Chapter Text
Robert Robertson The Third doesn’t need to ponder for long to say that he obviously loves his Dad.
“When you say it like that, it makes it seem less obvious.”
No matter the opinion of idiots who seem to think otherwise.
Toxic didn’t get it. Robbie was a skilled man. Highly regarded, the prime Mecha-Man. To the point that his grandeur boosted the bar for expectations of his kin. He was dearly loved and revered by those around him. Mecha-Man Blue pales in comparison to the mere expectations of his predecessor's legacy. It was practically in the stars with how high they were.
Of course he would love him because what other emotion could the sinking dread beneath his skin entail? Why would he be doing anything past this point? You’d think he’d have gotten over it by now.
The sound of the chair scraping across the floor didn’t manage to disrupt his thoughts as he made his way towards the balcony. This crook’s information was obviously useless and his patience was running thin with how poorly the interrogation was going. Shroud always knew who the loyal ones were.
The back of the chair hit the balcony railing and the new atmosphere left the man stuttering and shouting insults. He was shifting around and looking in different directions as if he could escape the confines and use his powers, tough luck. Robert lifted the chair up by the legs against the railing.
“Woah woah woah-! I hope Shroud spanks your little daddy issues ass like he did with your dad-”
So then why didn’t he?
He grits his teeth. The panicked screams made him anticipate whether he might get a noise complaint or police call or not. No matter. No one is going to save him. No one is going to report him at this time of night.
He didn’t get the answers that he was hoping for.
He never does. The weight of it never leaves, still comfortably sitting at the back of his mind.
With the amount of thinking, pondering and planning he does, running into a hideout that was essentially Shroud's glorified trap base was not his wisest plan.
But even with that in the back of his mind, it didn’t stop him from going.
-----
“Foreign object detected.”
“Crash imminent.”
The outdated voice over the comms blared a deep red, illuminating the cramped space. One of his monitors was cracked, another had been burnt through with whatever Toxic was made of, and another was blue-screening. All visible dials built into the hardware itself were in the red and the smoking was never a good sign.
It was inevitable afterall. The suit itself was running on borrowed time.
The rockets rattled, desperately trying to spit out any kind of firepower and like the broken shards of a shooting star left a trail of sparks. He just hoped that he was lucky, that in the aftermath of this own inadequacy, no one got hurt. Prayed that the intersection was clear of any innocent bystanders that would have been crushed by the weight of Mecha Man’s descent.
His heart slowed with each beat, a cathartic sense of relief that this was the end. His hands unclenched at the sides.
He looked up at the red tinted sky, years of long anticipated adrenaline and a comforting blanket of acceptance he braced himself for the fall.
-----
White ceiling. A slow annoying beeping from his left. His limbs felt heavy and sluggish, not to mention that they were currently riddled with wires and invasive IV drips. He had survived, of course, but he was somewhat thankful that the pain had yet to greet him. Waking up in a hospital bed tucked in the corner of the coma ward wasn’t ideal. His eyelids threatened to shut again, but he had unfinished business he had yet to be relieved from.
His chest had gained pounds of dead weight since he last tried to get up. Robert Robertson The Third did not have an extensive medical record to go by. Often going to ghost doctors and the like. He’d spent a good chunk of his inheritance to remove any trace of his medical history or identification from the hospital’s database. His brows furrowed even more at the idea of hospital staff running around, re-logging everything that he’d bribed them to remove.
Just short of a week after his coma, the remains of the Mechaman legacy crumpled into boxes. The suit hallowed remains at the corner. He sat amongst the half-packed suit debris, flipping through the boxed receipts he’d stored away. His debt must’ve been compounding and with the measly finances he had remaining before his hiatus, he doubted he could’ve even begun to pay them off.
He sat in the wreckage of months of failed plans, dead ends and crippling bills- the ones that led to his accounts being thoroughly depleted in the process of keeping his suit up and running. At least the moving company’s fine wasn’t as hefty to maintain anonymity of his identity.
One of the small mercies he had was that he had just enough for the rent till next month. That being said, an email inviting him to an interview left him perturbed. Media sharks never cease to amaze how bloodthirsty they were.
The past week of signing papers and erasing records, money flying away, adult shit dealt with, left him chillingly nauseous as he goes up to the stage to answer the world of his most recent choices.
“No, I will not be stepping out of the mecha-man mantle. I'm going to recoup and work behind the scenes to get back into business.“ Just like usual, but this time he has more time to snoop at villain bars outside the suit.
He answered a few more wayward questions. Your standard hero answers. Not having to think too much of the implication and the like 15 years of media training hasn’t thrown in him for.
