Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1. Reflexes

“I think we should throw more shit at him,” Malevola said, tone as casual as though she were discussing the weather.

“Maybe not around his dog though, he was all in a huff about it last time.”

“I think that was more because we fucked up the wall, to be honest.”

“Okay, what are you two talking about?” Sonar asked as he shuffled closer in the rec room, big ass ears twitching in interest.

Malevola and Prism turned toward him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, bat boy?” Prism mocked, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, I would. That’s why I asked.”

Malevola got up from her seat to stretch her arms over her head, generously deciding to loop Sonar in on the shenanigans.

“Before Robert told us he was Mecha Man, Prism and I chucked a cup of coffee at his head to test his reflexes. Pretty quick on his feet, that one, but we want to know just how fast he really is.”

“You want to know,” Prism corrected. “I just want to watch you find out.”

“Testing reaction time? Get him to play Valorant or something,” Visi said as she breezed into the room. “If he’s any good, Golem and I could use another person for a 3-stack. I’m trying to hit Plat by the end of the season.”

“In your dreams, little lady,” Golem rumbled amusedly behind her. She turned to flip him off.

“I still think we should just throw more shit at him. It’s funnier when he gets pissed.”

Sonar snorted. “It’s your funeral.”

Robert was having a nice, peaceful lunch break.

Morning shift went great; plant ops had replaced the stale, expiring Twinkies in the vending machine; his favourite video essayist just posted a new five-hour video; and Beef was napping like an angel under his desk. Nothing could ruin his mood right now, nothing at all-

“Hey, Robert! Think fast!”

He whips around, barely catching a glimpse of Malevola, Prism, and Sonar standing on the other side of the bullpen before he realizes that an object was sailing straight at his face.

“Fuck-!”

He haphazardly drops the phone in his left hand — the one not holding his beloved snack — and uses it to catch the thing before it could clock him in the nose and necessitate another explanation to Blazer about how the dry air in the office was bad for his narial health.

The “thing” turns out to be a red bouncy ball.

He looks up at Malevola with a scowl.

“Why are you throwing shit at me again?”

“It’s for Beef,” she says across the room sunnily. “Don’t dogs love that kind of thing?”

Robert holds her gaze for a moment before he sighs and looks down at his absolute unit of a dog. “Not this guy.”

He considers the ball in his hand. As jolted as he was, Robert could never be upset at someone for doting on Beef.

“Thanks,” he acquiesces, the corner of his mouth lifting in an easy smile.

Righting his phone again and rewinding the video, he takes a generous bite out of his Twinkie.

On the other side of the bullpen, Malevola leans down to whisper into Prism’s ear.

“We need to go bigger.”

“I still don’t get why you’re doing this,” Sonar says as they’re heading down to the gym.

“Don’t you just love seeing peak physical conditioning? Like watching an athlete at their craft. The pilot of Mecha Man, a regular human man, training and honing his corporeal prowess to the point of superhero status. Isn’t it beautiful and deserving of witness?”

“...You just want to fuck with him, don’t you.”

“I just want to fuck with him.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Like all things designed to get Robert’s knickers in a twist, Flambae quickly gets involved.

Like all things in which Flambae is involved, shit gets heated.

Ever the opportunist, Flambae pitches his reflex test idea to the Council of Elders (a.k.a. Malevola and a somewhat disinterested Prism) and uses it to kill two birds with one stone — fuck with Robert; fluster Waterboy.

“Have you even asked Herm if he wants to do this?” Prism asked, unimpressed.

“Fuck no. But he’s such a pushover, he could probably talk himself into it without me saying anything. And since when are you on a first name basis with him?”

“Yeah, since when is Waterboy 'Herm' to you?” Malevola rounds on Prism, one eyebrow quirked to the sky.

“What? He’s a sweetheart.”

“Whatever. But think about what I said. If you want to test his hero reflexes, don’t you think you should test them in a hero context?”

Malevola puts a hand to her chin, deep in thought.

After a moment of contemplation, she fixes Flambae with a firm nod.

“Run it.”

Waterboy does indeed agree easily, stuttering and dripping the whole time.

“O-Okay. Just tell me- let me know what I should- what to do.”

Flambae grins like the Cheshire Cat.

“Just stand here, okay? Remember, I’m not actually going to hurt you, but we’re acting. Just… act.”

“Real specific instructions there, Bae,” Prism says, leaning against a nearby cubicle wall and watching this moments-before-disaster scenario play out.

“Shut up. He gets the idea.” Flambae turns to Waterboy. “You get the idea, don’t you?”

“Uh… yeah. I guess.”

“See? And plus, I don’t see you help-”

“Shut up, shut up! He’s coming!” Malevola hisses out a warning, dragging Prism away to watch from behind a particularly tall office plant.

