Chapter Text
The thing about being Mecha Man was that if you piloted it, you were statistically most likely to die prematurely. So far, with all the data collected across every Mecha Man, there was a two out of three chance of dying on the job or because of the job. Mecha Man Prime and Mecha Man Astral both died honorably, with their legacy shining bright and the world mourning their passings.
As it should be.
Mecha Man Blue, however, was living a less honorable fate. Robert Robertson III was the first Mecha Man to survive the end of his hero career.
Blinded by a cold need for revenge and an anger he couldn't quell, he fell right into Shroud's trap. Something he could have predicted, if he'd just taken a moment to think clearly about the situation. Shroud could predict things with those weird augments of his. Every move Mecha Man made, especially the emotion-fueled ones, would be so easy for him to see. He’d always be ten steps ahead. But when Robert found out that Shroud, the man who ended his father's life, had escaped jail after all these years, it was already over for him. He had been driven by a single minded goal for weeks. He tracked him all over Torrance with obsession, kidnapped one of his men, found their stupid villain hideout, and tried to execute revenge. 'Tried' being the key word here.
While he was being a laser focused machine, Shroud was playing a game of chess. Moving each piece that led to the moment of the explosion. In the chaos, Robert hadn't seen or noticed anyone sneak up close enough to plant the bomb that ended the third Mecha Man. But somehow they managed. When the suit blew up, Robert thought that was it. Everything was over. The well-known fate of Mecha Man was happening all over again, this time ironically in an attempt to avenge the previous Mecha pilot.
For some reason, as it was happening, he hadn’t cared. He'd been ready to die from the moment he first took the reigns after his father's passing, and he’d been riding on that anticipation since he was sixteen.
When Robert woke up from a coma four months later, he was surprised to learn that the Mecha had taken the brunt of the explosion. And then cushioned his fall once he hit the ground. He didn't remember the falling part, or the impact with the ground. The last thing he remembered was reaching for the bomb and being too late to stop it.
He wanted to say his life flashed before his eyes at that point, but everything had happened so fast. It was like those four months he'd been asleep had been nothing more than a blink. One second he was in the Mecha, and in the next, he was waking up in the hospital feeling extremely agitated and confused. There was no time for his brain to go through any kind of complex thought. But he wondered if it had flash before his eyes, how much would he have seen his father's disappointed gaze in his memories?
Too many times, he was sure. His father had never been proud of him. No matter how hard he worked, how hard he pushed himself, how good his grades were, his father had never once been proud of him. And if he had been, he never showed or said it. Robert had always been left wondering.
That's what he thought about now, after some asshole asked how his father would have felt, knowing what had happened.
"So, Shroud kills your father, goes to jail for fifteen years, breaks out, and immediately dupes you into a trap, where he destroys the Mecha Man suit and puts you into a coma for months..." The reporter had said.
"I didn't hear a question there." Robert said back, already getting annoyed at the condescending tone the reporter was using. It was clear he didn't have a high view of him. Or at least, for his generation of Mecha Man. He always lived in their shadows, the black sheep of the title. Prime and Astral had always been better than Blue.
"Two parter," The reporter clarified. "First, why didn't Shroud kill you? You haven't been conscious for months. It'd be easy money taking you out."
Robert didn't know. Not the real answer, anyway. But he had at least a guess.
"Okay... Shroud wanted the Astral Pulse and Mecha Man gone," Robert said, his eyes downcast. "He got both. I'm not sure I mattered much."
Without the Mecha, he wasn't anything. He didn't have powers. He was just Robert. Powerless, normal, Robert Robertson. He didn’t even have the Astral Pulse anymore, and that’s the thing that made Mecha Man possible.
"Right, you're unimportant," The reporter said, looking all the more unimpressed with him. "Which leads me to my next question."
Robert mentally braced himself.