He regrets choosing this fucker to speak as his final question. “So Shroud escaped prison, duped you into a trap, and put you in a coma for a few months.”
Wow. “I didn’t hear a question in there?” dipshit
“ It’s a two parter . First, why didn't Shroud kill you? You hadn’t been conscious for months. It’d be easy money taking you out.” Again the question stung. So why didn’t he?
“Shroud wanted the Astral pulse and Mecha-Man gone. He got both, I’m not sure I mattered much.” He already killed the true Mecha-Man long ago, he didn’t matter then why would it be any different now?
“Right, you're unimportant.” It was either the Astral pulse or his dad, and he is neither of them.
“Which leads me to my next question, most people avenge their family, you did the opposite, you killed their legacy. If your dad were here right now, how disappointed do you think he'd be?” very. His left arm is still encapsulated, pulsing in anticipation, yet the back of his eyes burns, seeing fire and flame burning within him as he takes a deep breath.
“Your father, and your grandfather, they must be rolling over their graves.” He could practically see the bruised nose, a disfigured figure writhing in front of him.
His tongue was as heavy as stone and yet the lies tumbled out in a steady stream “I am sure that he is proud- That I am alive.” he’d have told me to get back up if I wasn’t. “Which as you so sensitively pointed out, he isn’t” he would have traded places.
“I think he knows that I sacrificed everything and I did my best.” It didn’t matter that his best wasn’t enough. The public would be the judge of that. “Being Mecha-Man, protecting my community was the greatest honor I’ll ever have.” It was a privilege that he’d lost. No, it was his very identity- his purpose. And now, he’ll have to find some way to live past his use-by date. He breathes out, practiced and unhurried. “It is a promise that I will do everything in my power to get back into that suit again and I hope you can forgive me for having to take some time to regroup.”
To get back up. When his father and his grandfather hadn’t. To get back up even when all odds are lost. His unyielding determination was the only thing keeping the suit powered- the suit- an entire generations worth- if he couldn’t fix it- no he will fix it.
“Thank you for coming.” He hobbles off stage. Slow yet with purpose.
For what would he be without it?
-----
“Hey Uncle. Why did you even want to be a hero?” Sometimes the quiet and emptiness it leaves behind isn’t enough. The man tinkering in the corner of the garage quietly stops.
In a tone adults do when they’re giving a lesson he says. “Well Kid… It's about making a difference.” he looks towards the mechanical arm he was working on.
“Well, what difference would it make for you?” He looks at the arm.
“Cause you’re already a hero. They just don’t know you.
His uncle contemplates. Eyes going soft. Making a soft ‘hmm’.
“Well, think about it as some identity. You want to get praised, or even acknowledged. That what you do or would ever do matters. I know it's a bit of a nebulous concept as of right now but in the future you’re going to understand.” he smiles. “Those titles are worth more than they seem.” he pats him on the head.
Soft worded lectures were better than the hard gritted voice he usually gets. He savours the lesson and the feeling of understanding, without comprehending much of it.
-----
“Is he Mecha-man or a Mecha coward?”
There was a crash in the window as he was broken from his trance. The tv that he was watching was being slowly carried away by a colourful band of skittle masked crooks.
Yet logically he knows he can’t take the fight. With a flask filled with cheap whisky subduing the pain to a thrum, and a resolute sigh he grabs hold of his mask. He would need to fight dirty. This was fine, he’d have fought without the suit before.
“And who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Mecha-Man.”
“You’re not Mecha-Man,” he pointed at the tv, still broadcasting his break. “that's Mecha-man.”
He was, he still had his suit, he may not have a mech but that was a work in progress.
“I am dipshit, whatever the case I’m enough to deal with a packet of skittles idiots like you.”
“Fuck, goddammit.” Not everyone wants to punch someone who already looks down. And he would lavish that weakness “Look you’re hurt, you’re not thinking straight, you don’t wanna fight someone who knows which hand your punch is coming from.”
With his left still slung arm, he willed a punch straight through the guy’s temple. And as soon as that happened a domino of punches reigned over him. He manages to take out another with a surprise splash of alcohol and a thrown flash. A left kick in the balls for the unreleased purple pack. The pent up of sweltering flame beneath his skin willed himself to take the blows. He didn’t have his suit but he was still Mecha-Man, even without it he was still Mecha-Man, no matter what packet of losers say he isn’t. In some way their punches blended in the land of hurt all across his body.
In a moment there was a pause in the punches. A yelp as two guys were thrown away.
She’s radiant with a strong outlook. A pure unwavering energy that easily floated under the watch of the sunset. In with her strong steps and even stronger resolve. Unlike him who is your everyday everyman. Robert took stock of the situation. His right shoulder was fucked but that wasn’t anything new. Blonde Blazer, works at the superhero dispatch network. Her name is revered by most villains.