“Oh shit.”

Flambae clears his throat and raises his voice theatrically as Robert walks by on his way back to his desk from the men’s room.

“-and you’re always fucking up missions!” Flambae yelled into Waterboy’s face, feigning rage as best he could.

“So-sorry, Flambae. I’ll try- I’ll do better.”

“Do better? You’re lucky you haven’t been cut already! Just ask anyone – you suck! If it were up to me, I’d flay your skinny-”

“Hey, hey! What the hell is going on here?” Robert demands as he quickened his pace to get between Flambae and Waterboy. He's at least a head shorter than both, Flambae can't help but notice. 

Robert's expression pinches in concern as his hands come up slowly as though he were taming wild animals.

“What’s going on here?” Flambae echoes, suddenly floundering, not having planned a script ahead of time. He discreetly shoots Waterboy a look.

Herm takes the hint.

“Oh, um... What- what’s going on? Here?” Waterboy’s usual baseline flush gets even redder. “Flambae was- he was helping- giving me advice.”

“Yeah, just looking out for the team,” Flambae shrugs nonchalantly.

“Waterboy,” Robert turns to face the kid squarely. “You don’t have to take shit from him. He’s not being helpful; he’s being a dick.”

Then he spins around to stab an accusatory finger into Flambae’s dramatically puffed-up chest.

“And you. What I heard was less than friendly. Give him a break, he’s been doing great in the field.”

This wasn’t how the test was supposed to go.

Waterboy peeks at Flambae from over Robert’s shoulder and gives a subtle shrug. I don’t know what to do now either.

Fuck it, Flambae thinks.

“Yeah? Well, fuck you, Waterbitch!”

Lifting his hand to summon a fireball that was all show and no heat (well, low heat), Flambae telegraphs careening it toward Waterboy in a clean arc around Robert’s body.

Waterboy, either secretly an Oscar-winning actor or just genuinely always moist enough to do this at the drop of a dime, jerks to duck out of the way and makes a big show of slipping in his own personal puddle. Drops of water fling from his hair as his lanky form pitches toward the ground.

Robert moves like lightning.

With one hand, he deflects the trajectory of Flambae’s fake attack, and with the other, he stoops low to catch Waterboy by the waist just before his head hits the ground.

The pose is picturesque.

The three of them freeze in the middle of the cubicle area, bystanders stopping momentarily to take in the scene before awkwardly shuffling away to get back to whatever they were doing. The only sound is a phone ringing in the distance.

“Uh- um…” Waterboy’s face is so warm, his goggles start to fog up.

Robert, to his credit, looks completely unbothered by the position they’re in.

“You okay, Waterboy?” he asks as he hoists him back up, righting the kid and smoothing out his shirt.

“Yeah- yes. Thank you, boss- Robert- sir.”

Waterboy shoots Flambae an uncertain glance and immediately looks down. He takes a quick step away from the other two, consternation rolling off him in waves.

Robert, satisfied with Waterboy’s wellness, whips around to stare daggers at Flambae.

“Get your ass in Blazer’s office, now.” His tone is as hard as steel. “We’re gonna talk about your behaviour.”

“Wait, Robert, listen-”

“Now, goddamn it!”

Robert half-shoves, half-drags Flambae away, the taller man following helplessly. He twists around in Robert’s vice grip to solicit his fellow conspirators for back-up, but all he gets is a view of Malevola and Prism emerging from behind the plant, nearly choking from the force of trying to stifle their laughs until Robert is out of earshot.

The door to Blazer’s office slams shut and Malevola says a quick prayer for Flambae.

Waterboy approaches them, wringing his hands nervously.

“Was that- Did I do okay?”

“You did great, sweetie,” Prism says, patting him gently on the arm. “You did great.”

“So, other than getting Flambae fired and/or murdered, what did you guys find out?”

“He’s got the reflexes of a hero, alright,” Malevola replies to Sonar. Her voice takes on the quality that of someone telling an epic fairytale. “Waterboy was the picture of a damsel in distress and our valiant Mecha Man was his knight in shining armour.”

Visi laughs hysterically, the visuals from Prism and Malevola’s recount shining beautifully in her mind.

“I wish I could have seen it,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

Prism pulls out her phone. “I got a video! We can play this at Flambae’s funeral.”

Visi moves to sit next to Prism as they play back the interaction and dissolve into another fit of giggles.

Malevola tilts her head to the side in thought.

“It was magnificent, yes. But I have one more trick up my sleeve.”

At the devious tone in her voice, Golem frowns.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Mal?”

“I say do it. Go big or go home,” Sonar eggs on.

“I’m goin’ home,” Golem says as he gets up from the boardroom floor. “See you guys tomorrow. If you make it.”

