s not certain why it was deemed “unsafe for work” past the outdated software and a few dents in the shell.

He’s dug into the wiring, trying to figure out why the suit was decommissioned, when it boots up.

Unfortunately, electricity starts to flow through the circuits before any visible or auditory indicator of the suit powering up occurs.

400 volts of electricity are shot through Robert Robertson the Third’s small body. The world fades to the pounding of his heart, the stinging burns on his skin, and the sound of shots being fired.

The last thing he knows before the darkness claims him is the sound of Track Star calling his name, begging him to stay awake.

NOW

The sky is dark as Mecha Man Blue makes his escape.

It’s a moonless night, and the sky is overcast, concealing the stars. Wisps of low clouds streak through the suit, air filters deactivated to conserve power. The city shines white-blue in the distance, lighting up the horizon.

None of that matters to Mecha Man Blue though.

His chest is thrumming with adrenaline, blood flowing fast through his body. Energy coils in his chest, through his arms, settling on his shoulders. He had come fact-to-face with Shroud, and had left the encounter alive.

Sure, the suit was damaged, but that was nothing he couldn’t fix. Granted, with the small remains of his inheritance, a lot of gig work, and some blood, sweat, and tears (and dumpster diving), but it could be fixed nonetheless.

His eyes flicker over the display, eye-tracking activating a status check. The suit feeds back, information flowing across his vision. Shell stable. Thrusters stable. Astral Pulse stable.

Foreign body detected.

Fuck.

Okay, shit, he needed to land, he had to get out of the suit, had to keep the Astral Pulse safe.

Then the beeping hits his ears, and he realises exactly what’s about to happen.

Robert has just enough time to yank the power cord out of its port, detach the NFC controller- and then he’s falling, shrapnel raining around him and wind rushing through the suit. Burns ache at his back, he can feel skin peeling in an oh-so-familiar way.

His chest aches.

Mecha Man Blue falls from the sky.

Robert hits the ground.

He peels himself out of the suit. The shell is fucked, the hardware so damaged that there’s no chance of repair. He digs through the rubble, searching for the one irreplaceable part amongst the suit.

He can’t find the Astral Pulse.

He can’t find the Astral Pulse.

The one thing he couldn’t afford to damage, couldn't afford to lose. Everything else that makes up Mecha Man can be replaced, fuck, even Robert himself could be replaced. But not the Astral Pulse.

He can feel his energy running out, feel the humming in his chest lightening as his blood flow slows. He sways, head going light.

Robert falls backwards, back thumping against the chair of the suit, head pounding.

His eyes go dark as the sky lightens, sun rising. Sirens sound in the distance.

He surrenders to the darkness.

Chapter Text

THEN

Robert “Robbie” Robertson the Second digs through the cabinets of his workshop.

Shroud- Elliot- had set up a makeshift sterile field while Track Star had kept Robert’s heart beating, blood circulating. Kept his son alive.

Now, Robert lays on a steel work table that had been quickly wiped down. The skin on his chest is peeled back, ribs open to the air as Elliot cuts through cartilage to get to the heart. What skin is visible is charred bright red, with blisters quickly forming.

He finally finds the tech he’s been looking for, buried at the bottom of a draw of scrap. It’s a small maglev pump, small enough to fit into a pre-teens chest. Robbie heads back to the welding table he and Elliot have been putting together the augment hardware.

A few moments later, he has a makeshift ventricular assistive device- one of several parts they need to make sure Robert can grow into the next Mecha Man. Elliot has put together a combined generator/battery system to sit below the right lung, where the first shot had clipped the kid.

As he’s finishing up the wire work, Robbie calls Elizabeth.

It’s been over a decade since they’d last spoken. Over ten years since she’d seen their son- but that was the terms of the surrogacy contract. She carried the kid, used her power to make sure he was healthy for that first year, and then Robbie would care for him, and she never had to see him again.

Until now, that is.

She was the only healer he knew- that was her power, the ability to heal any wound or injury. She couldn’t replace lost body parts, couldn’t fix missing organs or under-developed parts. But injuries? She was a miracle worker when it came to injuries.

And his heir, their son, needs a miracle worker right now.

The ringing of the phone shuts off suddenly.

“This is Elizabeth Hill. Can I ask who’s calling?”

“Hi, Elizabeth. It’s Robert. I know, I promised that you would never need to see me again, but- there’s a bit of an emergency. I could use a hand.”

“Robert…” Her voice was soft, and then- “What kind of emergency?”

“The kind I’m not sure my son will survive. I’m willing to pay as much as you need. I need you here, now, and I need him alive.”

“Robbie, I’m on the other side of the country. I moved years ago.”

“Distance doesn’t matter. Are you willing to help or not?”

“Yes, but-”

“Text me your new address.” Robbie cuts her off. “Someone will be there to pick you up in a minute.” He hangs up the phone, and then calls over to Track Star, “Track Star, I’m forwarding you an address. You need to pick up a woman named Elizabeth Hill.”

“Astral, is this really the time?”

“Yes. She’s powered, she can heal. I need her here as soon as possible.”

Track Star hesitates for a moment. “...Fine, I’ll head out now.” They lock eyes. “Keep Robert alive.”

“Wouldn’t dream of letting him die.”

NOW

“Chase Torres?”

Chase pushes himself up from the chair he’d only just settled into, and approaches the counter. “Yeah, that’s me. Can I head back to see him yet?”

“Yes, just one moment. Due to the area of the hospital he’s in, I’ll need to see some ID.”

He pulls out his driver’s license and hands it over to the receptionist. She skims over it, eyes flicking between the information on the license and her computer screen. She pauses, frowns, and then asks the question pretty much everyone who ID’s him asks. “Sir, this is your ID, yes?”

“Yes, I am 39, yes, it’s a medical condition, and yes, the information as to that condition is confidential so no, I won’t be explaining what the fuck happened to cause me to look like this before 40. Now can I go and see who I’m here to fucking see, or do I need to wait for another three fucking hours while you call some fucking higher up to access my god damned medical records to confirm who I am?”

For a moment, silence hangs between them. Then, she reaches for a phone, and begins to dial a code in.

“God-fucking-fuck- where the hell is it?” Chase mutters as he digs through his wallet, looking for the card SDN provides to all their heroes (active or not). He finds it after a moment, tucked in at the back, and slams it down on the desk between them. “There. That should prove, at the very fucking least, that I’m allowed to see the kid.”

She pauses and picks the card up, looking it over, and then it clicks, who he is. “Oh! Oh my, yes, uhm, I’m very sorry, I’ll have someone come and escort you up immediately. I, uhm-”

“Fucking finally.”

He doesn’t bother sitting back down, choosing instead to stand within eyesight of the receptionist, glancing down at his watch every so often. He feels her eyes on him more than once.

It takes a few minutes, but finally, a nurse walks through the door and calls “Mr Torres?”

He heads towards them as fast as his aged bones can carry him, and they lead him through the hospital towards the ward reserved for heroes. He’s been here more times than he can count- not only for himself, but for Robbie, and the rest of the Brigade, and then later, for the teams he’s acted as a dispatcher for.

Chase never thought he’d be walking these halls for Robert.

He steps into the room, and- fuck.

Robert is laying on starched white hospital sheets. His frame is gaunt, deep purple bags under his eyes. The hospital had taken his mask off, changed him into a gown. There’s a data transfer pad, similar to the one Robert had asked his help in installing into the suit years ago, placed behind his neck.

The screen next to him, instead of displaying heartrate, shows the diagnostics of his implants.

No damage, thankfully, but there’s nothing left in the battery, and the generator is barely making enough energy to keep Robert’s heart running.

The nurse has already left the room by the time Chase turns to pull a chair up to Robert’s bedside. He takes the kid’s hand in his own, closes his eyes.

Hopes, that somewhere in the coma, Robert knows he’s not alone. Knows that Chase has come to make sure he’s okay, to sit with him.

All they can do is wait.

All Chase can do is hope.

Chapter Text

THEN

Recovery is a slow process.

It always is, for any injury. Recovery is equal to the damage caused, it increases with every extra injury.

Recovery, for Robert Robertson the Third, starts with a coma.

He’s asleep for almost three months. Well, asleep isn’t the right word. If he had been asleep all that time, he should feel rested. Instead, as Robert comes to consciousness, all he feels is pain. It’s like his entire body has been scraped over with a potato peeler, an achey, dull pain interrupted with sharp spikes when he tries to move. The sheets he’s laying on are soft, the pillow plush, but there’s a chunk of something hard, cold, behind his neck.

He opens his mouth to talk, only to realise something has been pushed down his throat. He coughs, chokes, and then-

A flash of light, blue and purple and yellow, and Track Star is there.

“Holy shit kid, hey, hey, calm down. You’re okay, we’ve got you. You gotta breathe.”

He tries, but it’s hard around the plastic tube. His chest finally relaxes after a few weak coughs, and he’s left heaving for breath.

“Alright. Stay calm, I’m gonna go grab your dad. You gonna be okay for a second?”

Robert gives him what amounts to a thumbs-up, a slow, twitching movement until his hand forms a rough fist, thumb sticking upwards.

“Okay, kid. Keep up.” He catches Track Star’s small, sad smile before he’s gone. A second later, and his father’s in the room, too.

Robert- isn’t really sure what to do, how to react. He can’t remember too much, just tinkering with a decommissioned suit, pain, and then nothing. His father remains in the room while Track Star leaves again. He doesn’t say anything.

Robert takes a moment to look around the room- it’s not the usual kind of hospital room, not the kind he’s seen before. It looks different in some way. It’s the lack of windows, he thinks.