“Uhh, hi yeah, I know who you are, you are famous.” Famous for easily beating up nearly a quarter of the A tier villain population along with Phenomaman.
“Yeahh uhh I’m just a corporate hero for hire. You’re the real hero.” what flatteringly false words.
“Here let me help-” she was getting close towards him.
“No, no I got it.” Before she even has the opportunity to, he maneuvered his right unharmed hand to his left shoulder. Popping the bone back in place like a well-oiled maintenance check. He tested the shoulder, steady enough to rotate freely again, the phantom pain slowly disappearing.
She was still there looking at him in amusement.
“Wow, you really are experienced huh. Hey, maybe you can use a drink.”
“What makes you say that?”
His gut tells him to run away and go back to the safety of his apartment, but his liver and brain had other ideas of comfort. Maybe just for tonight he would linger on without the suit.
-----
He felt out of place. The bar was too warmly lit and too many known faces all across scrutinizing him as he sat with what looks like the top echelon of the supers, the super of super. Blonde Blazer was good company. Albeit she acted a little too close, like she knows something and wants to pry it out from under him. Conversations devolve into background chatter as drinks upon drinks get ordered.
“So, you must be rich right-” maybe people would assume. He wasn’t as perceptive as he was when he was young.
“Well. The medical bills certainly didn’t help the entire situation but it's fine-” he’ll find a way to get back up, he needs to.
Her eyes downcast towards his own. “Why did you do it?” she was searching for an answer that he himself isn’t quite sure of.
“What do you mean?”
“Why’d you do it to the point of financial-”
“Ruin?”
“Well I was about to say—”
He pondered for a moment. Searching for an easy roundabout answer that he knows goes well with Blazer’s worldview. As much as he would have loved to say nothing, his mouth is socially obligated to react faster than his personal woes to counterreact.
“To be a true superhero. That's what it’s all about. Saving people, seeing them live for another better day. What more could I possibly want?” What more does he need?
Wow he was getting too sentimental, too close to opening up. Maybe she had a secondary power where those crystal blue eyes cut through his defences making him unable to hide away at the bottom of the bottle.
He needs water. Reaching for the clear punt glass made him startled as cold hard liquor slips through his tongue. Coughing on her, he could feel his face heat up and humiliation pulling down his head to the counter. She was understanding of course, as always.
When she disappeared to the bathroom, a trio of heroes approached him. One with more intent than the other two. A man with a ponytail and flame suit that’s cut shallow enough to not be indecent. Yet he was wearing retro sunglasses at night.
“Don’t you watch the news? This is a superhero bar.” Doesn't he know it?
“Wow, really, is that it, are you telling the obvious shit guy?”
The man pushed on. “Are you really going to act like you don’t remember me?”
He sighs. He does remember. The guy who pulled his suit in a critical state. That he’d have to install overheating protocols and fire resistant wear that took a hefty amount of that month’s budget.
He resigns himself. Not everyday you see former villains not getting apprehended at the bar.
“Look, listen, if you’re still mad about the fingers or the fact that your little shopping spree got you landed behind bars -” he glared straight into his eyes, glasses propped up on his head. Seriously, who wears retro glasses at night?
“I just want to say, nothing personal, you were doing a number on me and I needed an out.” He looked down on the 2 missing fingers. The alcohol was really working through his system, and his words slur and tone flat. “I’m sorry that my hero skills managed to maim you, it wasn’t my intention, mind you still an asshole move right now, threatening a civilian. But I'm sorry alright.” he mumbled the last bit.
The man is stunned yet still approaches him behind his back. Circling close with his companions. His yellow eyes seem to burn red. “Are you actually sorry?” he takes a step at Robert, closing in an inferno of flames from the tips of his maimed hands. “Cause you don’t seem sorry right now” the warm glow inches away from him, tempting in its dancing light “Are you sorry for the prison time that you got me, Mecha-dick?” Robert can’t help but exhale a long deep sigh, hands caressing his head.
Fuck he didn’t watch his tone while speaking. The alcohol makes his words sound like a sarcastic asshole.
“I can't believe someone as sad looking as you managed to get this far” he spits in vitriol.
He could feel a wave of nausea overtake him, his fingers thrumming in an uncomfortable moist sweatiness. There was already one option in his head. “Look, if you clearly want to fight, then let's not do it at the bar where you can get your hero friends banned from.” he looks towards the suspenders wearing a small man and an angelic emo knife up hedgehog. He looks back up at the walking talking anger management seminar. Resolute that this is the way to go.
