Chapter Text
Robert hated the press. Hell, any hero in LA could say the same. They were vultures with microphones, circling disasters and poking at open wounds until something bled headline worthy. The fact that the people involved were actual humans tended to be an afterthought. A boring one.
As Mecha Man, Robert had always had a particularly weird relationship with them. Mostly because he’d been more focused on stopping crime than on posing correctly while doing it. PR personas were for heroes who had the time and patience to workshop catchphrases. Robert had neither.
As far as he could remember, he’d only done two press conferences in his entire life. One when he was fifteen, freshly shoved into the Mecha Man mantle and still young enough to think honesty was a good idea. The other when he announced his half-retirement after the suit got destroyed, a sentence he still resented on principle.
Neither had gone well.
Part of that was his sharp tongue and total lack of media training. The larger part was that reporters treated him like a button mashing game, convinced that if they pressed hard enough he’d finally snap and give them a quote that would live forever on someone’s lock screen. Or a full crash out, memed for eternity.
Which raised a very important question.
Why was he here again?
Robert stood backstage in his hero suit, staring at a folding table with three water bottles and a stack of pre-approved talking points he had already decided not to read. Literally anyone else on the Z-Team could’ve done this. And they would’ve done it better. Even Waterboy, stutter and all. At least Waterboy tried.
Sure, Robert had given the Z-Team plenty of lectures about how heroes needed to talk to the public because connection mattered or whatever inspirational nonsense he’d been channeling that week. But first of all, the press barely counted as people. Second, he wasn’t even an active hero anymore. And third, yes, he was a hypocrite.
‘Do what I say, not what I do’ was his personal motto.
Still, the knot in his stomach refused to go away.
Press conferences didn’t get scheduled like this for no reason. Not with this much security. Not with this many cameras. Someone wanted something from him. An announcement. A confession. A reveal.
And judging by the way no one would quite meet his eyes backstage, it was probably going to ruin his day.
Robert covered his face with his hands, muttering, “I should have died in the explosion…”
It had been a few days since Shroud’s defeat, which meant Mandy couldn’t technically be Blonde Blazer without accidentally killing Chase by taking the amulet away from him. Okay. Not a can of worms Robert was touching right now, especially if he wanted to continue not being suicidal.
The point was, the Z-Team needed a hero representative for the conference. Blonde Blazer was unavailable, and Chase was currently being poked and prodded by Royd in the hopes of finding a way to keep him alive and keep Blonde Blazer from retiring.
Anyone could connect the dots from there.
Mecha Man was the literal last option.
At least he wasn’t at the lowest point of his life like the other two conferences. He was just at his third. Maybe fourth.
“One minute before we start!” someone yelled, and suddenly people were moving faster, shuffling papers, adjusting earpieces, doing everything in their power to stay busy and absolutely not stare at Robert.
It was impressive, really. How many people could stare directly at him and still refuse to meet his eyes.
In Robert’s most honest assessment, he had no idea what this shitty press conference was even for. Maybe he’d know if he’d read the eighty-seven pages of talking points the SDN had handed him, but who were they kidding? Not even their own HR department read the official handbook. Why would he read scripted talking points?
Mecha Man wasn’t part of the SDN.
Robert Robertson was.
See? Two completely different entities.
So fine. He’d play nice. He’d do his best to hold his tongue, because he was here representing the Z-Team, and he cared about the bastards who’d somehow lodged themselves into his heart. He didn’t want them catching bad press on his account.
That didn’t mean he was going to play totally nice.
-----------------------
Robert had been yapping for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a few minutes. The lights were harsh, bleaching everything into sharp edges, and the reporters in front of him could barely contain their bloodlust. The other representative seated beside him at the conference table kept glancing at him, like Robert was something embarrassing that had been tracked in on a shoe.
Which was ridiculous. Robert was the only legacy hero at the table. Depending on who you asked, that made him either a living legend or a nepo baby. Possibly both.
That wasn’t the thing, though.
Just as he finished speaking, the moderator, a soft spoken, slightly shy younger man who kept his hands folded too neatly, hummed quietly into the mic. “With that, we conclude the general questions. It is now time for the reporters’ questions.”
Ah.
So here came the fun part.
Every reporter in the room snapped their attention to Robert, ignoring the other heroes on the panel like they’d been rendered invisible. He couldn’t tell them apart if his life depended on it. Suits, smiles, and the same hungry eyes.
A hand shot up immediately, and before Robert let them have the word, they started talking.
“First of all.” The reporter began, voice sugary. “We want to commend the Z-Team for their heroic efforts in stopping Shroud and saving Los Angeles.”
Murmurs of agreement. Nods. Cameras clicking.
Robert didn’t move. Didn’t smile. He could practically feel the hook dangling.
“But.” The reporter continued, smile tightening. “Given that the Z-Team is composed entirely of former villains, how can the public be sure this wasn’t just… self-interest? Or a temporary change of heart?”
There it was.
Another hand. Another fucker he hadn’t lent the word. “Isn’t it fair to say that trusting ex-villains with the city’s safety is a dangerous gamble?”
Robert leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together like he was settling in for a movie.
“Wow.” He said lightly. “Who the fuck raised you?”
The room stilled. Mandy was so going to kill him later. Totally worth it.
“I didn’t even give you the floor.” Robert continued, unbothered. “Also no introduction? No, my name is Extra #3 from MoneyMcFakeNews? You guys didn’t even let me answer the first question.”
A few reporters bristled.
Oh. How Robert loved to stir the pot.
The moderator shifted. “Mecha Man, sir-”
“No, no.” Robert waved him off without looking. “This is great. I love efficiency. Since we’re skipping basic manners-”
He leaned forward, smiling now.
