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Robert isn’t sure when the idea first popped into his head. All he knows is that it sprouted roots pretty fast after that first seed. Truth be told, the idea was always sort of there. From the moment he got the news of his dad passing to the moment he crushed Elliot’s windpipe under his thumbs. People don’t make a lot of sound when they die, contrary to popular belief. Robert would know, he had been pretty quiet for a long time. Not that he’s dead. But it was a close call. If he’s honest with himself, had Chase not been there, Shroud would be dead. He would have bashed his head in right on that rooftop. Like he imagined doing in all his years as mecha man. It was his duty. As much as it was to protect the people, to be the perfect mecha man, to live up to his legacy, it had been his duty to avenge Mecha Man Astral.
He looks down at the sealed bag in his hands. He hasn’t opened it yet. It wasn’t the time. Not just yet. He knows what's in the bag. He had been very meticulous. Checked, double checked and triple checked. It was important.
He caresses the bag absentmindedly, thoughts drifting to Shroud once more. He was in jail. Not getting out anytime soon. Probably not even picking up a spoon by himself anytime soon. Brain damage. It's impressive how little time it takes for oxygen deprivation to fuck up your brain. Surely faster than what movies tell you. It can take just four minutes to get to a point of no return. He shrugs and rolls his shoulders, trying to get the blood circulating to his freezing arms. It turned out to be colder than he imagined. Not ideal. He would like to do this right. Four minutes. And that's without the added concussion. It’s honestly kind of a miracle Elliot survived. He was so sure he was going to have to disappoint Chase.
The thought brings a sour smile to his face. He doesn't think himself a monster for what he did to Shroud. If anything, he may even think himself a hero. No, what makes him think is the pleasure he got from the feeling of his blood on his knuckles. The soaring sensation he got in his chest when Shroud started pleading. When he looked down at Elliot and the sickly pride he felt under the adrenaline wasn’t for his father. He had pleaded. Truly pleaded. And the reason he stopped was because Chase would be disappointed in him. He would never say it. He knew Robert too well for that. Robert would still see it in his eyes, the way he shifted around him. Just like he saw that look of pride now. Admittedly, it felt good. Even if it was misguided.
He rolled his shoulders again. It did nothing to bring blood to his trembling fingers. His stomach rumbled, as if protesting against the motion. He angrily ripped off a cigarette from the pack he brought. He had been trying to quit for years now. He supposed it didn’t matter. He had other organs that could be used. He deserved to cut himself some slack. He had never thought about being an organ donor. Didn’t have to. It was always a given, ever since he took up the mantle of Mecha Man. Maybe even before that. He had registered the moment he turned 18. It had been his birthday gift to himself. It had helped he had no family to consult either. After all, he was going to die in the suit. If he did not go out too mangled, it meant that he could have one more heroic act before he became worm food.
He lit the cigarette. The smoke brought a false sense of warmth and stopped the incessant rumbling of his stomach. He sighed. Exhaled a column of smoke right into the night and watched it dissipate.
He started to run his mental checklist again.
First up, location. Check. He had chosen a remote one. An abandoned housing project the city never bothered to finish. No sentimental ties to him, not a place anyone was going to check if they came looking. No close neighbourhoods. He could make as much noise as he wanted and it wouldn’t bother anyone. He smiled to himself. There were little to no lights where he sat curled up on top of a half finished building, and the stars looked beautiful. It would have been nice to get a picture, he supposed, but he had left his phone at home, on quiet. As far as everyone was aware, he was at home enjoying a nice vacation after everything went down with the Red Ring.
Next up, will. Check. Hired a lawyer and everything. He could have very well made a legally binding one without a lawyer, but he wanted to be extra sure. Went as far as to contact someone that had no ties to the SDN. So, check.
Lease. Almost check. It was going to be over at the end of the month. Eight days later. He had not renewed it. He had an alarm set in place to alert the authorities. After all, his organs would be no good for anyone if he was left to rot here for too long. So not long until he was found. Maybe a day or two to get everything settled. That left four or five days for Chase to move what little he had in his apartment out. He could decide what to do with them. He didn’t have enough belongings to bother the man anyway. The suit was still in SDN’s lab, waiting to be transferred to Royd. In that case, check. He would put it to good use, Robert was sure.
His stomach growled again. He huffed another breath, more angrily this time. It was irrational, but the fact his digestive system refused to get with the program pissed him off.
Right, next; body. It took almost three days to completely empty the digestive track. Which he had been doing, check. Approximately twelve hours to completely empty the bladder. The last time he drank something was with the Z-team the night before, which would make nineteen hours thirty minutes. He checked his watch. Thirty two minutes. Check. It was childish maybe, but he refused to piss himself like his father had done. Or to cause any extra work for whatever poor soul that found his body. If he had any luck, he would be found in a few hours and he wouldn’t decompose so badly. Even if they didn’t, it was winter anyway, he chose to believe in small miracles.
He lit another cigarette. He had lost count of how many he had but it was giving him a nice buzz. Might as well, since he couldn’t drink right now.
He hugged the flimsy sweater he had on closer. He was losing circulation in his fingers and that just wouldn’t do. He tugged the hand not holding his cigarette under his armpit and continued on with his mental checklist.