"Most heroes avenge their family. You... did the opposite," The reporter said, his voice giving away a slight hint of amusement. All this was, was some big scoop to him. Beating a ruined hero while he was down would surely get a lot of reads. "You killed their legacy. How disappointed would your dad be if he were here right now?"
Robert felt his chest tighten at the question. No amount of mental preparation was enough for him to address something like that in front of the public. Especially since their opinions of him were likely so much lower, after the explosion. After his failure.
"Your father, your grandfather, they must be rolling over in their graves." The reporter went on, relentless in his verbal pushing. It was like he couldn't help but drive the nail further, trying to get some kind of reaction out of him. For a moment, Robert contemplated stepping off the stage so he could beat his face in. That would surely give him the big scoop he wanted, and he’d even get to be apart of the fun. But lucky for him, Robert was exhausted, and the effort alone seemed like too much for him to handle. He’d barely convinced himself to come to this press conference.
The audience waited silently for his response. Pictures were taken, causing light to flash in his eyes. It was making his migraine worse. His head hadn't stopped hurting since he woke up two months ago. He squinted for a moment against the blinding flashes, struggling to formulate a proper response. Maybe he should just walk away, but he didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of scaring him off.
And suddenly, as the cameras kept blinding him every few seconds, his life was flashing before his eyes. With each picture taken, he saw images of his dad inside his head. Of him frowning, of him scolding him. Never once did he remember him smile because of him.
"Get up," He always said. "Get up. Mecha Man never stays down."
And Robert did. He always did. When he was at his limit, when they money started to run dry, when he was so hungry he was shaking, when his knees tried to give up on him, when he was beaten black and blue, Robert always got up. Every time, without fail, without hesitation, he got up again and again. Pursued the identity and purpose that had been handed down to him from previous generations.
Robert was Mecha Man. And Mecha Man always got back up.
But he couldn't anymore. Mecha Man was dead, and Robert Robertson III was all that was left.
Robert took a shaky breath before speaking. "I think he would be proud," He said, knowing full well that it was a lie. His heart was heavy as he continued. "Cause I'm alive. Which, as you so sensitively pointed out, he isn't. I think he knows that I sacrificed everything... and that I did my best. Being Mecha Man... protecting my community... was the greatest honor I'll ever have. Now I have to live knowing that," He paused a moment before leaning into the mic. "Thank you for coming."
Later, he stood outside staring at a TV in an electronics store. He managed to avoid any reporters mobbing him once he stepped outside the safety of the conference, which surprised him since all he did to blend in was throw on a jacket and remove his mask. He merged with the busy rush hour crowd seamlessly until he ended up on this street, watching a TV through a store window. He didn't own a TV of his own-- much less anything else, if he was being honest. So, if he wanted to see what the news thought of him, now was his chance.
His interview was being broadcasted, with the newscaster saying, "Up next, is Mecha Man actually a Mecha Quitter?"
Robert couldn't help but sigh. Torrance definitely didn't have a good opinion of him now, it seemed. He failed to make the people like him, to be the hero he needed to be, to preserve his grandfather and father's legacies, and even to get up. Worthless. That's what he was. A disgrace to the family legacy, a blight to their existence. He ruined everything. He destroyed the Mecha. Shroud was still out there, still free despite his sins. And now Robert was a broke nobody with chronic pain, and he couldn't do a damn thing to make a difference in the world.
He couldn't even make a difference in his own life. He had nothing left. No family, no friends, no purpose, and no job. Maybe he really should have fucking died that day if this was what he had left. Not to mention, on top of the no job and no money part, he was heavy in medical debt after that fucking coma. So, really, he had negative money. Thanks America, for really helping out your fellow man.
What quality of life was left after all of that?
The only thing keeping him going was his damn dog. If Beef wasn't around, he'd be heavily debating going to the roof of his apartment building and throwing himself off of it right about now. But no, he had to take care of the fucking dog. A part of him felt resentful over it, but he was aware enough to know he loved Beef and his frustration was coming from elsewhere. He was also aware that, if the dog wasn’t around, he probably wouldn’t be standing in front of this store right now. He might’ve already been black out drunk standing on the edge of a bridge. But...there was nobody who could take Beef in if he died, and if he ended up in a shelter he could either be euthanized or end up with shitty owners.