“Wait, what really?”
“Yeah. you seem to want a fight and I want to say sorry in a way that you can understand.” villains even ex-ones understand the language of violence. It was easier to punch shit out than talk business. Plus his hand has no sling so it should be stable enough to use. right?
“Ohh ok, get prepared Mecha-bitch I’ll punt you straighter than you already are- that u will fucking know-” his own lips tilted a little upwards.
“Alright, I'll see you in the alleyway to the side in 5 minutes.” He turns around on his chair, facing the bartender who shakes his head in disbelief. “Hey, let Blonde Blazer know that I'll meet her in the back of the bar.” He slides his last 20-dollar bill to the bartender before downing the glass of vodka. It was disgusting. Too strong for the flavor but it was enough to overpower all senses and present regrets.
The outside air seemed fresh enough. He could hear 3 pairs of footsteps walking towards him barely a minute in.
The alleyway was half lit and damp. The nightfall has barely started and there were patriots at the front still chatting. It wasn’t common to hear grunts from fights, but he knows how to behave.
“Get ready to get your normie ass punched out Mecha-bitch.”
He squints, his gut thrumming apart again. What's another bout more of pain from past mistakes?
Fire man lands the first punch; superhuman abilities never cease to mock him of his own lacking. He dodged it to the right shoulder; he doesn’t want another sling. He grunts back using the dumpster bin to ricochet off and knock a mean jaw punch straight to his nose.
Sunglasses at night guy looked pissed. The cold alleyway began to smoke as blow after blow of similar stand each other. A fire punch was about to hit his face. In a moment of fear, he ducked.
They were predictable. But he was halfway through death’s door and some of his flaming punches confused him enough to get punched at the side of the head.
Another untimely dodge and anger issues slipped in the puddle as soon as he were about to strike, knocking his tooth on the dumpster adjacent to where Robert dodged. The tooth popped out and yet in a moment of hesitation, of wanting to confirm if he was alright. Firedolt still got a punch out of him as he swiveled his feet kicking his face in the pavement.
Both groaned as ponytail picked himself back up. Looking down at Mecha man with a sense of restlessness and understanding.
“Well look like I beat your mecha-ass you mecha-dick. But thanks, you’re not as much of a mecha-pussy as you seem.” Those insults felt like he was speeding to try to get it all out of his system, there was a little whistle to it now while the pyromaniac blood bled.
“Ok now Flambae you really need to sit down; you look like 3 seconds away from kneeling like a lamb.” the tall woman swerved silently checking at her friend’s injuries.
The small man helped him to his flat ass. “Wow, it seems like he did a number on yah. You alright lad?”
“Yup, I’m fine, just hurts like a bitch, you really need to get him to a hospital maybe you can still save his teeth right over there.”
So Flambae's teeth sat on top of the dumpster bin, its white clean shine in contrast to ‘fart barf’ written across from it.
“Oh, you’re right- Yo Flambae, we need to be quick, maybe we can reattach it to it.”
He gave a nod. Pushing himself up to his feet. Nodding at the lady who helps Flambae up.
“Not bad for a normie, Mecha-man. Watch your back.” she gave an eerily threateningly unmoving expression. Yet he feels like she’s amused. He can’t quite tell as he grabs his left hand to his stomach.
“Fuck yeah, I beat that Mecha-normie up good--” they slowly move away seemingly going to the parking lot. He could hear insults mixed with a faint whistle sound as Flambae was escorted away by his friends. He wills himself to breathe. With them being gone he wills himself to spit out the rest of the fighting residue.
—-
Blonde Blazer opened up the door. The warm light illuminates a part of the alleyway.
Again she is taken by surprise when he looks worse for where.
“So what happened back here?”
“Uhhh, just had a little chat with a former acquaintance.”
“Oh is that so? Mind telling why (Bartender) told me you got into trouble with one of the patriots?”
“The little chat went a little sideways, but I'm fine. Still sorry about the drink by the way.” She’s holding two cups before looking back at him. Smiling. “Why are you holding more drinks?”
“Night cap?” fuck it, he’s already too far gone tomorrow, it wasn’t like he was going to wake up early anyways. It was still going to be a hell to deal with but that’s a future problem.
“Sure why not.”
“Alright, hold these, I know a place.” She lifts him up easily. Feeling the weightlessness of his figure even more prominent. He hasn’t flown without the suit before so feeling the cold wind throughout his body refreshes some of the heat from the fight.
Sitting down after a moment of weightlessness really puts him down off the gravity of everything. It was a nice view though.
“Hey, listen,, everything's been a bit hectic and I think I really needed this, so thank you.” at least the bill ain't on him.