Wait, hospitals don’t usually have underground rooms, do they? There’s only really one palace Robert knows of that has underground medical rooms, and that’s- that’s the Brave Brigade base.

His eyes flicker around the room now, trying to figure out if this is a part of the base, or elsewhere. A few moments later, Elliot walks into the room, followed by a nurse.

“Hi, Robert.” She greets him. “Let's get that tube out of your throat, and then we can talk, yeah?”

He gives another loose thumbs up, and she reaches for some of the equipment nearby.

“Okay, this is going to suck, but it will only take a few seconds. Ready?” She doesn’t wait for a response, removing the tube in one quick movement. Robert starts coughing, throat protesting the unusual movement.

“That… sucked.” He says, voice scratchy.

“I know. But, it’s over now.” The nurse says, and then, “Anyway, I’m Elizabeth. Your dad called me to help after- the accident.”

“What- happened?”

Robert’s father steps in here. “The suit was decommissioned because of a wire failure. You found that failure, and it shocked you. You activated the defence mode at the same time, Robert, which then shot you twice.” His father’s never been one for pointless words. “Your heart stopped, and it’s only thanks to Track Star and Elliot that you’re alive right now.”

“What?”

“Robert, to keep you alive, we had to- well, I had to- fuck.” Elliot stumbles over his words. “You are aware of the augments I’ve made for myself, the bioengineering?” Robert nods. “Well, without that bioengineering, we wouldn’t have been able to start your heart again, kid. I had to- that is, your dad asked me to- well, augment you. Your heart has bypasses in place to keep your blood flowing, one of the shots took a chunk of your lung, so there’s a generator there to keep the implants running. There’s more, but, well, you should probably take a bit of time to properly recover before we go over it all.” He’s silent for a moment, letting Robert process, before he continues. “I’m sorry, Robert. I, uhm- I’m sorry.”

His father draws his attention again as Elliot is leaving the room. He places a notebook to the side of Robert’s bed, and then says “I’m not letting you into the labs or the workshop for another six months, Robert. That was incredibly irresponsible of you. If you had died, the identity of everyone on the team would have been compromised, and there would be no-one to continue the legacy.” His father walks over to the door where Elliot is waiting. “I’m incredibly disappointed in you, Robert.”

With that, they both leave, the sound of the door closing behind them echoing in the silence.

Elizabeth takes a few more moments to check something over by the screens to the side of him, and then comes to stand next to his bedside.

“Is there anything you need, Robert?”

He shakes his head.

“Okay. Well, I’ll leave a cup of water on the table, along with a few easy snacks. If you need anything, just hit the red button, it’ll call me. Please don’t unplug anything or take any of the wires or needles out of your arm for the moment, I’d like to make sure you’re properly awake before we take you off of the supports. I’ll be back in an hour to check in, okay?”

“Okay.”

With his assent, she also leaves the room. The door is quieter this time, but it still reminds Robert of just how alone he is.

He reaches for the notebook next to him, opens the cover. It’s as disorganised as any of Elliot’s design books are- he’s seen a few of them, can understand the lack of organisation, even if he doesn’t really know why Elliot keeps his things so chaotically.

He finds schematics for the pumps that keep his blood moving- there’s two of them apparently, one on either side of his heart, assistive devices to keep his blood circulating. The generator Elliot mentioned is more of a battery, but it does also make energy- converts the motion of breathing from kinetic energy to electrical energy. It’s not enough to keep blood flowing at a rate that allows him to remain conscious, but it’ll keep him alive, according to Elliot’s rushed calculations.

There’s diagrams of the human body after that, with red lines drawn in to match the wires they’d had to add to him to make sure he was able to keep enough energy. That’s what the cable in his left arm is for- it’s a fucking charging port. Apparently the best way to charge it is from the Astral Pulse, but anything will do in a pinch.

A lot of the tech that makes up his body now is based on the technology of the Astral Pulse.

Then there’s what they had to do to his eyes and neck. The electricity had burnt his eyes to the point of near-blindness, so his father had asked Elliot to just fucking, replace them. Bioengineering indeed. The nerves had been damaged, the left worse than the right. The healer his father had called had managed to save the right nerve, but not the left. So while his right eye had just been replaced, the entirety of his left optical nerve had been replaced, along with the eye.

His left eye now apparently connected to what Elliot referred to as a diagnostics system. It was styled off of Elliot's own augments, wires running through his brain and the rest of the mechanics that now kept him alive, that then all converged at the back of his neck. That was what the hard chunk there was. A communicator, a way for the diagnostics system to be displayed on a screen.

Robert had always thought Elliot was cool. Not Elliot’s augments, though they did look awesome. No, Elliot's genius was what he thought was cool. Even still, even with idolising him, Robert knew that wasn’t where he was headed. He was always going to be the next Mecha Man, the next Robert Robertson.

The next completely human, unaugmented, non-superpowered hero.

But as he read through the notebook, he could feel that future escaping him- the same way his humanity already had.

NOW

Robert wakes quickly. He always does these days.

The ceiling is flat, white. It’s not his bedroom, not his apartment. It smells of disinfectant- he’s in the hospital.

An older black man with shack-white hair sits in a chair to the side, eyes closed. Robert shifts his fingers where the man has his hand held, just enough to wake him up. The man's eyes go wide for a moment, before he visibly relaxes.

“Robert, thank fuck you’re awake.” The man pauses a moment, then stands up “Ah fuck, yeah, gotta get a nurse in here. Shit, fuck, where’s the call button?” It takes a moment, but pretty quickly he’s got the red button in his hand and presses it down.

A moment later, a nurse comes into the room and greets the old guy like he’s allowed to be here. “Ah, Mr Torres, thank you for letting us know he’s awake. If you wouldn’t mind stepping out of the room for a moment, this next bit isn’t going to be particularly pretty.”

“I was around for this kid's first coma, you think this’ll be anything I ain’t used to? Fuck off, I’m staying here.”

A frown flickers over Robert’s face- is that Track Star?

It can’t be, he’d only be what, around his late thirties? Not even forty yet, there was no way this guy was Track Star.

Robert is already prepared as the nurse comes over to remove the tubes from his throat, and relaxes as the plastic scrapes against his throat on the way out. He’s left heaving for breath, but thankfully not coughing the same way he was the first time he’d gone through it.

He waits until the nurse leaves the room again, before turning to the old guy. “Track Star?” he wheezes out.

“Hell yeah, kid, who the fuck else did you think I was?”

Robert shrugs, a smile playing on his face.

“Kid, you might not’ve reached out to me, but like fuck I wasn’t going to visit you after that crash!” He pauses for a moment. “Anyway, it’s Chase while not in-suit. I’ll explain the whole “Way older than I should be” thing when you’re not fresh out another fuckin’ coma.”

“The-” Robert pauses to cough, throat dry. “The mech?”

“I recovered what I could, got a friend to help me haul it into storage. I couldn’t find the Pulse, though.”

Robert leans back against his pillow, eyes screwed closed.

Fuck.

Fuck.

His implants rely on the Pulse to function fully. Without it, he’ll have to pretty much always have to be plugged in to some sort of charging port. Which- shit, fuck, they hadn’t plugged his fucking implants in, fuck, fuck no wonder he was so tired right now.

He scrabbles for a moment before remembering that he doesn’t have anything of his own in the room. “Tra- Chase. Chase please tell me you have-” he pauses to cough again. “Fuck. Tell me you have my charging cable.”

“Oh shit! Ah, fuck, let me just, shit. Fuck!” He grabs his phone, taps at it for a short while, and then. “Right, that friend of mine who hauled the suit back is going to grab it out of the storage room. Fuck, kid, it completely slipped my mind.”

Something registers in his mind then- Chase had said ’hauled back’. Not walked, not piloted, not even using the fucking controller. Hauled.

Which meant the suit was fucked.

And considering his finances, probably for good.

He huffs, a noise half-way between a laugh and a sob. It’s almost poetic, the only pilot who wasn’t fully human is the end of the legacy.

And what a fucking legacy it was. Two of the best heroes the world had ever seen, true heroes, heroes who weren’t in it for the money or the fame but just to help people; and Robert. The fucked-up, enhanced, cybernetic failure of the Robertsons.

His chest seizes, lungs tight, and he blinks rapidly.

Not for the first time, he wishes his tear ducts hadn't been fried along with his eyes when he was a kid.

“Oh, shit, I know that face. What's wrong?”

“The suit- I-” his voice catches, breaks. “It’s not fixable, is it?”

“Well, not unless you’re able to build a new one pretty much from fuckin’ scratch.” He pauses. “But! That’s the other reason I wanted to be here when you woke up- other than seeing your face again. I’m working for SDN now, y’know those corporate fuckers?” At Robert's nod, he continues. “Anyway, I managed to swing a deal with the head of the Torrence office, Blonde Blazer. She wants to bring you on as a dispatcher for this programme that's been a shitshow the last few months, and in response you’ll get access to all of SDN’s resources to fix the suit.”

“I- uhm…”

Chase cuts Robert off. “Robert, you’ve been in a fucking coma for a fortnight. You don’t have to make a decision- Blazer herself was planning on reaching out in a few weeks. You’ve got time. Right now, you’re running on fucking empty, quite literally. Think about it, take some time to recover.”

He nods as Chase’s phone pings. “Aw, shit, that's the friend I was telling you about. I’ll go grab the cables and be back in a few, okay?"

Robert hums an assent, and Chase- walks to the door. “Back in a few.” He says as he leaves. The door is left open just a touch, but it's enough that he can peek out at the people passing his room.