Documents. Check. Everything Chase or Mandy might need was tucked away safely. Two copies, one in his office drawer at SDN, other in his house in a safe recently purchased. He had let his lawyer know, along with the code to the safe. The keys to the drawer were also tucked in there. Speaking of, the drawer had been emptied and cleaned very deliberately to make space for the documents, everything that had been inside sitting at his feet in a bag. It wasn’t anything worthy of stealing. An old photo of him with his dad, a more recent one of him and Chase. A smaller one of Beef, the one he normally keeps in his wallet. A knife, from Janelle. A single earring that he found and forgot to return. Probably Courtney’s, or one she stole from Mandy. Various sticky notes. A few other keepsakes from the Z-team. Things like that. He had taken them with him for sentimentality’s sake.
He stubbed the finished cigarette, changed hands and lit up another one. Continued the list.
Projects. Finished. He had spent the months after Shroud’s arrest tying up loose ends. Now with the Red Ring truly, definitively disbanded and him in jail requiring help to even wipe his ass Robert was sure he didn’t have anything to fear. In any case, he had left a pretty hefty document containing information about all the former members and how to activate the security protocols he had installed. As precaution, he had told himself when he was setting everything up. A list of potential allies, people who owed him, potential foes. He didn’t want to think about why he really was doing all of that. No matter. It had paid off in the end. He was free to relax. Truly relax. Not need to look over his shoulder or to tear himself to pieces to keep going for just one more day. He liked to think he had a good run. Maybe he hadn’t lived up to his legacy but he had tried. And now he was allowed to rest. He took another drag off of his cigarette. His hands had stopped hurting and he could feel the circulation coming back bit by bit.
He took his other hand out to cradle the package in his arms more tightly. Soon.
Next, the funeral. He rolled his eyes. Check. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t want one of any kind. He had always found them dull and miserable. Especially for a hero. Death was an occupational hazard, one he had determinedly -and maybe a bit eagerly- accepted. He also knew that Chase would want one and if he did not arrange everything he would be stuck dealing with it after Robert was gone. It was also a high possibility that the man would resurrect him just to beat him to death anyways. So, funeral it was. He had put away the amount necessary to pay for a ceremony and cremation. He didn’t want to rot away in a coffin. It seemed wasteful. Chase could do whatever he pleased with his ashes. He just hoped he wouldn’t do something stupid like spread them over his father’s grave. He chuckled at the thought. Chase was going to be so pissed at him for causing them to have a closed casket funeral. The idea of a Chase fuming and glaring at a closed casket was so vivid in his head he couldn’t help but laugh until it turned into wheezing coughs. After a good minute of laughing and coughing to himself, he managed to get his breathing under control. He got comfortable on the janky crate he was sitting on. A few more things left to go through. He checked his watch again. Fifty three minutes until it was time. One hour after that for the alert to go through. Approximately twenty eight minutes after that until the police and the ambulance arrived. The paramedics would arrive a bit faster, he supposed but that didn’t matter. He had set up an hour to make sure they could declare him dead at the scene.
He lit up another cigarette. He had six left in the pack, which promised him a nice time until his fifty three -now fifty one- minutes ran out.
Notes. He wasn’t one to leave a long heartfelt letter about how everything was so hard and he was so tired and it wasn’t anyone’s fault and all that classic bullshit. He didn’t want pity or to drag it out unnecessarily. Unfortunately, he had things to say he could not say without raising any suspicion. So, check. He had one prepared for the next dispatcher for the Z-team. Mandy and Chase filled in for him during his leave but eventually they would have to hire someone new. So he left a detailed note of which heroes worked best together, what were the strengths and weak points of all of the members, and everything necessary for the field. Then a smaller section with each member’s personality. What motivated them, what battered their spirits and what signs to look out for to make sure morale was kept up. Both for the workplace and personal life. He made a similar note for the Z-team, to ensure they didn’t drive their next dispatcher insane. To make sure they behave. The first one set on a timer to be sent to HR and Mandy after his death and the second one to the team’s groupchat. Next up was Chase. It was an unassuming envelope with two photos inside, left on his kitchen aisle, easily noticeable. One from when he was a kid, a group photo with the Brave Brigade, him and Chase squished to the very corner, grinning and doing Track Star’s signature pose. The second one was from a few months ago, a blurry photo of him clinging to Star Blazer, taken by Alice. A copy of the one he had in his bag. A simple letter was tucked in with the photos, reading “Love you old man, take care of Beef or I will haunt you.” with a smiley face scribbled at the end. Then, on the back, because he couldn’t help himself, because he knew how hard Chase had tried to reach him years ago, another line that read “thanks for everything”.
He felt the cold line of a tear run down his face as he thought about it. He couldn’t be sure if it was just the cold stinging his eyes or if he was truly getting emotional but he didn’t dwell on it; checked his watch again. Forty-two minutes. He tossed out the cigarette that burned up uselessly in his hands and lit another one. Two more to go.