The group chirps their goodbyes to his massive receding form and huddles closer together as Malevola details her plan.

“Visi, I’m gonna need you for this one…”

Thirty minutes later, they’re in Royd’s lab.

Royd had already left for the day, but Robert often came down here to tinker on his own after hours.

Today, he’s disassembling some complicated module in the mech’s left shoulder, meticulously removing small metal pieces and laying them out on a tray balanced at the top of the ladder he was perched on.

Malevola and her crew of shit-disturbers in the other half of the lab observe quietly through the tinted glass, staying as still as possible to avoid drawing any attention to themselves.

Robert grunts in effort at a particularly intricate mechanism and moves the tray closer to himself to better reach the available space. The tray is now precariously balanced on the edge of the ladder’s top step. His nose scrunches up in deep concentration.

“You’d think he was doing open-heart surgery or something,” Visi muttered.

“Or playing Operation,” Sonar murmured.

They watch for a few moments more as Robert realizes that he needs a different Allen key from the set sitting on the table below.

“Visi, get ready,” Malevola signals.

Visi rises and holds her breath, phasing out of sight. The door to the workshop room opens the tiniest sliver as she slips through.

Robert, having descended the ladder steps and now rummaging through his toolbox for the right instrument, notices nothing.

As (vaguely) planned, Visi sneaks past him like the stealth master that she is and gives the ladder a solid shove.

The effect is immediate.

Almost in slow motion, the group watches as the tray falls off the ladder and plummets toward the ground, the delicate metal parts shooting off it as inertia separated them.

Robert jumped at the sound of the ladder legs scraping against the ground and his eyes snapped upward to where the tray was tumbling through the air.

Like a fucking acrobat, he tucks and rolls to catch the tray before it clatters the ground.

Now on one knee, he moves the tray in his hands in a smooth figure-eight to catch the tiny metal chunks that fall after it, the pieces clinking quietly as they land back onto the tray one by one.

It was like watching a circus act. This far exceeded their expectations.

“Holy shit-” Prism’s hand flies to her mouth at the unbelievable display.

Visi momentarily flashes into view behind Robert’s back as she takes in another breath, the bewildered expression on her face visible for a single second. She silently slips back into the other side of the lab.

Robert is distracted by his own superhuman act of coordination.

His eyes are open wide as he surveys the contents of the tray. Not one piece is missing, and miraculously, every part is in the same place on the tray it was before.

Coming out of his stupor, Sonar turns to whisper into Malevola’s ear.

“Mal, I think we stop fucking with the man now.”

“Yeah.” She nods dumbly, a hint of awe in her voice as she stares across the glass.

“Yeah, I think we do.”

Chapter Text

2. Pain Tolerance

It started small.

First, it was mundane stuff like drinking coffee at hell-fire temperatures without so much a blink, or stubbing a toe and continuing on like nothing had happened. We’re talking pinky toe. Robert’s shoe was off at the time and everything, having been changing into different footwear for the gym.

Flambae had witnessed the moment, stopping his bicep curl as he watched Robert walk off a toe-stub that carried enough force to move the whole wooden bench.

The next Friday, Golem had accidentally sat on Robert’s hand when they were out drinking. It had been a certified mission to get the bouncer to even let him in.

(“He’s twenty. And too fucking huge to fit through the door.”

“He’s rocks! And she makes portals, so we don’t need no door.”

Prism had won that one.)

Once finally inside and drinks distributed, the Z-Team had heard a sickening crunch as Golem plopped down. He jerked back up when he heard it.

“Oh shit, my bad Robert,” he said, yellow eyes widening almost imperceptibly.

“No worries, big guy. I’m double-jointed.”

The group watched in disgust-horror as Robert simply yanked his thumb back into place from its unnatural angle. The return crunch was equally nauseating.

“Hell no,” Prism had said. She took her shot.

Robert just chuckled and went back to shitting on Flambae’s karaoke skills. That was that.

Then, the week after, Sonar witnessed something truly unhinged.

He was observing Robert in his cubicle from a distance, trying to catch him in the act of using his beloved stolen stapler.

“Don’t worry baby girl, I’ll get you back,” Sonar muttered under his breath as he watched Robert slide open his desk drawer and pull out the stapler. Polished black plastic, perfectly tuned hinge tension… it had to be the one.

Robert then somehow dropped the stapler — possibly in a sick ploy to create Sonar’s own personal hell — and the thump woke a drowsy Beef, who jumped up from his pillow and playfully tugged at the stapler as Robert tried to pick it back up (“Nooo, not the dog drool on my baby!”).

Robert laughed obliviously, entertaining a game of tug-of-war with Beef as the little chonker wagged his tail, his back legs raised in the air.

“Beef, I need this! Give it here, bud.”