Chase returns after a few minutes, cable in hand. It looks similar to a TRS audio cable cord on one end, with a USB A on the other end. Chase plugs it directly into a plug, then into the wall, while Robert connects the TRS end to the socket in his left forearm.

He blinks a few times as the diagnostics system loads in his left eye, and holy fuck was the power bank low on charge. About three percent stockpiled, no wonder he’d been out for weeks.

“God, I’ll never get used to your eyes doing that.” Chase comments, and Robert frowns.

“Doing what?”

“Spinning in those colours when you plug in. It’s cool, but fuck knows why Eli put it into your implants.”

Chapter Text

THEN

Six months passes fast when you have a whole new body to adapt to.

In practically no time, Robert is allowed back in the labs and workshop. He doesn’t jump back in to working with the Mecha suits, though- the first time he comes back into the workshop, he sees the still-decommissioned Astral suit and practically flees from the building.

His father finds him three hours later, curled up in his wardrobe.

But that’s neither here nor there. Robert starts with learning his own diagnostics systems and hardware. Learns from Eli how to update and troubleshoot the software that runs his implants, and learns the maintenance required for the hardware.

It takes almost another year for him to approach the Mecha Man suits again. The Astral suit responsible for his accident has been torn to pieces, used for scrap metal and repairs on his father’s current Mecha.

He hesitantly wanders in while his father’s working. There’s blueprints scattered across the walls, pinned into the drywall and taped overtop of each other. One specifically catches his eye though.

It’s a mock-up of the Mecha Man suit, rewired to allow for two points that Robert knows aren’t in the Astral suits. There’s a wireless communications point at the base of the headset, and a small cable running direct from the Astral Pulse, terminating in a familiar TRA-shaped jack.

The title reads MM3 - draft 1.

It’s a draft for Robert’s Mecha.

His father had promised, a few weeks before the accident, to help Robert start drafting a version of the Mecha Man suit for himself. He wouldn’t be allowed to do more than build models for a few years still, but a blueprint, a tangible draft, was a big step.

It seemed, despite Robert’s failures, despite the fact he had almost killed himself with the Astral suit, despite the fact he hadn’t stepped foot in the workshop for over a year, despite the fact he was still apprehensive of approaching the Mecha suits, despite literally not being fully human any more, his father had kept his promise.

The suit was very heavily based on the more recent Astral design, something his father had been working on for years at this point.

While Robert had always wanted to deviate from the Astral design the way his father had deviated from the Original Mecha Man design, the fact that his father had even considered that he may want to use his implants or might find being able to power his implants off of the Astral Pulse while in the suit was- Robert couldn’t describe it.

It feels almost out of place, the fact that his father had considered him while working on this project.

The sound of the Mecha Man Astral jets slowly grows louder while Robert stands in the workplace, looking over the blueprint, and he realises he needs to move before he gets trampled by his father’s landing. He scampers out of the workshop, the image of the blueprint seared into his mind, design adjustments and alterations already spinning in his mind’s eye, fingers itching for a notebook to draft in as the door slides closed behind him.

NOW

Robert clicks through the list of the Z Team again.

There’s eight of them: Coupé, an ex-assassin umbrakinetic who was detained in Colorado; Flambae, an arsonist that Robert recognises from a few years ago; Golem, a construct who isn't really a criminal, not by Robert’s standards at least; Invisigal, who had turned herself in to the programme in return for a plea deal; Malevola, a self-proclaimed demoness who, despite her long list of (alleged) crimes, is the only voluntary attendant of the programme; Prism, a pop-star who had only actually been charged for tax evasion; Punch-Up, a boxer who had violated his parole as often as he’d caved a man’s skull in; and Sonar, a fraudster from LA with a bad habit of turning into a giant man-eating bat. His own team of half-reformed criminals.

He leans back in his desk chair and prays that this job won’t be as bad as Chase has been making it out. There’s still a few minutes before the shift begins, and he watches as trackers light up on the screen in front of him as people clock in early.

He closes his eyes, takes a few minutes to check his implants’ diagnostics. They’re running low on power, again, and so he takes a moment to connect the cable that sits in his back pocket to the empty plug socket on the wall before clicking it into his port.

He puts the headset on and is immediately assaulted by the chatter of the Z Team.

They’re yelling over each other, a loud discussion about some bet- there’s something about time frames being thrown around, and it’s only a moment before Robert realises that they’re discussing how long it’ll take for him to quit.

“I hate to break this up, but I won’t be quitting.” The line falls silent as he speaks. “I’m Robert Robertson-”

The line bursts into laughter. Yeah, he forgets sometimes, that the legacy name makes him sound like a prick.

Prism’s icon lights up as she calls “Tell me that’s not your real fuckin’ name-” before being cut off by her own laughter.

“You stuttering, bitch? You can’t be this shook on your first day, come on.” That’s Flambae, Robert recognises his voice.

Sonar starts listing potential nicknames in the background, and Robert speaks up again, sarcasm colouring his voice. “Okay, ha ha, can we clear the channel please, shift starts- oh! Now.” There’s a collection of groans and sighs as Invisigirl starts talking about their altercation this morning, when Robert was changing into the SDN uniform Blazer had gotten for him- and he’s very thankful he thought to wear a long-sleeved undershirt today, because he would not have been happy had his implants become public knowledge.

Calls start to light the screen up a moment after he sets the team to “available”, and he starts assigning people based on various assessments of ability, power-combinations, and whoever it seems they riff the best off of.

Robert imagines it would be a fairly calm job, if not for the fact that he’s been given the villains-in-reformation, and therefore every order becomes an argument.

By the time mid-shift comes around, he’s mentally exhausted, burnt out from having to mediate arguments, solve problems, and corral the group of cats he now babysits as a job, apparently.

Still, as he looks at the completion rate for the morning shift, looks at the history of everyone’s performance- the team has performed better today than they have, well, ever.

He may have only met the team earlier today- and not at all in person- but he’s proud of them.

Chapter Text

THEN

ROBERT ROBERTSON THE 3^RD AUGMENT DOCUMENTATION

Generator- Small generator sitting below left lung, in cavity left by damage. Rechargeable battery set behind, acting as power source for most augments. Rechargeable via left arm port. Recommended charging method: Pulse.

Ventricular Assistive Devices- Placed on either side of the heart to maintain blood flow. Centrifugal flow, maglev assisted. Powered via battery/generator mix.

CPU- Placed on the left of the brain, within insulated casing. Connected to inside of skull. Processor for diagnostics and power routing & control.

Left Eye & Optic Nerve- Full replacement of entire eyeball and optic nerve. Optic nerve routed through CPU rather than occipital lobe. Visual display of diagnostics available. Powered via generator solely.

Right Eye- Full replacement of eyeball, optic nerve recovered. No HUD due to visual impairment of left eye. Powered via generator/battery mix.

NFC Implant- Sitting on C6 vertebrae. Allows for transfer of diagnostics, HUD, and new software.

NOTE: Vision impaired. Right-eye vision only, left eye complete blindness.

NOTE: No heartbeat detectable due to VADs. Connect to NFC to monitor health.

NOTE: No use of MRI allowed.

NOTE: Tear ducts removed due to electrical burns.

NOTE: Lowered lung capacity due to injuries & generator placement.

Full blueprints, designs, and maintenance instructions available in later pages of notebook & CPU storage.

NOW

At this point, Sonar is pretty good at tuning out the general bullshit of the SDN Torrance office.

The fact there are several heroes who, not so subtly, can’t stand several, if not all of the members of the team he’s been dragged into dealing with. The fact it seemed near impossible to take a leak without some weird shit happening. The near endless list of micro aggressions and outright HR violating commentary he has overheard.

Whatever. Not like most of it is anything new to him.

He’s used to dealing with morons. He’s used to having to watch his back in public bathrooms. He’s used to people hating him and the people he associates with.

Once again, whatever.

What he is not used to, however, is whoever just walked into the break room.

It is the sound of his footsteps he hears first, surprisingly. The sound is quiet, rubber against carpet. Sneakers, rather than the dress shoes most of the office workers wear or the various, usually stupid, choices of footwear on the heroes costumes. Interesting. Weird.

But, the choice of footwear isn’t the thing that stands out to him most. It’s the fact it's the first thing he hears approaching. The only thing he hears approaching.

Even as the guy enters the room, he can’t hear his heartbeat.

There is a heart rate near him, sure, trailing after him, posting up by the vending machine.

Visi, undoubtedly waiting for her moment to strike, based off the fact she was holding her breath, the minty metallic smell she carries with her giving her away long before she even passes him.

Which brings him to point four. While he is breathing, it’s weirdly shallow, weirdly even. Too even, maybe.

When the guy pauses at the vending machine, Sonar lets out a shriek, both trying to get a better read on the guy and track down his lunch in the mess the fridge had become since he dropped it off that morning.

Scrawny. Roughly his height, not counting the ears. He jolts at the sound, Visi doesn’t. Nice. Instead, she holds out until he grabs a second pack of twinkies to jumpscare him. Successfully so. Pathetic. Hilarious.

They bicker about some bullshit he doesn’t bother listening to, instead focusing on the way the guy, Robert, he clocks from his voice now he’s talking, smells like a fucking hospital.

Clinically clean. A mixture of drugs he can’t quite pin lingers on him, not taken recently, but still residing in his system.

Only now does he realize the way his hackles have raised, the back of his neck tense. Something about Robert Robertson is really fucking off. Well, something other than his name. At this point, that’s the least of his concerns, on account of his missing heartbeat.

He shrieks again, sees if he can startle Robert again, sees if he can get a reaction.

