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Summary
The thing about Robert was that he was not a real person. He was real in the sense that he existed in documents and identifications, real in the sense that his heart beat and his veins circulated blood. But beyond that, there was very little of the man that could really be attributed to personhood. When he heard the calls of distress, when a breaking news report would flash across his phone's cracked screen, when he felt a buzzing beneath his skin telling him something is wrong, he would walk to his closet where the cowel and jumpsuit sat, or open his bag where they sat waiting for him. He would pull them out, and as he slipped them on Robert Robertson the III would cease to exist, allowing MechaMan to take his place.
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An incredibly self indulgent fic in which Robert Robertson is not alone in his own head
Series
- Part 2 of my fics #myfics