Beef only gnawed on the stapler harder and Sonar could see the dents forming in the perfect plastic casing under his teeth.

“Oh, that’s it,” Sonar said, making a beeline for Robert’s desk, intent on showing both dog and human a piece of his mind for defiling the best stapler in the entirety of office supply history.

Suddenly, he heard a crunchy click-clack.

Beef had somehow bitten down in just the right way to activate the stapler.

A shiny metal staple was now embedded into Robert’s hand, right in the web of flesh between his thumb and pointer finger.

Sonar paused in his steps, expecting Robert to yelp and let go, leaving the stapler to Beef’s slobbery mercy.

Instead:

“I think that’s enough, bud. C’mon, let go. Playtime’s over.” He was still smiling, gently pushing at Beef’s snout. Beef, having tired himself out anyway from the burst of energy, gave up easily and padded away to go bother Chase instead.

Robert nonchalantly pulled the bloody staple out of his hand, inspected the wound for a moment, and wiped the rest of the blood off on his pant leg. He got up and went to the nearest wall-mounted hand sanitizer dispenser, not even flinching as he pumped a generous helping onto the wound. Satisfied with this top-notch medical care, he sat back down and jumped straight into work again.

Sonar took a step back.

Now this – this was a show of dominance. Sonar wasn’t going to tell off a non-super guy who scarcely reacted to having his hand fucking stapled.

He apologized to his beloved office tool, whom he had failed to rescue.

“Next time, my dear. Next time.”

The story spread like wildfire at the next lunch break. Sonar was nothing if not a terrible gossip (business school does that to a motherfucker).

Sitting around one of the tables like a secret cult meeting, Sonar leaned into his circle of rapt listeners and recounted what he saw in a low voice. The others joined in after, each detailing their own account of times they had seen Robert shrug off something that would put another man in the infirmary.

“What the actual fuck,” Malevola commented eloquently.

“Our boy’s a bloody tank!” Punch Up said approvingly, thoroughly entertained by Robert’s impressive pain tolerance.

“I mean, he did walk away from a massive explosion that took down his suit. That thing’s a real tank.”

“Yeah, only after being in a months-long coma,” Flambae scoffed.

Visi looked down at her hands at that, a shadow over her expression. She wasn’t the only one — Coup spoke up a beat after.

“As much as I hate to bring it up, when Shroud had me… try to get intel out of Robert about the astral pulse, he refused to break. Lasted way longer than most other people have. Even that one guy in Budapest who was high out of his mind at the time.”

Punch Up put a steadying hand on her arm.

“It’s a good thing our dispatcher is hardy, then. He’s been through a lot and he’s still standing. What a champ.”

“Didn’t he get back to work, like, immediately upon waking up that time his suit blew up in the lab? Straight up ripped the ECG leads off and hopped back on comms. Not that I’m complaining, Blazer was truly fighting for her life that shift,” Sonar said.

“Once, I accidentally shot shards of glass into his chest in the parking lot. He didn't seem to notice until I pointed it out. Perhaps his small form hides more strength than I thought... A man of mysteries, that third Robert Robertson,” Phenomaman mused.

“He- he has a lot of scars. Bruises. Lots of previous- past pain. I saw once- in the lockers- room. Locker room.”

“Ayo, Waterboy-”

“Yeah,” Visi said, lightening up a bit. “He’s covered in them. It’s fucking hot.”

“Y’all are walking HR violations,” Prism sighed.

Visi continued on, unfazed. “He does his own stitches too. Raw-dog, no drugs, in his own bathroom. Even back when he was just starting out as Mecha Man. It’s actually really fucked up, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on a bit.”

“You need help, Vis,” Golem rumbled from his spot on the ground. “How do you even know that-”

Just then, their little gathering was interrupted by Chase walking in to use the microwave.

The group fell silent and turned around in unison to stare owlishly at the door. Chase froze and then raised his eyebrows.

“What? You idiots plotting my death or some shit?”

“Nah, just appreciating Robert’s pain tolerance,” Punch Up quipped. “We’ve noticed the lad’s quite a tank.”

Chase chuckled as he resumed his walk toward the microwave.

“Oh that? Little fucker has been like that since he was a kid. Fell out of hella trees, always covered in scrapes and shit. Probably has had more concussions than is good for him… maybe that’s why he’s always doing stupid shit. Gonna give me a damn heart attack one of these days…” he trailed off into a disgruntled mumble.

“Maybe that’s his superpower,” Malevola said. “He secretly feels no pain.”

“Oh, he feels it alright,” Chase said, his burrito now spinning like a ballerina in the small appliance. “He just refuses to sit anything out. Bad habits from running on empty all those years or something. I have no clue how he’s made it this long with the dogshit self-preservation that he has.”