There’s a brief whir, electrical, then nothing again. Wait. No. There is something. The buzz of electricity.

What the fuck?

When he hears them both say his name, his next thought comes out loud.

“This guy's weird.”

“Yeah, he is.” Visi agrees, only to go right back to their petty argument.

Right. Whatever. Leave him to figure out The Mystery of Robert Robertson and The Missing Heartbeat. Title pending. See if he cares. He doesn’t, for the record.

Chapter Text

THEN

Robert’s father has always been a big believer in knowing your own capabilities and pushing yourself until failure.

He’s also a big believer in the idea that children should be practicing for their job later in life from an early age- more specifically, that Robert should be taught how to fight in as many forms as possible, as soon as possible.

Which is why Robert is re-training his hand-eye coordination now he’s lost pretty much a fifth of his field of vision. It’s only his left peripheral, but it’s enough that he may telegraph it as a weak point if he doesn’t get used to reacting faster, being more aware, being better.

So, it’s six am and Robert has been on the sparring mats for the past half an hour with his father.

He’s laying on his back at the moment, winded, his father towering above him.

“Your body is not what's holding you back, Robert. Your body is a shell, a container, the same way the Mecha is. It will try to put up limits, and you will have to push past them. You are not your body, and you need to have control over it.” He turns away. “Get up, and swap over to the treadmill. You need to work on your stamina.”

Robert heaves himself up off of the mats, still panting, and stumbles over to the treadmill on the other end of the gym.

He starts slow, more of a light jog than a genuine run. His father calls from the other side, “Speed up. When you’re being chased down, they won’t let you have a slow start!” and so Robert ups the speed.

Time slows as he’s running. He’s turned the display on the treadmill off, he doesn't need to know how fast he’s running or how far he’s gone. His father periodically calls out “Faster!” and Robert complies. His feet are pounding into the rubber of the treadmill, chest heaving as the rhythmic thump-thump-thump pounds through his bones, replacing the humming of his augments.

“Stop.” His father calls, and Robert slows the machine down to a walk for a few seconds before it stops entirely. The world shifts around him as he steps off of the treadmill, the concept of motion causing movement a foreign idea to his body for just a moment.

He ignores it, as he ignores most of his aches these days, and heads over to where his father is standing.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands for a moment, knows his father will give him his opinion no matter what.

But instead of the usual scathing retort, or the criticism, or scolding encouragement Robert has grown used to, all his father does is place a hand on his shoulder and say “Good job, son. Go and shower, I’ll make breakfast.” before walking away.

Robert frowns at that. He’s fourteen now, he can make his own breakfast!

NOW

Robert gets to the SDN building early.

He has been the past few weeks, pretty much since he figured out where the gym is, trying to scout out the best hours to get a workout in and shower without being seen by too many people.

It’s not the scars- he’s proud of those, each one representing a fight he won, a situation he made it out alive of. It’s the implants.

Even if very, very few people here know who he is, he doesn’t want it getting out that he’s got any implants. These days, especially in Torrence, implants like his are practically synonymous with the Red Ring. He doesn’t need anyone thinking he’s in debt to- or god forbid, working for- the very man he wants dead.

So he’s at the company gym two or three hours before morning shift starts.

He pulls his usual workout hoodie on, wraps his hands to make sure his knuckles don’t bruise when he’s at the punching bag, and jumps onto the treadmill.

Cardio first, a thirty-minute run followed by a series of sprints. It’s always been his preferred warm-up, a good way to start the morning. Gets his blood flowing and lets him pretend he’s got a heartbeat, even if it’s just the sound of his feet hitting the treadmill that echoes through his ears, rather than a heartbeat he hasn’t heard in over a decade.

He’s still the only person in the gym as he works through most of his routine. The automatic lights click on and off as he moves around the large room, the only sign he’s really still alive.

He goes through the motions, works through shadow boxing and punching bags and moves on through his routine, transferring over to weights when his knuckles start to ache past the well-worn bandages he uses as wraps.

The rack is probably loaded too high, but Robert hasn’t let that stop him before. He lays back on the bench, unracks the bar, and starts his sets.

Four reps in, his arms start to give out. It always happens. Go until failure, push past the limits your body sets.

The mind is the only true restriction, after all.

He knows his eyes spin through colours as he feels the electricity spark through the wires worming their way through his body.

Controlled electrical shock administered to muscles to make them jolt. It’s a programme he created himself, added in shortly after he got stuck with a cramp that just wouldn’t go away. He’d done some research into it, spent a night coding a method for a short charge to be released into localised areas.

The worst part of that process had been cutting open the parts of his body without wiring. His diagrams were pretty coherent, but there weren’t wires through most of his limbs, not until he’d added them himself. The memory of performing such intricate surgery on himself jolts him back to the present day, and he re-racks the bar as it’s pushed upwards by the twitching of his arms.

His chest heaves as he breathes, slowly building up the burnt energy from the battery.

Then Flambae’s face in his line of sight.

“Thought you were done for there, Roberto.” Robert just huffs in response. “Seriously, you shouldn't be here alone. You’re not supposed to lift without a spot, idiot.” He points towards the sign behind Robert, a poster of Phenomaman emblazoned with the words “IF YOU DO NOT HAVE SUPER POWERS. YOU NEED A SPOTTER!” like that somehow proved his point.

“Thanks for the safety lecture, walking fireball.” He fires back. He watches as Flambae loads four times the weight onto a bar and starts a set of squats, talking all the while.

“Normies need babysitters, so you don’t hurt yourselves thinking you’re a hero.” Robert rolls his eyes, standing up.

“What about me makes you think I’m a normie?”

“The fact you were struggling to lift a pathetic amount of weights, for a start. Oh! And the whole ’sitting behind a desk letting the real heroes do the work’ bit.”

Robert closes his eyes, shakes his head a little in disbelief. He tunes out Flambae as he starts muttering to himself about how strong and powerful he is, and heads off to the showers instead. If Flambae is here, he’s almost out of time to have relative privacy.

Chapter Text

THEN

A clear sky at night is usually an indicator of how cold it will be.

The clearer the sky, the more stars you can see, the colder it is going to be.

Robert stands, shivering, under the stars. Schedar winks from above him, marking Cassiopeia in the open sky. The star feels almost like a beacon, guiding him away from the house that hasn’t felt like a home since he was ten.

He’s been stumbling around the streets all night. He started at a bar, some run-down place filled with no-one he recognised. He’d gotten through three drinks before someone had thought to ID him, and well, even the most shady of bars won’t serve a shit-faced sixteen-year-old.

He wondered towards the stars, feet moving even as he looked upwards towards the empty sky, not even the moon to keep him company.

That was fine, though.

He needed to strike out on his own at some point, after all. Why not do so tonight, high off of adrenaline of standing up to his father for the first time and drunk off of actual alcohol?

As he walks, his mind unwantedly echoes back to the fight.

He’s been sick recently, so his gym scores had been dropping as he worked through a fever. His father had started some shit, talking about how he had to be on the top of his game no matter what was going on, how he had to learn to push through pain and confusion to keep fighting, even when he was weary and out of it.

Robert had just snapped.

Something in him had broken, coming off of a three-day long fever, bones aching, muscles screaming in protest. He’d started yelling.

Most of the fight was a blur to him, but he could remember the exact line that had caused his father to slap him.

“You always wanted me to be just like you! Well I’m not, okay? You re-made me so I would always be dependent on you, on the suit! What if I just wanted to be my own fucking person? What if I don’t want to be Mecha Man!?”

Then there had been a stinging feeling across his face, and echo of skin-against-skin in his ears.

He’d frozen.

Not once had his father ever actually hit him. Sure, he wasn’t the best- Robert had been pushed again and again to do better, to be better. But he’d never actually been struck, not until that moment.

He hadn’t said another word, just turned around and walked out of his fathers office. The moment the door had closed, he’d broken into a sprint, grabbed a backpack and stuffed a few days of clothes inside, along with the money he’d been stashing for the past year or so.

He’d made his escape as his father had started to call for him, opening his window and slipping silently out, grabbing the gutter and sliding downwards. His feet had hit the ground silently, the damp grass quieting his footfalls as he left.

His plan was to spend a few days away. Book into a hotel or a motel or even a hostel if that was all that was available. Then he’d stumbled across the bar on his way into the city, and figured- why not? He should enjoy himself, after all!

He’ll go back eventually.

Probably.

NOW

Robert drops his headset down off his ears and around his neck, spinning slowly in his office chair. The team are discussing something about drinks to celebrate a good shift, and something small stirs in his chest. He packs away the various cables and personal belongings scattered across his desk into the draws next to him.

Everything gathered away, he lifts half the headphones up to his ear, catching something from Invisigal about Flambae being banned from a bar. “Good work today, team. See you all Monday.”

Before the headphones can fall down to his neck again, Punch-up asks “What, too cool to get a drink with us?”

Robert pulls the headset on fully as Prism follows up with, “Don’t be a bitch.”

“Be chill for once in your life.” Golem tags on.

“Spend some time with us, c’mon, we know you don’t have plans.” Sonar drawls, and well- Robert doesn’t have actual plans for the night. He was planning on heading home, taking Beef out for a walk & doing some dumpster diving behind local tech stores, looking for parts to upgrade a passion project. Nothing that couldn’t either wait or be done later.

“The Sardine’s a villain bar. Don’t really know if I’d fit in.” He weakly protests- more of a facade than a genuine issue.

Visi chimes in again, “Just go dressed like that. Everyone will just think you’re a pervert.”