“You’re welcome, Robert Robertson.” she drawls, amused-
He pauses. A chill running down his spine. He sits right up, the alcohol swallowed too hard.
Adrenaline pumping him out of his relaxed stupor. Fucking- “How- how do you know my name?” his voice hardens, not his proudest moments.
“Oh whoops?” her tone was still lighthearted.
Should he make a jump for it? She doesn’t seem with ill intent harm, and she already knows that he’ll get picked right back up like a ragdoll if he does try to get away. He steels himself. No point in antagonising or concerning her.
“What is going on, what do you want?”
She looks at him in concern. Like she hadn’t just dropped an atomic bomb right into his psyche. She eased trying to lighten the mood.
“Ok ill tell you. But first how’d you end up with a name like that?”
He drawls, rambling to keep the panic from taking him over. “Oh you know, family tradition, my Grandfather was nicknamed Bobby, and my dad who I called Dad but everyone calls Robbie and me Robert.” because no one got close enough to nickname him and “I wanted to be taken seriously.”
“Mmm family tradition.”
“In more ways than one.” he grabs his drink, nervously swirling it around. “I’m not drunk enough to tell my superhero origin story.” It especially seems like you know too much right now.
“Yeah me neither, but remind me to tell you someday.” she smiles.
She floats closer to him. He scooches back. She sees this before putting out her hand. Wordlessly asking him to take off the mask. He reluctantly agrees. The tension never leaves his body. She opened up his mask, leaving him exposed. The cold hair tussled to his face. The bruise at the side of his head blooms.
She grabs him by the chin. Tilting his head from side to side. A wave of uncomfortable spikes flourish all throughout his body. Yet he keeps himself still.
“We can work with this.”
Her eyes look crystal clear. Like she was seeing potential in something she was holding. His eyebrow twitches, mouth forming into a tense line. He doesn’t know what she’s seeing.
She must've seen his uncomfortable state, floating back at a professional distance.
“Listen, I know I've been a bit unprofessional and I'm sorry but I'm here on official business.”
“Alright.” he downs the rest of his drink. Putting it to his side. The glass would just bounce right off of her, so he’s glad he didn’t try.
“Well on how I know your name, and identity, do you know of the superhero named Trackstar?”
“Uh yeah. He’s like-“like family, the only friend he’s ever had. An older brother he never got, an emotional core of his childhood -”Uhh yeah, he’s my- was my babysitter. My dad’s coworker. We haven't talked in a while, what about him?”
“I work with him in SDN, He recommended you.”
“Oh great, how is he?” his throat felt dry. He knows how he is. He’d been following him for years.
“He’s doing great, he’s why I'm here.” she smiles again. “Robert, in exchange for dispatching and mentoring some of our rookie heroes, SDN can make you Mecha man again.” she rambles on about the benefits of being in a company. But all he could make out was the chance to fix his Mech back at a faster rate.
He easily agrees. While he knows going corporate and the contract states a year of operating under SDN for data collection and protection. He was desperate enough to give in and take the generous cherry branch. Even though they would have him on file.
She handed him a pair of goggles. He examined them in his palms. A small routable thing. A simulation test. It was like playing a small puzzle game that he used to play. It was fun. Easy, familiar in a sense that it doesn’t take much brainpower than piloting a suit. It was nostalgic in a way that he doesn’t want to explore.
He felt something on his shoulder. A weight that wasn’t there before, flinching he takes the glasses off for a second. The weight feels hot like it burns through his skin and suit.
Blazer seemed to notice his discomfort. Backing off and dozing on her own. Looking apologetically. He finishes off the rest of the stimulation with efficiency. Not wanting to be vulnerable without sight.
He tried to lighten the awkward tension. “Well it seems like I'm a natural.” There was little satisfaction, he gave it back to her.
“I can see why Trackstar recommended you.“ she smiled. Floating away before facing him. “Meet me at the SDN offices tomorrow.” She smiles softer. “I'm not done saving you yet.” he smiled sardonically back at her.. She didn’t seem to notice. Waving as she flies away.
Upon realizing that he was stuck on the billboard, he’s got no energy to call for anything other than just laying there for a few more moments. Basking in what just occurred. He could get the suit back and operational without too much of the financial burden.
Yet he would have to work in a corporate setting. While the benefits are huge, having his civilian and hero identity in tandem with each other could pose a couple problems, he just has to try his best to not cross any lines. He doesn’t need anyone getting too close, less he gets distracted by the little things like workplace drama.
His stomach turned inside out as he realizes that the alcohol that was beaten from his system is slowly coming back out. Turning to his side he lets the liquid vile escape from his throat. At some point he did get down with some determination, elbow grease and a hard fall halfway across the side poll of the billboard.