“-let’s be honest.”
Silence tightened. Cameras zoomed in.
“It must’ve been really nice.” Robert said casually, like they were discussing brunch plans. “Sitting in your penthouses while people you think are beneath you bled to save the city you live in.”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
“You praised the Z-Team for saving LA.” He continued, tone calm. “And then, in the same breath, asked if they should be treated like unexploded bombs.”
Robert tilted his head.
“Just so I’m clear, do heroes only count if they’ve never messed up? Or do they stop counting the second they stop being convenient?”
The moderator cleared his throat, visibly panicking. “Um… that will be enough. How about we change the topic to something lighter.”
“Ugh…” Robert muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Just as it was getting good.”
He paused, mentally. Maybe he had been hanging out with the Z-Team too much. He usually wasn’t this much of a ragebaiter.
Whatever.
Lighter questions were usually just gossip with an “official source” badge. Robert honest to God never really gave a fuck about them. He usually ignored those questions or answered something vague, but every once in a while it was fun to keep them on their toes with a half-lie. As a treat.
A reporter raised their hand and cleared their throat. “Mecha Man, there have been rumors of people seeing you at gay bars. Could you confirm-”
“Yes.” Robert said calmly. “I have had gay sex before.”
The room exploded.
Someone dropped a pen. A camera operator choked. The moderator made a noise like a dying goose.
“I am a hero.” Robert continued, dead serious. “What kind of question is that?”
The other hero representatives stared at him.
Robert stared back, like they were the weird ones. Honestly, what kind of hero had never tried gay sex? Amateur behavior.
The reporter blinked. “S-so you’re confirming-”
“I’m confirming you wasted your question,” Robert said. “Next.”
“Mecha Man.” Another reporter rushed in, desperate. “Do you think this is appropriate to discuss at a press conference about public safety?”
Robert squinted at them. “You brought it up. Don’t get shy now.”
A beat.
“Also.” He added thoughtfully. “If gay sex disqualified people from saving lives, LA would’ve burned down years ago.”
He gasped dramatically, pointing at the reporters. “Are you saying I can’t be a hero because I fucked a guy once or twice? That’s crazy.”
Pause.
“Also extremely homophobic.”
The reporters fumbled.
The moderator was sweating.
Cameras were snapping like it was the end times.
From that moment on, the conference finally became entertaining. Hell, Robert could even say he was having a blast, exaggerating, overblowing, and twisting his own words on purpose. Damn. Now he understood why the media had so much fun misinforming the public.
This shit ruled.
“Mecha Man, there are claims that you almost killed someone by throwing them out a window. Is that-”
“Um, actually.” Robert said easily. “I threw them off a balcony. And they were still breathing. You should really check your sources.”
A pause.
“…Is that standard procedure?” The reporter asked weakly.
“Only on Tuesdays.” Robert replied. “And emotionally speaking, they deserved it.”
The moderator choked on his own spit.
Another hand shot up. “Is it true you caused over three million dollars in property damage during the Shroud incident?”
Robert hummed, thinking. “That feels low.”
“What?”
“I mean, spiritually.” He clarified. “It was at least five. Maybe seven.”
A different reporter leaned forward, eyes bright. “So you’re admitting reckless behavior?”
“Wow…” Robert said flatly. “Very homophobic.”
The room froze.
“Phenomaman destroys buildings all the time.” Robert continued. “But when I do it and have gay sex, suddenly it’s ‘reckless.’ Interesting.”
Someone in the back yelled. “Didn’t you say all heroes have gay sex? By that logic, wouldn’t Phenomaman also be gay?”
Robert gasped. Loud. Offended.
“Are you assuming Phenomaman’s sexuality?” He demanded. “In this economy?”
Another reporter immediately fired back, in an attempt of something normal. “Mecha Man, is it true you’re banned from three different gyms in downtown LA?”
“Yes.” Robert said immediately. “All unrelated incidents.”
“What incidents?”
Robert smirks. “Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy.”
Another voice jumped in. “There are allegations you and a former villain were romantically involved during your active hero years.”
Robert tilted his head. “Which one?”
The moderator made a strangled noise.
“Is it true you once fought a crime lord while drunk?”
“Tipsy.” Robert corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Did that compromise civilian safety?”
“No.” He said. “Total ego boost.”
Someone else shouted. “Have you ever abused your hero status for personal gain?”
Robert thought about it. “Do free coffees count?”
“Yes.”
“Then absolutely.”
Another hand shot up. “Is it true you refuse to work with certain heroes due to personal grudges?”
“Oh.” Robert said. “Those grudges are extremely professional.”
The moderator tried to interrupt. Failed.
“Mecha Man.” A reporter asked desperately. “Do you have any regrets at all?”
Robert leaned into the mic, considering.
“Yeah.” He said. “I regret not asking for royalties sooner.”
The room had fully lost control, reporters talking over one another. The moderator whispered frantically to someone off-mic. The other heroes looked like they were reevaluating every decision that had led them to this table.
Cameras flashed. Headlines were being written in real time.
Robert grinned.
This was better than therapy.
The conference was cut short soon after due to a “power outage,” which Robert was fairly certain had been man-made and accomplished by someone backstage with access to a breaker and a headache. Either way, it didn’t really matter. He’d had fun.
He checked his phone.
A sea of messages. Z-Team. Chase. Mandy.
…Whoops.
On second thought, maybe he’d made a tiny mistake. A microscopic one. Barely measurable. Still, he was getting paid, and if the SDN hadn’t fired him after several documented HR violations, then this was basically a scrap by comparison.
He couldn’t even find it in himself to feel guilty.
Worth it.