Beef chooses that moment to jump up, putting his paws against Robert’s leg and tiredly wagging his tail. Whoever’s been monopolising his attention today has obviously tired him out. “Not the impression I want to give off, but yeah. Alright, okay.” The team cheer into his ears as they finalise meet-up times and who’s buying the first round.

Which is how Robert ends up here- in the middle of a bar fight, wearing only his work uniform, not even a fucking layer of force-absorbent cloth between him and the person who’s currently trying to- and succeeding in- stabbing bright green mantis claws (they look like mantis claws, but he’s not certain) into his chest. He shifts, throwing his shoulder back into the villain and taking them both down, before twisting around, getting his feet underneath him and throwing himself back into the fight.

He’s glad he took a moment, right as this whole thing started, to engage the thermal vision in his left eye. Being able to see where Visi is while their opponents can’t is a blessing right now.

Things blur from there. He’s pulling some poor sod’s implant directly out of their head, then getting pummelled into a mirror, fire building in the throat of some villain. Sonar comes to his rescue, tacking and pinning the guy down before pressing his snout into his chest, sniffing at the point below his lung where the battery for his implants rests, before deciding he obviously isn't a threat and pressing into the rest of the room.

When Robert comes back out of the bathroom, he’s obviously missed something- Golem is throwing someone across the room, Coupé throwing up as a blade made from shadows dissipates from where it’s been pressed into the now-flying man’s arm and reforms in her hand.

The world twists around him again as Punch-Up lands an accidental hit directly to his nuts- and wow did he pack a punch. He’s a solid 60% sure the world is twisting from the concussion, however, rather than the force of a haymaker directly to the balls.

He loses himself in the fight again, letting adrenaline take over from higher processing, and finally finds himself standing opposite Visi, the arms of the man who started it all held by them. They make eye contact and he sees her eyes widen a moment, likely at the visual effect of running his thermal vision, before they simultaneously nod and break the guy’s arms.

Somehow, after that, they all end up collapsed in the outside seating area of a local TAGO.

Robert presses a cold drink to the left side of his head, trying to prevent the oncoming headache. Thankfully, nothing is wrong with the implants themselves, and so he leans back on the wall until he’s laying down, and closes his eyes.

The usual HUD pops up over the darkness, and he flicks his eyes around until he finds the programme he wants to run- a form of pain suppression. It’ll change nothing about the healing process, but it’ll shut off the pain until he stops the programme again, and honestly, he is going to have a killer headache unless he runs it for the next 24 hours or so.

The moment it’s active, his shoulders relax and he sits back up, pulling out a straw and piercing the drink to sip at it. It’s just a generic coke, but there’s enough sugar in it to wake him back up, just a little, and ease him out of the post-fight adrenaline crash.

He tries to ignore as Coupé adds a few drops of her own blood to her taco, and just reaches blindly for where he hopes his three triple-crunch tacos are. Instead, Malevola hands him a burrito and a few packs of Mega Fuego Hot Sauce^™, as the team begin to re-hash the fight.

He puts up a quiet, muttered protest of “I ordered three triple-crunch tacos”, but Visi waves him off.

“It’s all the same shit, just eat that. It’s- literally everything at this place is just a remix of the same five fuckin’ ingredients.” He lets out a soft sigh and tears the sauce open, adding it to the top of the burrito.

A few moments later, as he goes to take a bite, Mal grabs it out of his hands with a “Sauced it up for me and everything, thanks babe.” before handing him his three triple-crunch tacos.

He rips the first one open and bites in.

God, post-fight food is always the best. Something about making up for burnt calories always makes anything taste better. He’s quiet while the rest of the team chat, demolishing his food and then trying, unsuccessfully, to dunk the wrappers into the bin. He stands up to grab the wrappers and make sure he doesn’t get hit with a littering fine as Visi explains how they broke that guy’s arms.

“Yeah, the weird thing is how easy it was. This churro-” she breaks the churro in her hands, demonstrating. “-isn’t as soft as his noodle arms.”

“Maybe give us a heads up next time you want to start a bar fight? I wanted another drink.” Golem says, successfully redirecting the conversation away from the gory details.

“You’re heroes now.” Robert starts. “Heroes don’t start fights. We end them.” He gives a half-shrug, as though it’s an obvious fact.

“Well, not many finish fights against the Red Ring.” Mal comments, and- huh. Yeah, everyone in the bar had been a member of the Red Ring, hadn't they?

“Yeah, how do you have beef with them, Mr Dispatcher?” Prism asks.

“We know this Robert guy is a front.” Punch-Up says, and it feels like he’s staring straight into Robert’s soul as he makes eye contact. “Who are you? Really.”

Robert closes his eyes, dismisses the HUD as it appears. Slowly breathes out.

Makes his decision.

“I’m Mecha Man.”

Chapter Text

THEN

There’s thirty-two missed calls on his phone.

Pretty much all of them are from Track Star.

It’s been nine days since his father died, and Robert has no idea how to feel. He’s alone in the house, which is the usual fare. It’s quiet.

It’s always quiet, has been for years.

It’s too quiet.

The heaters aren’t turned on. (He has to manage the bills now.)

The door to his father’s office is still locked. (He’ll have to pick the lock at some point. He doesn't know where the key is.)

He hasn’t eaten in the last few days. (There’s no food in the fridge.)

The house is so, damninly, quiet.

He still has to pick up his father’s ashes- he didn’t choose cremation, it’s protocol for when a hero dies in-suit. Stops villains from trying to reanimate them, which has happened more than once, and allows for a public scattering of ashes.

He has to go and pick them up still.

He has to plan a private funeral.

Has to choose a headstone, or memorial plaque, one for Robert Robertson the Second, not Mecha Man Astral.

He doesn’t think he knows who that is. His father had been Mecha Man Astral for so long, constantly, that Robert doesn’t think even he knew the man behind the mask well enough to figure out what form of recognition he’d like for his civilian life.

Funerals are supposed to be a celebration of the life a person lived, right?

How do you celebrate a man who devoted his entire life to building his legacy?

How does a son celebrate his father, when neither of them knew each other well enough to be anything more than blood?

NOW

Robert is staring at the ceiling when the now-familiar sound of a portal to hell opening invades his ears. He rolls down the sleeves of his shirt, wishing he knew where his sweatpants were, because he has some questionable scars from performing surgery on himself several times to keep up with hardware maintenance.

Instead, he nudges Beef off of his chest and sits up to watch as Visi and Mal step through the portal.

Visi has her fingers ‘covering’ her eyes- Robert can clearly see where there's a gap between her middle and index finger, so she can see through, despite asking “Are you decent?”

Mal comments “Definitely a house that needs some warmth.” as Royd walks through after them, carrying an SDN desktop computer under one arm. It’s then that Robert notices the chandelier swinging from where its gripped by her tail, and he begins to wonder just what the fuck is going on here.

Instead, he stands, shocked, as Royd says “Yeah, I tell him dat last time I come. Somehow look worse.”

A moment later, he’s regained his ability to react, and says “This has to be breaking and entering. Also, I’m in my underwear.”

“Yeah, I can see you.” Visi shoots back. “I was joking when I asked if you’re decent.” They walk out of the entryway and further into the living room of his apartment. Well, what should be used as a living room. It really is more of a workshop for the Mecha Man suit, or used to be. Now it’s just the space he spends his nights in.

The bedroom wouldn’t work- it’s being taken up by a passion project he’s been working on for a while, and the little space that is in there is taken up by his Shroud-tracking boards.

Instead of pondering on that situation for too long, he answers Visi with “I know. I just need you to know, that I know how I look right now.”

Instead of even entertaining the look Visi gives him, he looks over at Mal, who is futilely trying to rub the stain of hellfire out of his door. “This does rub out, by the way. You just have to put a bit of muscle into it.” She defends. Robert doesn’t want to know how much someone like Mal considers ‘a bit of muscle’. “Anyway, you know where you’d want to hang this?” She asks, pointing at the chandelier in her tail.

“Why? Do you have a chandelier?” He asks.

“I think he’s only thought about where he’d hang himself.” Visi responds for him, and yeah, well- okay, not going down that thought path! He definitely hasn’t considered the best places in this apartment to take his own life and decided that if he can’t die in the suit it would be pointless! “That corner seems fine.” She continues, unknowing of his dilemma (or depression). “It’s a housewarming gift. For your housewarming party, Robert.”

Yes. His housewarming party. That he remembers setting up. For his apartment. That he brought three years ago with the remains of his inheritance.

That housewarming party.

“I told people to bring a lamp, or something.” Visi continues, like anything she’s saying is making sense.

“Wait. Wait! People? Like, multiple people? Multiple people are coming here? To my home? I’m really not in a ‘party’ mood right now.”

“Not what it looks like to me, wicha tighty whities-” Mal says, and slaps him square in the dick. How did that hurt more than Punch-Up’s nut shot? What was wrong with his team?

“Okay, she just touched my dick!” he chokes out past the pain.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve all thought about it.” Visi brushes him off.

Robert turns to Royd, who has managed to set the SDN computer up on his counter, and- “Is that my work computer?”

“We figure it out, bruddah. The man can be mecha again.” Royd says instead of answering him, and activates a make-shift projector on the top of the desktop. A map of Torrence lights up the wall next to his sliding doors.

“After your little premature ejacusplosion, I had this feeling, like I’d seen it, or something similar, before…” Visi comments.

“Then, Visi ask me to get da energy reading we got this morning, and cross reference with recent calls.” Royd continues.

Something clicks into place. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait, it’s not destroyed?”