“You making fun of me behind my back, Chase? I thought we were close — you’re like a grandfather to me.”

Robert entered the breakroom, dollar bill in hand as he came in search of his daily dose of Twinkies.

“Speak of the fuckin’ devil. Miss me with that grandpa shit, you know damn well I’m the best big brother in world,” Chase said, cocky grin on his face.

Robert acquiesced with a laugh. “Sure, big bro. That you are.”

He walked past the team crowded around one table on his quest to the vending machine.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you guys all in here at once. What’s going on? You plotting something?”

“That’s what I said!” Chase chimed in as the microwave beeped at him.

“Just some lunchtime team bonding,” Sonar said innocently. “Team culture is my passion.”

“Yeah… right. Well, bond faster. Shift starts in, like, ten.”

Robert claimed his packet of ultra-processed sugar and breezed back out of the room, Chase following suit.

The Z-Team shared a couple looks and shovelled the rest of their lunches into their mouths in record speed.

Three days later, Robert clocked in for work with a splitting migraine.

It came mainly as a result of worse-than-usual sleep deprivation, his neighbours having been blasting music that shook his walls till 5 in the morning, and then violent construction starting bright and early at the county-sanctioned 7 a.m.

He looked like living death, eye bags big enough to garner a fine at the airport and slumped over his desk with the posture of a shrimp.

“Whoa there,” Sonar said, passing by on his way to the copier. “You okay, Bobert?”

“Mmm,” he grumbled, then yawning like his soul was trying to escape him. “Neighbours were having the rave of the century. Thought the lamp Malevola got me was gonna fall off the fucking ceiling.”

“You gonna be okay to do the shift, man?”

“Yeah. I mean, my head feels like it’s being jackhammered, but I’ve had worse. Don’t worry, my dispatching will be just fine.” Robert didn’t survive a decade and a half of being Mecha Man by slowing down any time he had a migraine.

Robert got shit done and nothing short of death would stop him. Even then, maybe Malevola could do him a solid and figure something out.

“If you say so.” Sonar walked away, expression thoughtful.

Robert was having a really weird day. Not only did he feel like shit warmed up, but every time he left his desk to go splash water on his face or sit in an empty meeting room for a couple minutes of blissful silence, things appeared on his desk when he got back.

First, it was a simple bottle of Advil. He figured Sonar had probably done him a favour, knowing that he had a rough night.

Then, it was an electric heating pad. That one was odd — he didn’t think it did anything for headaches, anyway.

Later, the mysterious presents started to vary. He came back once to a 20-pack box of Twinkies, then a couple bandaids in a plastic carrying case, instant cold packs that you could crack like a glow stick, some cough drops, a neon roll of kinesiology tape, a form to fill out for a state-funded public health insurance program…

When he came back to his desk after lunch to find a whole ass Costco-sized case of electrolyte drinks, he finally broke.

“Okay, what the hell is going on today?”

Chase peeked over the cubicle divider and glanced at the collection of goodies, snorting.

“Your team’s trying to show you some love, kid. That’s what.” He sat down again and settled the headset back over his ears without another word.

Beef approached Robert in search of head pats as he also took his seat, a hint of amused disbelief on his face. His team bringing random things to his desk every time he wasn't looking reminded him of an elusive outdoor cat, somehow.

Beef licked at the wound on his hand where he was bit by the stapler. His headache was getting better. 

Robert couldn’t help but smile.

Chapter Text

3. Nerd Shit

Monday morning saw Blonde Blazer sitting behind her desk, triaging the never-ending items in her inbox that all claimed to require immediate attention.

“No way all of these are urgent…” she muttered to herself, feeling a touch overwhelmed by the large number of red-flagged messages.

God, she needed a coffee.

Promising herself she’d get one from the breakroom after reading the next batch of emails, Blazer resigned herself to a few more un-caffeinated responses. Before she could fully lock in and get into corporate mode, a quick knock came from her door.

“Come in,” she said, voice tired.

“Long week already? It’s only Monday morning.”

“Oh, Robert. What can I do ya for?”

Robert walked in, blue SDN shirt neatly tucked in and two mugs of coffee in hand.

“This is for you,” he said, handing her one of them. “One milk, one sugar — just how you like it.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she smiled, taking a much-needed sip. “What are you buttering me up for?”

Robert took a seat, cradling his own mug.

“I was wondering if SDN has a corporate software license for Altium?”

Blazer’s eyebrows knit together. “Altium? I can’t say I’ve heard of that one off the top of my head.”

“It’s the industry-standard software for designing PCBs.”

She stared at him blankly, still not fully awake.

“Circuit boards.”

“Oh.”