The most important, Beef. He reached over to his bag to pull out the picture he had. Out of everything, over the two months he spent preparing, the guilt of abandoning Beef was the only thing that made Robert question his plans. In full honesty, he probably wouldn’t go through with it if Chase hadn’t made a full recovery. If he didn’t have anyone to leave Beef with. But he was also sure that he would be in good hands with Chase. God knows the man loved him. Maybe even more than he loved Robert. After all, he had all but kicked Robert out yesterday when he had dropped Beef off and asked him to take care of him for a few days. Going out drinking tonight. Massive headache tomorrow. You know how it is. He chuckled at the beaming smile on Chase’s face and how happy Beef seemed to be at the opportunity to stay with his favorite uncle. You’re getting old too huh kid? I got him. Now shoo- Yeah, definitely more than he loved Robert. Check. That was what solidified his plan in his head. It had made him so happy to confirm Beef would be okay even if he was gone. He just hoped the little guy wouldn’t be so confused about why his dad wasn’t coming back. He felt another tear fall down. Right. Getting emotional then. It was fine. He stroked the little picture in his hands. Lit another cigarette. Thirty-six minutes. Four more cigarettes. It suddenly didn’t feel enough. He had to savour what he had left. He took a deep breath, held it until he felt his lungs scream for air, then exhaled. One more thing to check off.
He reached for the package still cradled in his arms, stuck his cigarette between his lips and tore it open with two hands. Gun. Elliot’s. The same one he used to shoot Robbie. Along with two bullet casings and four bullets from evidence. Huh, he thought. Guess the bastard had lied about how many times he shot Robbie.
It had been remarkably easy to get his hands on the thing. All he needed to do was hack into the LAPD database to find the case number and the combination of the evidence locker. Then he had just broken in, replaced the gun with a fake one and got out. No one even noticed. Now that he thinks about it, maybe he should’ve left a note for the police department on how to improve their safety as well. It was too late to do a full guided tour, and he didn’t particularly care to baby the police. They would surely see the gun and the evidence bag anyway. He cradled the gun, fingers caressing the crevices of it almost reverently. He was expecting to find two bullets and to gamble. He figured it was a salute to both Robbie and Elliot, and if he didn’t die from it, it was simply fate. Now that he knew there were four bullets left, his chances of dying had just skyrocketed to 66%, increasing by almost 100%. He could practically feel Elliot laughing at the odds. Oh well. The gun was an old thing. It had probably been a while since it was cleaned too, no actual guarantee that it would fire. That was why he had bothered to climb so high up. It wasn’t ideal to have his guts splattered on the pavement but if it came to that, it came to that. He shrugged once more, shaking his arms and warming up. He carefully loaded up the four bullets, spun the chamber and tasted the weight of it in his hands. It was almost comforting. Like a weighted blanket or a stuffed toy. Cozy. Promising rest and safety. He checked his cigarettes. Three. Then his watch. Seventeen minutes. He cradled the gun to his chest and lit up a cigarette. As he savoured the taste he thought, was this the part where he was supposed to reminisce about his life? To think back on all his memories one last time. He didn’t feel like doing that. Cataloguing all thirty years of his life sounded exhausting. He chuckled. After all, he was supposed to be on holiday. He carefully put back the picture of Beef in his bag. Then he got up and circled around the roof, periodically looking down to see an ideal spot to jump if the gun did indeed not fire. Towards the southeast of the building, where all the debris and metal frames were dumped, there was a promising pile of rubble. He finished his cigarette as he dragged his bag and the shitty crate he was sitting on over to that edge. Six minutes. He lit another one of his cigarettes. Nothing left to do but wait now. He could watch the stars until it was time. He wasn’t kidding when he said they were beautiful. Shame that it couldn’t be seen from the city, really. Mal would surely appreciate them. Or Victor when he was tripping on something he should definitely not be having. He smoked leisurely, letting the smoke draft into the night sky like it was part of the milky way. It looked beautiful. Peaceful.
He checked his watch one last time. Three minutes. Perfect timing for his last cigarette. He lit it and laid down on the cold concrete. His back had been aching from all the hours he spent crouched on the crate. He twisted his hips, cracking and releasing the tension in his spine. He groaned in relief, pressing the gun closer to his heart. Perfect. He could feel all his tension leaking from his body as the clock ticked down. He felt light, carefree, almost giddy with excitement. His alarm went off as he was halfway through the cigarette. He silenced it, quietly watching the stars until it was finished.
Then, silently he got up, carefully examined the gun again. He supposed there was something poetic about going out the same way his father did. After all, his legacy may have been to die in the suit but that wasn’t how Robbie had died, was it? At least Robert was not going to piss himself. The gun's barrel clacked against his teeth as he laughed at the thought. Maybe it was a last fuck you to Robbie, maybe it was a last attempt at connection with him. It didn’t matter. He settled the barrel against the roof of his mouth and silently prayed that it would go off the first time. He pulled the trigger.
It was nothing grand. He didn’t hear an explosion. Didn’t feel any pain. Just a mild sense of surprise at the fact it had actually gone off. All in all, death was as unremarkable as an ordinary day in life. His glassy, unseeing eyes locked into the stars above from where he had fallen down.
Yeah, it was peaceful.