He wasn't going to risk that. Not on purpose. Not intentionally. But if something happened, well... not like it’d be his fault at that point, right?
So, Beef. That was his reason for living. A dog. A being that depended on him and had nobody else in the world.
Great.
Now he had to figure out a way to live. Just so the dog wouldn't go hungry. But that sounded really complicated and exhausting. Fuck.
Robert dissociated a bit as his interview played out on the TV. His focus shifted to his own reflection in the glass window, which stared back at him. He was scrawny compared to a few months ago. His muscles had atrophied and his frame had thinned down, making his flight suit look too big on him. He felt weaker, too. He got tired quicker. Felt pain more frequently, and for smaller things. Like his feet. They were killing him, just from walking a couple blocks. His knees creaked. His back always ached. His left arm rested limply in his sling, pulsing with pain because he hadn't been keeping track of when to take his pain meds. His eye bags were more pronounced than they'd ever been, and he looked like a shell of his former self.
He already wasn't doing great mentally before the coma, but at least now his outsides reflected his insides. It was depressing as hell.
It was as he was observing himself that a truck pulled up right by the sidewalk, and someone threw a rock at the window of the store. It made him jump, since it was so sudden and unexpected. He turned, completely bewildered as a group of thugs started to loot the electronics store right in front of him. There were four in total, all with different colored ski masks to hide their identities. One of them took a crowbar and smashed more of the window to make enough room to reach through and pull out one of the TVs. They started loading whatever they could get their hands on into the truck.
Robert pulled his mask out of his pocket and stared down at it for a moment. What were the fucking chances that a group of thieves would pull up right next to fucking Mecha Man to rob a store? It was so incredibly ironic that something like this happened, literally right when he’d just finished announcing his retirement and could probably do nothing about it. He had no suit. Only his fists. Weak fists that hadn’t punched another person’s face since before the explosion.
Should he really pick a fight? It might be dangerous. He might get beaten or even killed. His body was in a fragile enough state that he could imagine passing away from a tap to the head that was just a little too strong. It would be safer to turn the other way and wait for a... for a real hero to handle it.
Still... maybe if these fuckers killed him, he wouldn't have to worry so much about what his future held? Sure, there was still the matter of Beef. The dog he was desperately clinging to for a reason to live. But how likely was it that he'd really end up with a bad family? He was just so cute and fat. Who could resist a face like that? He was really just trying to come up with any reason to keep living, when he thought Beef would only end up in bad places if he died. The old lady next door was always gushing over him, and even bought treats to give him when they crossed paths. There's no way she'd let animal control take his pup. She’d even taken care of him when Robert was rotting away in the hospital for all those months. Maybe she’d enjoyed his company enough to keep him forever if Robert happened to die.
Fuck it.
Robert donned his mask and turned to face the robbers.
This was stupid. Incredibly, undeniably stupid.
But he didn't care.
"Hey. Assholes," Robert said, and they paused to look at him. "Yeah. Just put the TV's back and you can leave. I won't say anything to the cops, and this doesn't need to escalate."
"Aye! Who're you calling assholes, asshole?!" The one with the red ski mask said, pointing at him from his crouched position within the back of the truck.
The one with the orange mask stepped forward, blocking Robert from the rest of them.
"I'll handle this idiot," He said. "Keep loading. We're out of here in thirty."
Robert narrowed his eyes. He knew he didn't look intimidating, not even a bit. But he was Mecha Man. Shouldn't they show some fucking respect, at least for that? People might see him as a joke now, after everything. But he still used to be pretty great at his job. He wasn't just fucking around for all these years. He used to mean something to this city.