“Royd said he hasn’t had to use it himself, so he’s not sure. But since we have a pretty sizable team of technicians and custom hero tech to look after, I figured I’d ask you.”

“Hmm… I’ll have to ask IT, but I can definitely find out for you. Here,” she said, handing him a pen and a pad of sticky notes from the right side of her desk, “could you write the name down for me?”

Robert took the pen and paper from her, scribbling onto it.

“You thinking of sprucing up the suit's circuitry?” she asked between sips.

Robert gave her a lopsided grin.

“Y’know, gotta take advantage of those SDN resources. When I had to do these myself, it was a real pain in the ass sending all the components in sections to different fabricators in China and then reassembling them after. It was cheap as hell and decently fast, but if I sent everything I needed at once, I was worried I’d get flagged for overseas illegal weapons manufacturing…”

“Uh-huh. Well, sit tight — I’ll let you know when I hear back.”

Robert stood up and raised his mug to her as he turned to leave the office.

“Thanks Blazer. Happy Monday.”

The door closed softly behind him.

Blazer turned back to her overflowing inbox.

“Happy Monday…”

IT gets back to her in record time (maybe they’re just excited to respond to something other than yet another ticket about some unfortunate soul locking themselves out of their own email), having a product key and new account instructions ready by lunch. She finds Robert, Royd, and Sonar in the breakroom to deliver the good news.

The table gives her a chorus of greetings as she walks in.

“Hey, guys. Robert, I heard back from IT. Forwarded their message to your email.”

“Awesome, thanks Blazer.” He pulls out his phone to check the notification, scanning through the email. Happy with what he saw, he shows Royd.

“Check it out, we do have a license. We can make all those modifications so much faster now.”

“You can make the modifications, bruddah. I’m up to my neck in work this week already, ‘cause the other teams keep pullin’ me into their shit. And I have one tall neck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Robert says, only half-listening as he read deeper into the email, taking another bite of his sandwich absentmindedly.

Sonar snorts into his curry, seasoned with freshly-blended roaches. “Nerds.”

“That’s crazy coming from you, Sonar,” Robert deadpans.

“Hey, I’m a cool nerd. Everyone knows that business guys have the most aura. I live in a suit and tie, bro. You guys are tech nerds, like, the kind that doesn’t shower and lives in your mom’s basement coding all day.”

“Weren’t you just trying to get us into some new crypto scheme? That’s tech nerd shit, no?”

“Hey, crypto is the future, Bobby-boy. And no, that’s finance bro shit. MLMs – that’s multi-level marketing, by the way, not the shit Flambae reads on break – are classic business student staples. Totally different from tech nerd shit. Either way, I’m mogging you both.”

“Just for future reference when you bully someone else about this, hardware and software nerds are different. You’re lucky that Royd and I happen to be both, but-”

“Okay,” Blazer interjects, “I think that’s my cue to go. I’ll leave you nerds to it.”

They barely look up from their increasingly heated discussion as she retreats back to the safety of her office.

Robert is leaning back in his chair, dragging his hands over his face after what felt like the longest shift in his dispatching career so far, when Malevola walks past his desk, stopping briefly to analyze the stack of binders and textbooks on his desk.

“Whoa there, nerd. You studying for the SATs or something?”

He peeks through the fingers over his eyes.

“Did Sonar put you up to this?”

“Sonar? I haven’t seen him all day. We’ve been on opposite mission schedules this whole time. Shouldn’t you know that, Mr. Dispatcher?”

“Oh yeah, right. My mistake.”

“You haven’t answered my question. What is all this for?”

“Took a couple of these home last night as reference material. They’re usually in Royd’s lab since that’s where we’ve been working on the suit, but I just had a couple things I wanted to draft before seeing him later today.”

Mal leafs through the books, flipping over pages and pages of schematics and equations. She glances at the titles — Mechanical Joint Design, Thermodynamics and Heat Transfer, Linear Circuits and Electromagnetism, Partial Differential Equations, Inverse Kinematics for Robotic Manipulators…

“Holy shit, Robert. This is like, real big brain stuff. You inherit all these from your dad?”

“Most of them, yeah. Got some of the other stuff secondhand on eBay; lots of college students try to make their money back on textbooks after they pass the courses.”

He picks up a binder with at least three dozen tabs haphazardly sticking out from the side.

“All this,” he said, gesturing to the first third, “is dad’s. You can tell by the illegible handwriting.”

Malevola skims it, indeed finding messy scribbles. It was a long page of math… or a recipe for strudel? Honestly, the man could have been a doctor with that chicken scratch.

“The rest is me, with modifications from Royd, of course. He actually went to school for some of this stuff. I just threw shit at the wall and prayed to the Indian engineering YouTuber gods. Those guys have taught me everything I know from op-amps to analog transistor design.”