—-
Fucking hell, morning was hell.
He feels weird. Standing in the office, with a hoodie over business casual attire. Regretting ever drinking more than a shot. He helps another man with his own tie. Languishing in something to do as he sits back down. Sighing. Everything was way too much yet too little. Being outside the armor really did fuck with his perspective of what well-lit and voyeuristic the outside world is. At least the ad was funny.
Blazer came to get him. When they entered the room he could feel a presence. Call him paranoid but he could always tell that there was some silence in the room that he couldn't discern. His senses were on full lockdown ever since Shroud has been on par.
“Take your clothes off.”
The fuck? “Uhm- excuse me? What’s happening right now”
“Oh sorry- I just wanted to give you your uniform. I'm glad you came in wearing something civilian. A lot of our dispatchers are former heroes but it's better if you keep your identity a secret. We’ve had incidents in the past”
She’s already sizing the uniform on him. Well guess he’ll have to do it. “I remember you being bigger?” well he was just a few months ago. It's hard for only a week of not having an appetite and a serious lapse in his finances and schedule.
“Alright.” he takes the uniform. Staring blankly at her. Moving to the other side of the room he throws his hoodie to the chair. Only for the hoodie to subsequently float and try to run out of the closed storeroom.
A girl appeared. “Fucking shit- who locks a conference room?”
Her name is Invisigal. Noted. He’d have to look out for her by a longshot. He notes that she was susceptible to a little talking, although her sarcasm was acting as some kind of shield.
“Wow, can’t believe this washed up, plain, dod-bod scaredy cat is going to lead us.”
So, she was scoping out her new manager. And already antagonizing them. Great first impression.
Blazer sighs disappointedly, stating that she was at the bottom of the leaderboard, her posturing attitude was predictable. She acted like how he felt at 15. Still stuck in the phase where the world is out to get you and all choices made were just a pawn for a higher scheme that you couldn't see til it was too late.
Great times.
He only shook his head in disbelief.
“Yeah we’re trying to rebrand her. Meet me at the records room, I'll let you change.”
He still resigned himself as he changed in the thankfully now empty meeting room.
—-
“Ok, Mecha man-” that Royd guy he fist pumped in the bathroom cause he thought he was just some random guy taking a piss outta him blares the line of danger.
Panic overtakes him like a cold dump in the head. He checks the stalls and just right outside the halls. He turns back. “Ok, does everyone know who I am?” he angrily whispers. Being out of uniform and knowing your identity still leaves him anticipating a shot to the head.
Maybe it'll stop the slow pounding. The last of his pills are already wearing off.
“Relax brutha, I’m the one fixing your suit.” good to know.
He seemed friendly enough. Although he really should wash his hands.
—--
Robert goes about his way finding a room labelled ‘records room’, it was a damp thing, filled with records. There was an old looking black Einstein who looked at him with recognition.
“Holy shit, who’s this freckled face fuck? How are you?” he proceeds to hug him with vigor, freezing and tensing up.
“That's an aggressive way to greet someone.” He tries to maneuver the senior citizen from out under him.
“Look at this skinny latte prick, you’re bones kid.”
“Yup cool, uhh, how’d you’ve been a Trackstar?” it came off bitter. His voice doesn’t waver, it doesn’t. It's just been a long while since he last saw his friend. Sure the white hair and wrinkles and the way he seemingly shrunk his entire height out of existence leaves a regret insurmountable to his chest. He half heartedly pats him in the back. Shaking the feelings of regret when he found out the exchange for the power.
“Well enough. Just call me Chase around here, keep it on the down low.”
“Yeah sure Chase.” the man patted his back, a wave of nostalgia overcame him.
“Has it been 10-15 years?”
“Wow, have you guys known each other for that long?” Blazer stands by the door.
“Yeah I reached out to this little pissant when his dad died. Then he got to fuckin’ me like he owed me money.” He knows Chase meant well, and was the only one out of everyone in the brave brigade to check up on him. After sometime he stops responding, less home more suit type, it wasn’t like he was ignoring him per se.
“I was at a weird place.” understatement of the year. It never did feel like he was out of that place just yet.
“I understand, kid it was tough on all of us, I understand what you went through.” For the second time his throat feels tight. Pushing it all the way down his gut, he skips over to where the introduction is. He could probably find more about them when he gets back home. The files were abysmal to say the least and he doesn't want to be taken by surprise.
“Now let's go meet your group of losers."
His own group of ex-villain, heroes. There was a sense of excitement he hadn't felt in a long time.