The orange one turned back to him. "And who the fuck are you?" He started walking towards him, gesturing with his crowbar threateningly. "Yeah, you. Go-go fucking hobo ranger. Who the fuck are you?"
Robert removed his jacket and threw it to the ground. "Right now, I'm someone with nothing to lose. Which is probably bad news for you."
"Oh, really?" The orange one scoffed. "Well, whatever you do have, you're about to fucking lose. You're just some washed up nobody."
Was this guy fucking dumb? He said he had nothing to lose. Meaning quite literally just that.
Robert sighed. "I'm sure I can at least handle a pack of skittles idiots like you."
The orange one huffed in annoyance. "God damnit," He muttered. "Look," He poked his chest with the crowbar. "You're hurt. You're not thinking straight. You don't wanna fight someone who knows which fist every hit is coming from--"
Robert swung his injured hand out fast, punching the thug in the face before he could react. The hit was hard enough to knock orange-guy on his ass, but the consequences of using his left arm became glaringly obvious almost immediately. He was pretty sure his shoulder just popped out of its socket. His whole arm throbbed something fierce, so much so that he didn't have time to dodge when the other three thugs surrounded him and started wailing like there was no tomorrow. He liked to think he held his own for at least a good few seconds, but before long, he was on the ground.
Every hit hurt like crazy, but somehow he wasn't regretting his decision. He was exactly where he deserved to be. On the dirty ground, surrounded by thugs, getting his ass beat for doing something stupid as hell. A fitting place for the one who destroyed Mecha Man’s legacy.
He could imagine the headlines now. 'Mecha Man, beaten to death by skittles-themed robbers outside of a TV store just an hour after his last interview. Is he following his father's legacy after all?'
He'd laugh, if he wasn't currently in the fetal position with his head covered getting banged up all over again.
Somehow, despite all his self-sabotaging efforts, the fight didn't last nearly as long as he expected. Because for some reason, Blonde Blazer herself showed up to rescue him from his beat down. Robert knew her because SDN promoted her image like crazy. On billboards, on the news, on bus ads. Her image, along with Phenomaman, was printed all over Torrance. How could he not recognize who she was?
She seemed to know who he was, too. Not surprising either, considering... he was currently the one all over the news. Everyone inside of Torrance, at least, knew how much of a failure he was. But he didn't think being infamous was the same as being famous, like she was. He even told her as much. Somehow, the rescue led to Blazer helping him pop his arm back into his socket before he could protest and then bringing him out to a hero bar.
The 'fixing the arm' bit wasn't so fun, since it hurt a lot. And the remaining bruises from the dislocation were an addition to his already fractured radius bone. He'd aggravated the fracture, too, but he'd like to think he was playing it off pretty great. His sling disappeared... somewhere, during the fight, and he hadn't brothered to pick it up. But the bar part? It didn't start out so bad. Blazer said he looked like he needed a drink, and she wasn't wrong. They laughed and joked about the thugs she'd saved him from, and he explained how their ski masks made them look like skittles.
She laughed pretty hard at his jokes, which was nice. He hadn't laughed with anyone for a while. He had no idea why she invited him out. He was just some washed up guy, now that the Mecha was gone. And she was Blonde Blazer. The symbol of what a golden age hero should be these days. Bright, strong, and radiating kindness. Maybe she was curious about him, or felt pity? Either way, he was getting some free drinks out of it, so he didn't really care for the true reasoning.
"So, how'd you afford all of that?" Blazer asked, referring to the suit. "You must have spent hundreds of thousands--"
"Millions," Robert admitted, rubbing his thumb along the side of his glass. Blazer's eyes widened surprise. "So, you'll understand when the check comes."
"You're serious?" Blazer gaped at him. "Millions?"
"Yeah, I basically burned through my entire inheritance keeping it going," Robert shrugged, trying not to wince when the action made his arm twinge. "Last few years were just duct tape and sheer determination."
"Why... why did you do it?" Blazer asked, looking both awed and appalled at the same time.