“Nope.” Holy fuck. “And a buncha B-grade villains have been trying to unlock its power, only to end up blowin’ their asses off like you did. Then they sell it on to the next sucker, and the same shit happens over again. It’s passed hands at least four times that we’ve tracked.”

“How does Shroud not know this?” It’s the only thought in his mind. He has to know, there’s no way the genius Robert remembers doesn’t already have a similar algorithm running to track the Astral Pulse’s whereabouts.

“Eh, probably think like us. Think it was destroyed.”

There’s no way. They can’t be that lucky.

He can’t be that lucky.

“But he’s a smart fuckah,” Royd continues, oblivious to Robert’s disbelief. “An’ he gon figure it out soon enough.”

“That’s why we get to it first.” This isn’t a housewarming party. This is pre-mission prep.

“Which is why we’re having a party?” He still doesn’t understand why they decided to invite the entire team over.

“The Z Teamers know every low-level supervillain in three counties. We track its location, they’ll know who has it.” Visi has a triumphant grin on her face, like she’s solved all the world’s problems. And okay, to Robert, it seems like she has. She has every right to be triumphant. “Then we kick in some doors, knock some heads, snatch that shit back. You’ll be- pulsin’, or whatever, in no time.”

“Thank you.” Robert feels lighter now than he has in months, possibly years. “Regardless of how this plays out, thank you. Both of you.” He feels speechless. “I’m- I don’t remember the last time someone did something so-” Visi cuts him off with a gut shot, right next to the generator, and he hunches over, eyes squeezing shut as he automatically pulls up diagnostics to check that no wires got broken. He’s fine. It still hurts, though.

“What is wrong with you?” He asks after he gets his breath back.

“Just- get gushy after we find the shit.”

“So-” Royd cuts in “One of the last pings that we got was from a boat over here in Marina Del Ray. Which is-”

“Yachtie territory.” Mal cuts in. Did they plan this?

“You know much about these guys?” Royd asks her, as she comes over to the map, chandelier now hanging in the Visi-approved suicide corner.

“Ph, they're an old-money crew of ascot-wearin’ cokeheads.” She explains. “Skyler Arcadi runs it now. Three generations of that family’s been tryn’a finger me.”

“What are they accusing you of?” As far as Robert knows, she hasn’t been charged with anything, but even out of Mal’s list of accused crimes, he can’t recall anything that would piss off a group like that.

“You’re cute.” She says in lieu of answering him.

“We gonna ask you some questions about a piece of tech dey moved.” Royd says to Mal. “But first, Robert gotta put on some pants.” Shit, yeah, he’s still half-undressed.

“What? But then I can’t do this.” Mal goes to grope him again, and he flinches back. He is so thankful for the low lighting in his home. It’s really pulling its weight, concealing all those concerning scars.

“Yeah, uh. Right on that.” He heads down the hallway that leads to his workshop and bathroom, and enters the ‘bedroom’.

He looks at the desk chair he’s been working on. Decked out in pretty much a full PC, his own make-shift projector sits on the shoulder of the seat. The power cables snake across the floor, mixing with water cooling that he may-or-may-not have stolen from a PC building company.

His own, home-built, scavenged, off-brand cerebro.

He’d been hoping to work on it tonight, put the last touches of polish on it, but with the idea of locating the Pulse sitting in the back of his mind, and people in his home with the promise of more showing up later, it’s going to have to take a back seat. So instead, he grabs a pair of slacks, pulls them on, and heads back out into the living room.

When he gets back out into the main room, Visi’s put tunes on, and Mal passes him a beer as he enters. She heads over to the projected map and starts to explain about Yachtie territories, bases of operations, and common travel routes.

Sonar is the next to show up, followed by Coup and Punch-Up. All three of who bring various-sized table lamps. Prism shows up next, with a ring-light suited for a streamer. Golem is the last of the Z Team to show up, getting portalled in by Mal and bringing a salt lamp with him, that he reveals by pulling it out of his chest.

Then, out of the blue, Phenomoman and Waterboy both show up- Phenomoman, or Katon-Ur as he introduces himself, bringing what looks suspiciously like the head from a street lamp, and Waterboy with a damp lava lamp.

The last people to show up to the party-slash-operation-meet are Blonde Blazer and Chase, who come carrying a couch. Well, Blazer is carrying the couch. Chase is steering from behind.

Robert offers him a drink as he comes in, tired from the stairs, and they tap their glasses together.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Visi who slips away. She steps into the hallway to the rest of Robert’s apartment, intent on taking a peek at his headroom. There’s only two other doors, and she’s pretty certain of which one leads to the bathroom, so it doesn’t take long before she’s standing in the supposed ‘bedroom’.

There’s a tripped-out chair set in the centre of the room with waaaaaaay too many cables running to-and-fro, and she blinks into the darkness of the room for a moment before hunting down the light switch.

She knew it! Something was so fucking strange about Robert Robertson, about Mecha Man, and this, this was a key piece of the puzzle!

The room lit up with light, and she looked around more. One of the walls was plastered with information about the Red Ring, about Shroud, and in the middle of it all was a photo of the Brave Brigade. There was a man in the background with an augment visible on the side of his head. String led from his chest out to a mugshot of Elliot Connors, which then formed a triangle with a photo of Shroud, standing next to- Mecha Man Astral?

What the fuck?

She bursts back into the main room, and calls out, “Robert, why do you have a masturbation throne instead of a bed?” and watches as the chaos unfolds.

Robert places his face into his hands and prays to- well, anyone that can hear him, before calling out to the herd of ex-criminals who are trying to get into his workshop.

“Okay, okay, calm down. Let me head in there so you don’t break anything, and then I’ll tell you what the chair actually is.” So he guesses he’s doing this then. Fuck’s sake.

He shoulders through the Z Team and into the room, where Visi has already hit the lights.

He falls into the chair, hunching forwards so that the NFC doesn’t connect- not that it would without being powered, but it's a good habit to avoid connecting unless he intends to use it. “You want to see what this does, then?”

Everyone is still hanging around the entrance to the room, peeking past one another to get a view.

“You can come in, y’know.” He encourages, and the floodgates open. There’s chatter all around him, questions being thrown around as they circle the project he’s been working on for years. Royd, specifically, recognises most of the technology, and so he passes the taller man the main power cable. “You mind plugging this in, Royd?”

“I gotcha, brudda.” He says, and a moment later the CPU behind him comes to life, the rest of the dismantled computer following suit.

“Chase, can you plug this one in?” He asks, and passes Chase the power cable for his own charger, slipping the TRS end into his own implant. Which- oh god, they’re all looking directly at the implant in his arm, this is going to be a fucking ride.

“Okay, clear out of the way of the spare wall.” He instructs, and they do.

He rolls his shoulders, and leans back in the chair, connecting the NFC chip in his neck to the communicator in the spine of the chair. He knows his eyes are lighting up blue from the collective gasps from the people around him, but it doesn’t matter any more as vision escapes him and he’s lost in the concepts racing through his mind as he pretty much connects to the entire internet.

Eyes closed now, he starts, “So, we know that the Pulse is with the Yachties, right?” and the projector lights up, displaying the same map of Torrance as the one in the main room. This one, however, zooms in on the Marina, shortcutting to the specific boat that Royd thinks the Pulse is in. “You want to take a look at the CCTV for the boat?”

Blazer steps in here “Robert, I don’t know what you’re doing, but viewing private cameras is illegal. I either have to stop you now or leave.”

“The cameras aren’t secured, there’s no password. It’s not illegal to look at public-access cameras, just highly discouraged. I know what I’m doing, Blazer, don’t worry.” The camera feed opens a moment later, first a satellite view of the boat and then more specific cameras.

It looks like there’s a fucking war.

Super-powered individuals are wreaking havoc across the marina, gunshots silently firing- wait, no, the camera is just muted. He turns the sound up, and yep, that's the sound of a machine gun.

“Fuck!” That’s Visi. “We’re going to lose it if we don’t go now!”

“Invisigal, you can’t. This is something that should really be handled by the down-town office. It wouldn’t even be a sanctioned mission.” Blazer.

“So what, we’re just going to watch as the Pulse slips from our grasp? As our one fucking chance goes down the drain?”

“I get that it’s frustrating. But it is more dangerous for you to enter the fray now than it is for us to let it go now and come back later with more backup.”

“Malevola could portal her in, get the Pulse, and portal back out. In and out, no more than a minute.” Robert speaks up, cutting them both off. “No need for this to be an official mission- we wouldn’t even need to use SDN technology.”

Visi turns to look at Mal. “Do it.”

“Wait.” Robert speaks before Mal can draw her sword. “The Pulse- it’s in the safe of the upper level.” The schematics of the boat are pulled up next to the CCTV. “The code is-” a pause as he does now commit a crime, and hacks into the vault itself to check the passkey. “-nineteen-seventy-three, oh-three, twenty-two.”

“Okay. Now, Mal.” There’s a pause, and then the smell of sulphur and the sound of a portal through hell opening. Visi steps through, and everyone in the room holds their breath as the CCTV shows her keying in the code to the safe, grabbing a locked case from inside, and stepping back through the portal.

Mal closes it not a second after she’s back through, and a collective weight lifts from their shoulders.

Robert shuts the CCTV & projector down, withdrawing any presence from the marina’s databases, and then pushes himself forwards, NFC disconnecting from the chair, chest heaving.

“Fuck, that still needs some work.”

“Shit, kid, you okay?” Chase is by his side in a moment, a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, fine. Just, holy fuck I didn’t plan to use this thing so soon, disconnecting is a bitch.”

“Yeah, what actually is this?” Prism asks. “And what's with the fuckin’ Red Ring tech in your arm?”