-----
“Hello team, this is your dispatcher Robert Robertson-”
The other lines erupted in laughter before he could even finish. The first one spoke up, almost choking with their humour.
“Tell me that’s not your real fuckin’ name!” Was it really that stupid?
A more sharp voice speaks up.
“You stuttering, bitch? You can’t be this shook on your first day, come on.” He wouldn’t have been if he wasn’t cut off…
“Robert… Roberts… Robertson… Roberts… Roberto… Bobert…” Was this guy even talking to him directly or having genuine trouble with the name? The chattering was wearing on his already aching, hangover-affected brain.
“Can we clear the channel, please? There’s a lot of overlapping-” more laughter and interruptions, It clearly wasn’t working.
More jeers and insults thrown his way. With 5 years of cold experience he hacks through the intercom. Still surprisingly easy. With a little tinkering and a pettiness only hangovers could manage he syncs the comms in a high pitch static through all the z team members earphones.
“Ow What the FuCK!”
“My EARS”
“The fuck is this stupid shit broken!?” it seemed to break from the monotony. Just like a controlled shock he fears that he may have aggravated them. He’ll handle it later, for now he needs to do his job.
“Now that the channels are clear I would like to preface this to say that I will not be so don’t test me when it comes down to it, alright?”
“This lad' is fucking insane.”
"Not cool Roberto- Not cool- now my super sensitive ears hurt!"
“Wow, you really do like giving your little speeches. Is that some kind of Superpower?”
“Damn Rob Bob got some moves. I’m betting on Monday.”
“Friday”
“Wednesday..”
Wonderful, he was already getting betted on what was most likely his last day. He already knows this is going to be a long shift.
—---
There was a body in the middle of the room and yet all this girl could do is look at some donuts.
“Now’s not the time to be buying donuts” he stresses as he hacks the mainframe surveillance of the building. “You need to check his pulse.”
“Chillax, I have ADHD can’t you tell fucker?”
“Yes fucker, now you need to clear out the area.”
She was as cooperative as an unruly child. He wasn’t this disobedient as a kid. Maybe she just didn’t have any authoritative figures in her life so now he’s saddled with having to teach her back to basics. While her form was alright her self-sabotage was more than unnecessary.
With half the store destroyed, donuts and shit thrown everywhere, it was a miracle that the authorities didn’t confuse her for a villain more than the Granny client did. It was atrocious. He was better at half her age fumbling around with controls that he couldn't decipher.
On a little sticky note he scratches. ‘PROPER DISCIPLINARY AND PROCEDURAL HERO TRAINING’, her instincts are that of a villain. She needs proper guidance if she’s ever going to get out of that phase.
He knows types like her are easy to give up, and even more so when aggravated.
He needs to control his temper, the frustrations were stacking up further and being stuck behind the desk made him feel so hopelessly baffled whenever they would fuck up the most simplest of task.
God he wishes the suit could be fixed up faster.
—----
“Huh, what kind of superhero flinches?”
He takes a breath. Trying not to crush his lunch in his hands. Deep breathes. It’s just been his first shift.
“Don’t read too much into it. If you had people trying to kill you for the past decade you’d be jumpy too.”
“What makes you think my life has been any different?” it could've been, she had other options, she wasn’t stuck- “you think growing up surrounded by shitbag villains I didn’t need to watch my back?” at least she didn’t have a legacy to uphold.
“Yeah well I guess you can do a better job at listening and making better choices, sure you got fucked from the beginning but that doesn’t mean shit now.” She had multiple outs.
“What the fuck” fuck his tone.
“You can’t just go around-”
Another bat screams. He blatantly ignores it.
“Look, I actually just came by to see that the mission was going well.” She looks at his lunch on the table. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your little sna-.”
Impulsively his mouth scoffs. “You seriously think that went well?”
“It went great” she was looking for validation, but she failed to realize. That type of behavior was not worthy of validation. He knew the expectations were low but not all the way down to hell.
“You trashed the place, the suspect got away and the client got hurt. Do you think when the guy got signed up for SDN that it'd result in the back of his balls getting scorched with metal?”
Another scream. It was grating but he needs to focus.
“You’re right at home behind that desk because you are no hero, you are a nerd playing a video game with a superiority complex-” and he wants out “A real hero puts their ass on the line.”
“And a real hero knows when to take orders” he nearly screamed.
He catches himself. What kind of hypocrite would he be?, his head already falling into pieces in front of him, he needs to be gentler, communicate clearer. He takes another deep breath.