Robert took a long sip from his beer before answering. "Do what?"
"Sacrifice everything to be a Superhero to the point of financial..." Blazer trailed off, searching his eyes for answers.
"Ruin?" Robert finished for her.
"I was gonna say hardship, but ruin was the first word that came to mind, yeah." Blazer admitted sheepishly.
"I don't know..." Robert said, his tone shifting with an edge of sarcasm even though he was being fairly truthful. "I guess I just like helping people."
He did. He liked being useful. He liked when he was able to make sure the people around him were able to keep living, breathing, and pursuing happiness. He wasn't able to keep his dad alive, but at least he could do that for others. It felt good, knowing that he'd been able to make that kind of difference in people's lives.
Now, though? Now he couldn't do anything. Couldn't save anyone. Not even himself, it seemed. Now he had to rely on people like Blazer to swoop in for the rescue.
Maybe the world didn't need him anyway, if people like Blazer were around. At least he had that to comfort him.
Robert drank deeper from his glass, feeling his mind dull a bit further. He was definitely starting to feel the alcohol kick in. He had been drinking a little more than he usually did, since he felt like he deserved it. But it probably didn't help that his tolerance was shit after the coma. He had less muscle mass and fat to compensate for the intake. He wouldn't get shitfaced, since he didn't want to make Blazer responsible for his wellbeing. If he was too drunk to get home, he'd either end up in an alley, or Blazer would have to help him home. And he had Beef waiting for him, so he wasn't going to risk ending up in an alley.
"So, you drunk now, or what?" Blazer asked, teasing him a bit as he set his glass down.
"Uh... yeah..." Robert slid his gaze over to her and laughed lightly. "I should probably be switching to water."
"Well, good," Blazer said, turning herself more towards him. "Because I was hoping after some drinks to loosen you up, I could get to know you some more. And if that went well, then... I'd present you with a proposition."
Robert paused. Is that what this was? Or was he being totally delusional? That was a very flirt-worthy comment, and anyone could make that assumption in this situation. But even though she was looking at him with a light flush on her cheeks and eyes that could see into his soul, he for some reason got the feeling she wasn't trying to seduce him. Blazer didn't seem like the type to go after broken and vulnerable men. She, despite the casual and lightly flirty atmosphere between them, seemed like the type to find a man that was well put together and confident. Which, Robert was neither.
He was witty, but in a self-deprecating way as of lately. And that didn't spell 'confidence' or 'put together' at all. He doubted being a sad little washed up ex-hero was all that attractive to begin with. She could do so much better than him, and Robert was sure she knew that.
Either way, Robert didn’t think he was in the right mental state for a hookup right now.
Still, he was curious where she was going with this. He leaned on the bar with his arm and turned to her so he could go along with it.
"A proposition?" Robert said.
"Yeah, I'm just trying to figure out if this is a fit or not, you know?" Blazer said.
Robert did not know. He had no clue what she meant by that.
"Well, I have to say, Blazer," Robert said, grasping a glass of what he thought was water. "That does sound intriguing."
He went to take a sip of the water.
"Wait, that's actually--" Blazer tried to stop him.
Instead of the cool refreshing water he expected, he was assaulted with the burning flavor of pure alcohol. It was like drinking straight nail polish remover. Before he could stop himself, he spit the drink out. Right in Blazer's face.
The hero closed her eyes and sighed. "Not water."
"That's like--" Robert gaped, trying not to gag on the taste that was still left in his mouth. "Pure alcohol.”
"It's not like alcohol, it is alcohol," Blazer said, wiping her face. "I know... because you spit it directly into my open mouth," She pointed at another glass, the one right next to the one Robert just spit in her face. "That's water. See? How it has ice in it."
Robert cringed. "You drink hard liquor from a pint glass?"
"Actually, I usually just drink it straight from the bottle, but..." Blazer turned away from him. "I thought that would be more embarrassing."