“I, uhm- I got into an accident when I was eleven. Shorted my heart, fried my eyes, and left me with a lot of damage. Shroud- Elliot, the man he was before Shroud- built the tech that keeps me alive.” Robert stills, hesitation colouring his words. “He, uh-”

Chase takes over. “He was the tech guy behind the Astral Pulse, and pretty much built everything the Brave Brigade used. Got jealous of Astral, got spiteful, and here we are.”

There’s general murmuring as people accept that, process it.

“Well, you know now, so, don’t mind if I-” Robert grabs the case, still in Visi’s hands, and pops it open. Yeah, that’s the Astral Pulse. The power it puts off is second-to-none, and seeing it with his own eyes brings Robert a sense of comfort that he’s been without for months. He stands up, wobbly on his legs after overloading his brain with information, and stumbles over to the closet. It takes him a moment to dig out the portable power converter he has strapped to an arm band, but he finds it, and clicks the Pulse into place before transferring from the mains cable to the cable attached to the portable charger.

“Oh fuck, that’s why you don’t have a heartbeat!” Sonar realises a moment later, and calls out over the general murmuring drone of the room.

“Yeah. Two assistive devices, one on either side of your heart, will do that to you.”

“Shit, dude.”

“Yeah.”

They all slowly filter out of the room after that, Blonde Blazer giving him a look that screams “We’ll talk about this later”, and oh boy is that a conversation he is not looking forward to.

The party slowly starts back up, everyone feeling a bit more free now the pressure of retrieving the Pulse is lifted. About an hour later, there’s a knock on the door. Robert frowns momentarily, but goes to answer the door anyway, cracking it slightly before pulling it open fully as he realises it’s Flambae in the doorway.

As soon as it’s open, a punch rockets into his chest.

“Yeah, so I might have to do that every month or so. But I’m sure, with enough time, that you’ll be less of a dick to me.” He tosses the lamp onto the countertop as he steps over Robert. “Happy housewarming, bitch.”

The team accept Flambae into the party with open arms and open beers, and Robert lays there in his doorway, luxuriating in the environment and the people he’s surrounded by.

And then he hears the words “Robert’s VR masturbation throne”, and realises that despite becoming better people, despite growing into truly good heroes, they are always going to bully him.

Chapter Text

THEN

The TV clicks on.

Static fills the dark room, before the voice of a news reporter fills the air.

“We’re here at Torrance community library, where several hostages are currently being held by an unknown number of villains calling themselves 'The Book Bandits'. As always, we’re hoping for a quick resolution to the situation."

“Police have just arrived on the scene, and I’m being told that we can expect several members of the Brave Brigade to join them. I think we all know who I’m holding out hope for, as Mecha Man hasn’t been seen in almost a fortnight now, but anyone who can help de-escalate the situation will be an incredible help. Back to you in the studio, and I’ll see you in an hour for further updates.”

The image changes to that of a man wearing a bright red tie, contrasting his deep blue suit. Robert clicks the TV off, and the room falls back into darkness.

He was going to have to make some announcement soon, do something to show the public that Mecha Man was still there- or would be, when they needed him, at least.

Even if he had to put together a funeral for Astral.

Even if there would be uproar at the fact another of the ‘true’ heroes were dead.

That another person had fallen, and would probably be replaced by some corporate suck-up who was only interested in a paycheck.

But he knows that keeping people in the dark is worse. He’ll have to make a debut eventually, and more importantly, the world needs to know what happened to Astral.

He heads up the stairs, to his father’s office. It’s not his. It never will be.

He sits down at his father’s desk, and picks up his father's landline phone.

He dials the phone line for the local news, the one his father had always informed of his appearances or planned absences.

The phone doesn’t even have a chance to ring before it gets picked up, the voice on the other end a stranger to him. “Hello? Astral?”

“No. This is his son.” Robert pauses. “Astral passed a few days ago, in an altercation with a villain by the name of Shroud. The Brave Brigade has been tracking him and is close to apprehending him. We’ll be holding the public funeral after his arrest.”

A long, drawn-out sigh sounds over the phone. “Fuck, kid. I’m so sorry for your loss. I- god, I was worried, but I hadn’t actually considered it a possibility he was gone. Inform us of the date and time, I’ll make sure there’s someone there to get coverage of the funeral who won’t treat it like a paparazzi job.” He pauses. “I’m sorry for your loss. Take care of yourself.”

“Thank you.” Robert doesn’t know what else to say. The line hangs, silent, for a moment, before he places the handset down on the receiver.

Now he just has to actually plan the funeral.

NOW

Robert sits at his desk, fingers taping.

He’s here early, as always, and has his chair spun around to watch the TV screen. There’s a news segment playing, covering the fight at Marina Del Ray last night. The reporter wraps up the segment with “Thankfully, there have been no casualties reported. Back to the studio, Sam.”

He spins back around, leans on his desk, and presses the palms of his hands into his eyes, luxuriating in the pressure.

The screen lights up with notices of the Z Team clocking in, and he grabs his headset, slipping it on before anyone can ask to talk with him. He does not need to have that conversation with Blazer right now.

“Morning, team.” He greets. “Just a reminder that business that occurs off-the-clock needs to stay off the clock, these calls are recorded for training purposes.” No-one has said anything yet, but it doesn’t hurt to be ahead of the jump, especially with this lot.

He gets confirmations back, and they all settle in for a relaxed morning. The first call of the day is, ironically, at the marina. Beached whales.

Despite the rain, it looks like the day will be okay.

Shortly after his lunch break- timed to avoid Blazer- he gets an email about a meeting after his shift ends. Fuck. Turns out avoiding your problems isn’t as easy as he had hoped.

His shift ends at the usual time, the quiet day tapering off into a quiet afternoon, and as he sets down his headset for the night, he congratulates the team on another good shift.

Robert’s chest hums with an exertion of anxiety as he approaches Blonde Blazer’s office. He knocks, waits for her to call out “Come in.”

“Hey.” He greets, anxiety colouring his voice.

“Have a seat, Robert.” She sounds disappointed. He takes a seat opposite her.

“Look. I understand that it was a high energy situation.” She starts, forearms resting on her desk. “But I can’t have you undermining me when I give a direct order like that.” She laces her fingers together, makes eye contact with him. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight.” He admits, rolling his shoulders, shifting nervously. “The Pulse powers, pretty much all of my implants.” His eyes flick away, trying to supress the instinctual need to do something, to move, to fiddle with programmes, to do anything to get out of this awkward situation. “Without the Pulse, I’m on limited time. It’s the only thing that can supply the power I need to, well, to stay awake, to stay alive, long-term. So, yeah. I wasn’t thinking straight.” He tilts his head, tries to make eye contact but thinks better of it, eyes settling to the side of Blazer’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

He watches as Blazer leans her head back to look at the ceiling. “Okay.” She looks back down at him. “Given that this is a life-saving piece of equipment, I can make the case to avoid having you fired. But corporate is going to demand that at the very least-”

A knock on the door interrupts her.

“At the very least, I am going to have to suspend you while the information about your implants is confirmed. You’ll be allowed to keep the Pulse and the Mecha Man suit, both are yours despite being worked on by our technicians-”

Another knock.

She pinches her nose, before sighing and returning to the matter at hand.

“It’ll probably be a few weeks before you can come back to the office, and suspension means half-pay. I’m sorry, Robert, but insubordination requires some form of disciplinary action, and the head office will-”

A third knock.

“What!?” She calls through the door, and a black-haired woman peers sheepishly in.

“Uh, sorry Miss Blazer, for interrupting your meeting, but, well- there’s a major attack going on at the moment? The city might be, uh, under siege? By the Red Ring?”

She closes her eyes for a second, and then stands up, peeks her head out of the door. Robert can hear yelling, a newscaster talking about how there’s flames overtaking the city.

“Okay, Robert.” She says, turning back around. “Suspension starts tomorrow, you’re the only one who can reliably control the Z Team and we need all hands on deck.” She turns back around, and at usual volume, says “Galen?”

The man in question appears almost out of no-where. “Yes?”

“Take the tablet. They’ll need me out there.”

His eyes widen slightly as she takes off. “The Tablet…” Galen murmurs softly, reverently, looking down at it. Then he notices Robert. “Oh, hey Robert. Y’okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. Fuck, I’ve gotta get the team back online. Okay, uh.” He stands, heading back to his desk, pulling out his phone to contact whoever of the team is still awake. It’s going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

THEN

Robert slips his arms into the fabric of the suit.

It’s been altered, adjusted, from the style his father wore.

He actually paid someone to make it for him. It’s a slash-proof fabric, heat resistant and flame retardant, insulated enough that he won’t get frostbite and breathable enough he won’t sweat himself to death.

It’s also completely static-proof, a thin layer of rubber ensuring that no matter how bad things get, he’s not getting shocked again.

He pulls the cap over his head, and looks in the mirror.

He blinks, eyes humming blue for a moment as the image of his father overlays itself.

He will not be his father.

He will be better.

He has to be, has to uphold their legacy, has to grow the name into something beyond what it started as.

Has to do for his father’s name, what his father did for his grandfather.

But first, he has a funeral to attend, and members of the Brave Brigade to duck.

He climbs into the Mecha suit, revamped and sprayed blue, and steps out of the garage into the sunlight.

A funeral, a press conference, and then he can go back to avoiding everyone his father cared for.

Then he can get on with doing his job.

NOW

The computer in front of him powers off as red lights fill the room.

“You need to move.”

A whispered voice, directly next to his ear.

His left eye glows with infrared vision.

Invisigal.