“Yeah, none of that was English.”

He sighed, long-suffering.

“All those years barely scraping by, I just focused on trying to get the cheapest parts and repairing only the most essential components. Things got real messy. Now that Royd is trying to go through everything, I wish I had been more diligent about documentation.”

His dad’s handwriting was dogwater, but at least all the material was there. His own records had been spotty and incomplete as he grew more desperate and his work slapdash. He could barely remember why he made some design decisions from eight years ago, let alone what other connected subsystems would get fucked up if he changed something.

“Don’t worry, Robert. Royd is an engineering genius. And judging by all this, you’re not too shabby yourself. I’m sure the two of you will be able to figure it out.”

He ventures a small smile at her, genuinely touched by her faith in him.

“Thanks, Mal.”

She smiles back, imagining a young Robert poring over his dad’s old notes and teaching himself how to be a poor man’s Tony Stark. It pulled at her heartstrings in an indescribable way.

“So, Sonar caught wind of this and called you a massive nerd?”

Robert’s soft expression drops.

“Don’t even get me started.”

Prism and Flambae were on their way back to SDN from a mission involving loose zebras and a lot of civilian witnesses.

It had been a slower afternoon, fewer fires (both figurative and literal) to put out than usual, the normally brutal pace of missions lulling.

Robert had been atypically relaxed as a result, joking around on comms and shooting the shit with the team. Even Chase was in a good mood, chiming in every once in a while and earning a few laughs.

Suddenly, the line crackled and an unfamiliar voice spoke itself into existence.

“Hey, Robert? Can you do me a solid?”

“Galen?”

“Who the fuck is that,” Flambae said, very impolitely in Prism’s not-so-humble opinion.

“Oh shit, did I do team-wide audio by accident?” Shuffling noises came from Galen’s side.

“Fuck it, whatever. Listen, Robert. I’m pressed for time. Can you please take a look at this camera firewall? My team is stuck in this warehouse and I can’t get eyes on it. It’s apparently on some shady millionaire’s turf, so the security is no joke. I’ve already asked two of the top hackers at our branch to take a crack at it, but I figured I’d ask you too before I call the downtown branch. You’re the best in the game, man.”

Robert chuckled. “You don’t have to flatter me, Galen. You’ve helped me a ton since day one — of course I’ll give it a shot. Wire me through.”

“Thanks, bud.” Galen’s line clicked off.

“Wow, Sonar was right when he said you were a nerd,” Visi remarked over the comms, voice teasing.

“In my defense, I didn’t say shit to you. You were just secretly in the room when I was telling Punch and Waterboy,” Sonar attempted.

“First they steal our technician and now they’re stealing our dispatcher. What, does no one else in this place know how technology works or some shit?” Flambae complained.

“Relax, hot guy,” Robert said. “It’s not like we’re drowning in work right now anyway.”

“I am quite fond of Dispatcher Galen and his team,” Phenomaman said. “If they need help at the warehouse, please feel free to assign me, Robert.”

“Copy that.”

The line fell silent as Robert got into the weeds of it, the team able to hear what they called his “Hacker Mode Noises”.

Robert grunted in effort at particularly hard junctions, hissed when he got locked out, and near-moaned in satisfaction when he cracked the next stage in the process. After three solid minutes of the obscene noises, Sonar finally spoke up.

“Roberto, my guy. You gotta stop making those noises while hacking. It’s turning me on and I’m trying to be professional on the job.”

“Yeah right,” Chase dismissed. “You haven’t been professional since the day I onboarded your ass. But he’s right, Robert. You need to shut the hell up with those noises. Goddamn, kid. It’s code, not third base.”

“Sorry, guys.” The team could hear the blush through their earpieces.

Unfortunately, in the absence of Robert’s vocalizations, a new sound was unmasked. Rapid clacking flooded the line, assaulting eleven pairs of ears.

“What the hell are you typing on? Pop rocks switches?” Prism demanded.

“Surely you can noise gate the SDN comm line,” Golem suggested.

“It’s not a Discord call, Golem,” Robert said, voice coming through a bit slower than usual as he was still focused on his hacking.

“What is that, 120 words-per-minute or something? You have to have been a League player with those keyboard warrior-ass fingers,” Visi said.

“I think I’ve peaked at 150 words-per-minute, thank you very much. And you’d type fast too, if your life depended on it in fights.”

They tried not to mention it explicitly over comms because the calls were sometimes recorded, but the team knew that Robert was referring to controlling the mech suit through his pilot's interface.

“I can’t imagine having to worry about typing speed during a fight,” Coup said.

“You’d probably slice the keyboard into ribbons,” Punch Up responded affectionately.

Suddenly, the line was punctuated by a triumphant “Aha!”