He slows down. Levelling with her, trying to show that he is on her side “Ok, listen. I know that you are ec-sta-tic — but the fact of the matter is. I can see you doing better.” She gazes harder, like a perpetual child. “Look you must be proud of what you accomplished but I can see you getting there further alright? What you lack is experience and I'm saying that you have a choice in doing better and not staying complicit.” Her anger must’ve boiled. He was too late. She disappeared. The door behind him opened. He sighs in disappointment.
Yet he could feel a presence at his side.
“Fuck you, was just wanting to celebrate, don’t give me that bullshit and your wittle speeches don’t mean shit, dickhead.” the door slammed with a resounding sound.
The punch wasn’t a surprise. What's another in the face of things? Haha face.
The screaming bat, Sonar, looks over at him.
“You’re weird.” he looks at the twinkies on the table. “You gonna eat those twinks?”
His appetite left him as he could feel blood slowly pooling out of his nose.
“No, you can have it.”
—---
“I hate doing this- I hate- I hate you.” Each scramble of the metal hit with a clang clang clang.
The hammer wasn’t enough, he knows that. But his tiny child brain shakes his fist to do it.
It was painful though.
It was something that he was alive.
It was the first time someone other than Chase looked at him, like truly looked at him. From all the pent-up anger and rage, at least he would catch the attention of the wayward scientist that was always in the garage.
Who was ever so silent that he never really spoke beyond the party.
From the corner of his eye from where his Dad’s imposing figure blocks. He would see his new Uncle. Who stared at him in understanding.
—---
The second shift went as well as it can be. With a bleeding nose and screaming stomach he wills himself to sit still for the meeting. He knows what he needs to do.
He looks at Blazer head on. He needs to invest in this. While his suit and leads are still in the down low he needs something to do with his mind during the interim. Headache or not he became invested when he saw the ragtag group of ex-villains with no prior experience of heroism but have the potential to go beyond the expectations of a press-conference pipe dream. The banter, although draining, was fun. It was easy to get lost in the insults and majority of the time they keep in line if you mirror their attitude back unto them.
“Trust in me, I know it's going to get spicy but I need them to respect my authority.” he looks at her. “And please don’t come to save me when the time comes, I can handle my own and they need to see that I'm on their side too.” he looks over at Chase.
“That’ll be some tough love.” Chase looks at him knowingly.
“The only one I know.”
Blazer smiles. That same knowing smile on her face that didn’t feel etched or tense whenever she was with others. They walk out of the building. There was a hulking figure of muscle and masculinity. He was Phenomaman. The one in the ads. Still as immaculately well dressed as ever.
“Wow I thought you were small.”
“I do get that a lot.”
He got invited for some sushi. Blazer seemed reprieve but he would’ve loved to get a freebie either way, he has to go to the convenience store to get his weeks worth of supply and the man did intimidate him to a healthy extent.
“I’m good.. I have to take care of some things, maybe next time.”
Blazer mouthed a thank you at the back of the hulking figure. The man seemed clueless if nice. He keeps his distance and informs him before flying off and leaving a crater, so overall it wasn’t too bad.
He comes home light to his feet. There's a steady step that he is determined to work with. To truly mean his words. Robert's father always meant his words. If he tells you something is going to happen he will make it happen, Threats included. So Robert will continue on from what little legacy he could still keep alive.
He looks towards the suit. Its insides hollow. He looks towards his laptop, sitting peacefully in the kitchen. After a long day he decides to take a nap.
—--
He swore he heard a thud echoing somewhere.
The man in a cloak skulking around his house.
The thud of heavy boots and the gun on his side.
“Uncle Eli? Where are you going?”
He looked at him. One eye looking down. He looks back somewhere again. Seemingly boring into Robert’s soul. Was he calculating something? Should he be doing something?
He reaches out.
The man flinches. Before he could hear the safety pin of the gun turn and a shot rang out of the tomb house.
He sat straight up from his plastic chair. Files of the members sprawled in the kitchen aisle.
His heart thumped in his chest. His groans came off ragged.
Ok breathe.
He was researching, he’s researching. Right now.
That was all he was going to do tonight. Nothing more. He’s got enough hours but it was better than falling back into sleep. The plastic chair croaked as he made himself comfortable.
He needs to dig deep into their history. Their past barely covered everything that they stood for now. Work was easy, something to keep his mind and his wits end. Maybe he could last just enough to see them not getting scrapped and tossed away, to not have to deal with them when out on the streets when he becomes Mecha-man again.
Later that morning Blonde Blazer stood, eyeing him nervously. He had just entered with an entire arsenal of files. Well prepared, catered with notes of needs that the Z team needs to work on. It was a small implementation but he’s 50% sure of the reception rate if he introduces it slowly enough.
“Hey Robert. Can I come speak with you privately in my office?”