She hadn’t shown up after the shift had ended, hadn’t clocked back in for overtime.

“Robert, you need to go! Now!” Despite her quiet voice, she’s urgent.

He stands, nods ever so slightly in her direction, and follows her as she moves through the room, side-stepping people and dodging anyone who could figure out where she is. They end up in the locker room, where she takes another breath in.

“Look, I should have told you this sooner.” She’s hesitant. “I wanted to, after the housewarming party, but I didn’t find the time, and then you mentioned off-the-clock needing to stay out of work, and then all of this happened, and-” She’s shifting, nervously moving around, shoulders shrugging.

“Courtney.” He places a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

She breathes out, sharp, and then- “You’re not the only one Shroud augmented.” What. “I went to him, a year or so ago, got augments for my lungs. They increase lung capacity or something, I don’t really know. All I knew was that I didn’t have asthma any more, and that was good enough for me. But it was so much debt, I couldn’t pay it all. He had me working for him, paying lump sums when I could and paying the rest off through labour.” She takes another breath, words spilling out of her mouth faster now. “Then a few months ago he said I could have the rest of the debt zero’d as long as I could do one last job for him, as long as I could place a bomb on Mecha Man.”

No.

“I said yes, I needed to get out of debt. But the look on your face in the suit, I couldn’t- I walked out as soon as the job was done, quit there and then. The augments-” she places a hand on her lower sternum, “they stopped working that night. I turned myself in the day after.”

He doesn’t know how to feel.

On one hand, this is Invisibitch. The reason he’s even in this situation, the reason any of them are in this situation in the first place. But- the situation itself isn’t so bad. He enjoys working for SDN, he’s got consistent wages and sponsorship now, even if he’s suspended for a short while.

On the other hand, this is Courtney. What she did months ago isn’t who she is now. People change, people grow. Robert knows that more than anyone.

“Why tell me this now?”

“Because I know what Shroud is planning, and I need you to know too.”

“Okay.” He nods “Tell me.”

Outlining Shroud’s plan doesn’t take long. It’s fairly simple in the grand scheme of things- use a big strong mech to take over the SDN HQ, take the Pulse back from Robert- Mecha Man- and then plug it into his own brain to achieve omnipotence.

Robert’s brain is swirling with plans as he walks down to the hangar the Mecha Man Blue suit is stored in.

He pulls the tarp off of the suit, and looks up at it.

It’s twice his size, slimmer now than the modified Astral suit he’s been using since he was 17. It’s not sprayed blue, either- Royd had told him about how he’d used Anodic Oxidation to get the tint on the metal, but Robert didn’t really understand. It doesn’t matter to him, though- the fact that Royd had put the extra effort in, had taken the extra time to make sure the paint couldn’t be scraped off of the suit, that was more important.

This, this is the Mecha Man Blue suit.

This is his suit.

It’s a familiar interface as he climbs in.

There’s a post-it note on the screen in Royd’s handwriting. ‘Left the last prototype in the clip to the left. Enjoy her.’ He looks down at it, the little sticky tag labelling it ‘Proto-Pulse 19’ peeling at the edges, and then back to the Astral Pulse, where it’s sitting in the portable generator that’s been slung around his bicep all day.

They’re identical.

Plans begin to take shape.

When he gets out into the fight, most of the team are already there. He’s already linked into the coms- and thank fuck Royd thought ahead of time and connected the Mecha Man Blue suit to the SDN communications network. He listens in as Visi explains what’s going on to everyone, and then adds his own comment of “Don’t ask how she knows. It’s accurate info. I’m on my way, be there in a moment.”

He steps out into the courtyard in time to watch Prism shoot a light-based construct- ironically, a prism- into the sky above- hooooooly shit is that Shroud’s mech?

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Blazer shoots a beam of light at the construct as Prism falls, and a blast of bright, eye-searing rainbow ploughs directly into Shroud’s Mech. Robert watches as a portal opens below Prism, tinged red with the colour of Malevola’s sword, and then he launches forwards, joining the fray.

The battle seems to go on for an eternity.

One moment, Robert is in the air, Blazer at his side as they shoot forwards at Shroud’s mech, and the next he’s watching from the ground as Sonar digs his claws into one of the legs of the thing, shrieking all the while. Phenomaman shows up, lifts him to his feet, Mech and all, pats him on the shoulder and sends him on his way as he joins forces with Flambae to strike at the woman wearing all black and floating above the fight. Robert rockets forwards again, intent on getting through to Shroud, one way or another, and loses himself to the adrenaline.

For a second, he thinks he sees Punch-Up, latched onto Toxic’s leg, punching him in the dick with an amount of vigor that made him understand how the gym's speed bag had ended up lodged in the wall.

Then he’s high in the air, firing missiles at Shroud while praying that something, anything hits- all while knowing that because of his augments, not a single shot will land. Shroud grabs him, tosses him downwards, forcing him into the ground, and he’s forced to watch, helpless, as Blazer falls through the sky.

He doesn’t see her hit the ground.

He does hear it.

“That is enough.” Shroud growls, and Robert can almost see him clenching his teeth behind the mask. “You will give me back my Pulse. There is no world where you make it out alive here, Robert. No world where I do not hold your life in my hands and extinguish it the way I should have when you were a child.”

Robert stares back, unfeeling, and knows in his unbeating heart, this grudge will not end until one of them is dead.

The fight falls stagnant around them.

Silence fills the air.

Robert breathes.

A bolt of lightning shoots through Shroud’s Mech, in one side and out the other. There’s a jittering motion as the technology adjusts to having its power source flipped from its core, and then Chase- Track Star- is hovering in front of him.

Blazer- not Blazer? Civilian Blazer? Walks out of the wrecked wall of the SDN office, barefoot and limping slightly. She grins, “You aren’t the only one who was born without powers.” and points at the now-missing red gemstone that Robert realises he’s never seen her without, before pointing back up at Track Star.

Who is not only wearing the gemstone, but also a suit, that suspiciously, matches Blazer’s, down to the blonde hair.

“My powers come from that amulet.” She explains.

Track star flies down to eye level, does a quick circle of Mecha Man Blue. “Holy shit, look at you!”

“Look at you.” Robert responds, awe-struck. He never thought he’d see Track Star use his powers again, and here he is.

“Oh shit, yeah, look at me. Wait! Shit! Look out!”

Track Star has just enough time to push him out of the way and dive as Shroud uses whatever power he still has built up to shoot directly at the pair of them.

His targeting systems have to be fried, but the team doesn’t let that stop them from pretty much all jumping in front of where Mecha Man Blue has been thrown.

“Blazer always did have a soft spot for helpless losers.” Shroud taunts.

“Fuck off.” Punch-Up spits as they rush him all together.

Steam billows as Flambae and Waterboy join forces, and Robert loses track of his team as they strike at Shroud again and again. He gets his bearings just in time to see Blazer launch a car at the mech, Visi riding atop, makeshift bomb in hand.

Fuck, he’s so proud of them.

The mech crumples, and Phenomoman takes that moment to grab it, spinning with it and tossing it upwards into the sky. Mecha Man Blue takes off after it, pushing himself to the brink, and they hover together, red and blue spiralling for one last glorious moment, before Robert pushes away from his father’s murderer, and shoots every remaining ounce of munitions at him.

Shroud crashes down,

down,

down.

Robert lands a moment later, and is swamped immediately by his team. They’re cheering, screaming for his win.

Nothing ever remains good, however, as Shroud steps out onto the roof of SDN, Beef in hand.

“No…”

“Is that- Track Star? Well, that is a surprise.” Shroud speaks, voice amplified over the roar of the flames behind him.

“Please… Elliot. Put him down.” Track Star floats downwards until his feet hit the ground.

“Who?” Shroud thrusts Beef out over the ledge “This fat fuck? Like this?” A collective gasp rings out. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t drop him. Star- Blazer,” He spits the name out “-over there would just grab him before he hits the ground.” He pulls Beef back over the roof, scratching at his head. “No, if I want this dog dead, I’ll make sure it happens.”

“What do you want?” Robert asks.

“I want my fucking Pulse.”

Robert powers the thrusters one last time, gently coming to land on the roof. He checks his own power output, checks his diagnostics.

“And don’t even think about handing me that prototype, Robert. I know you want to.”

He pushes the Astral Pulse out of its slot in the Mecha. Grabs the proto-Pulse from its slot off to the side.

Opens the Mecha.

Steps out.

“So predictable.” Shroud hums. “Somehow, it seems fitting. My first creation, delivering to me all I need to complete myself.”

He holds Beef out in one hand, the other empty, waiting for the Astral Pulse.

Robert gives it to him.

Surprising, really. That he knew the one thing Shroud didn’t.

He watches, as Shroud plugs the power source of a dying star directly into his head.

Watches as his eyes bleed red with power.

Watches as information begins to overload him.

Watches as Elliot hunches over, chest heaving with the knowledge of an entire universe being shoved directly into a human brain.

For all his augments, he hadn’t thought to add extra processing power. Running the universe on the RAM of a human mind isn’t exactly a good idea.

After all, Robert had one hell of a hangover after his foray through the internet.

He can only imagine how much pain Elliot is in right now.

He doesn’t lord it over the man, though. Just places Beef down, scratches his dog’s head. Walks over to Elliot. Crouches besides him.

Pops the Astral Pulse back out of the man's head.

Watches as his eyes roll backwards.

Robert’s eyes light blue as he checks for a heartbeat, for any sign of motion.

Nothing.

He frowns. It all feels a bit anticlimactic.

Shrugs.

Walks away from Shroud’s slowly-cooling body.

He’s got a team to celebrate with.