“Seems like Jimmy Neutron finally cracked the code.”

“No way bro just said ‘aha’. He’s literally the nerd emoji.”

Robert stood up at his desk, shouting across the bullpen at Galen, too excited to bother with transferring lines on the headset or to remember that the man had super-hearing.

“Galen! You’re good to go. Let me know if you need back up, Phenomaman volunteered if you want more hands.”

Galen shot him a thumbs up, a wide smile breaking across his face.

“Thanks, Robert! Lunch on me tomorrow.”

“…You guys have lunch together?” Flambae asked.

“Yes,” Robert said, sighing happily to himself as the post-hack exhilaration washed over him. He plopped back down in his chair. “And you’re not invited.”

Flambae and the rest of the team would only get even grumpier about having to share their tech whiz of a dispatcher the following day when Royd was absent from work due to catching some bug that could put a man of his size on bedrest. At his suggestion, everyone who usually bothered him with their technical problems suddenly came to hassle Robert instead.

Waterboy and Flambae were clocking in the for morning, submitting their timesheets to Chase’s desk in the bullpen when they came across Robert already sitting down for the morning and surrounded by six or seven varied heroes and dispatchers.

“What the fuck is happening now,” Flambae grumbled.

“Let’s- we should go. In case Robert needs rescue- in case he needs help.”

Fully in agreement for once, the pair walked with purpose (slightly moist purpose in Waterboy’s case) toward their dispatcher’s desk. The voices gradually filtered in.

“Sorry to bother you, Robbie,” an older lady was saying in a doting voice, her tortoiseshell glasses hanging around her SDN shirt collar. “That sweet Roy was just saying he’d be out of office today, and that if we needed anything, to come see you.”

“Hey, watch it,” Flambae shouldered his way into the circle. “Bob Bob doesn’t like being called that.” Waterboy nodded with conviction behind him.

Robert shot Flambae a look, eyes flashing dangerously. Be nice to the lady, asshole. He then turned to her with a pleasant smile.

“No worries, Martha. Happy to help. Will you leave your headset with me for the morning? I’m sure Blazer can find you a spare until I get this one back up and running.”

“Thank you, dear.” She gave Robert a grandmotherly pat on the cheek and walked away.

Coming from the direction in which she left, Sonar and Visi appeared.

Approaching the circle and pulling Waterboy aside, their faces were an image of confusion.

“What’s going on?” Visi asked, yanking on Waterboy’s damp sleeve.

“Royd is sick- gone today. So, all the people who usually see him for- who he helps with tech stuff, are all asking- got directed to Robert for today.”

Sonar nodded, ravenous for more nerd-slander ammunition on Robert. As they watched, a green-clad hero (we’re talking neon green, head to toe) stepped up past Flambae and got to Robert next.

“Hey man, could you take a look at my belt? It didn’t pass the last routine EMI test and they can’t put me on Category A missions till I fix it. Royd said you were familiar with mag fields and stuff?”

Flambae stared in disbelief as the Mike Wazowski-looking fucker unbuckled his belt right then and there, handing it Robert and pointing out the electrical housing compartment in the middle, along with what buttons to avoid lest he get a grappling hook to the face.

Robert hummed thoughtfully, opening up the back cover and taking a peek inside.

“I’ll try adding some copper shielding to the connectors first... there’s bound to be a roll of it somewhere in Royd’s lab. But you should really ask your team’s technician to redo some of the boards inside to fix the issue long-term. Maybe check the grounding and stuff. Come pick this up at the end of the day?”

“Will do, Rob. Thanks a bunch.”

“No worries, Troy.”

“Thundersizer’s name is Troy?” Sonar mouthed to Flambae, who shrugged helplessly as the next person shoved past him, herding him toward the other Z-Team members at the outer edge of the clusterfuck.

As the mess of people grew in volume, Chase walked into the office, eyeing the crowd beside his cubicle suspiciously before joining the others.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Robert’s dealing with all of Royd’s frequent customers,” Visi said.

“Poor Royd,” Chase shook his head. “Everyone is always up his ass with some thing or another. This is just ridiculous.”

Looking around, he caught Coup and Prism also approaching to clock in.

“Oh, thank God,” he said, waving them over.

A minute later, the lethal ladies were pushing into the circle of heroes and dispatchers surrounding Robert, threatening bodily harm if they didn’t leave him be. Prism alone had charisma through the roof, and no one ever dismissed Coup. Together, they had the crowd disbanded in less than ten seconds.

Robert was left in his chair, huffing a deep breath now that he wasn’t stuck in a bubble of clamouring people.

“I think they need to pay Royd more,” he said, pushing hair out of his face.

Flambae snorted. “I think 'Troy' needs to get a new stylist.”

Prism nodded solemnly in agreement.