"That's crazy." Robert couldn't help but laugh, despite the humiliation burning through him. Thankfully, Blazer didn't seem too put off by it since she laughed with him.
"I'm gonna go clean up." Blazer told him as she stood from her bar stool.
"I am so sorry." Robert told her.
"It's fine," Blazer smiled reassuringly. "I'll be right back, I promise."
With that, she walked away. Robert was left alone at the bar counter. He ran a hand down his masked face, letting the embarrassment hit him now that he had some time alone to process it. He was such a jerk. Sure, it had been a total accident, but who just spits in someone's face like that? God, he needed to get ahold of himself.
He lifted the glass with the ice, inspecting it seriously for a second. His vision was mildly blurry because of the alcohol. But after a sniff test, he was certain it was actually water. He took a sip, finally getting that cool relief.
"Hey! Bitch!" Someone with a thick accent he couldn’t place called from behind him somewhere.
Robert ignored it at first, certain that it wasn't directed at him. Why would it be? It's not like he knew anyone else here besides Blazer. He didn't exactly have any friends. Maybe he had plenty of enemies, but he doubted any of them would show up in a hero bar. Unless...
"Hey! I'm talkin' to you, bitch!" The voice called out again, this time notably closer than before.
Curious, Robert did turn to look this time. Against all odds, it seemed that somehow this person was talking to him.
"Okay, just so you know, I turned around because someone yelled, not because I'm a bitch--" Robert started, but once he caught sight of the man that was walking up to him, he froze.
He knew this man. He was tall. Much taller than Robert, with large muscles and long, dark hair that was pulled back into a neat ponytail. It was jelled down to keep each strand in place. He wore a dark hero suit that was decorated with flames and a v-neck that stretched down far enough to reveal dark chest hair and the start of the abs on his stomach. He had on thick sunglasses that reflected orange light. They were polarized, Robert realized when he saw the hue shift in different lighting. The man’s frame was filled with tension and anger, and he was flanked by two others. One was a dark-skinned woman wearing a mask that obscured her face, and the other was a shorter, pale man that couldn't be over 4 feet tall. They both looked like they were about to back him up if this turned into a fight, but Robert had no intention of fighting. Not after realizing who this was.
"Don't you watch the news? This is a Superhero bar." Flambae said.
Yes, Flambae. That was his name. Robert knew him all too well.
Because he was the one who put him in jail what must have been years ago. He remembered him vividly, despite the short time they'd spent together. Flambae had been burning down a mall, and Robert had stopped him. He remembered because... it had been a close call. Flambae had put up a very intense fight, and nearly melted a hole in his Mecha. Flambae had no idea just how close he'd come to burning him alive. Robert had panicked, activated his plasma sword, and sliced off some of his fingers. His eyes were drawn to the man's clenched right hand as the memory played out in his head all over again.
He'd seen Flambae in the news more recently. But not because he was a villain.
It was because he was a hero working for the SDN. He wasn't overly popular and didn't rank high on the hero charts, and it wasn't like he was on the news a whole lot. But Robert had seen at least a clip or two of him. Enough for him to do a double take and do a deep dive into his own research. He had to hack into some data bases, illegally, but his curiosity made him do it despite the questionable morality. Flambae had been released from prison early, with the condition of joining some type of reform program at SDN. He’d been working there about a year by this point, if Robert did the math correctly.
That was about as much as he'd pried into it. Any more, and he would've started to feel more guilty than he already did. He cut off two of the man's fingers, which he'd never intended to do. It was totally his fault, since he'd been unable to keep his cool under the pressure Flambae had put on him that day. He didn't actively maim the villains he fought if he could help it. Not in permanent, life altering ways. His intention was to help people, to stop bad things from happening, even if it meant fighting people. Sometimes even if it meant killing people if it was clear there was no other choice and it was their life versus the life or lives of the innocent. But for a lot of reasons, Flambae’s situation had been different. The man hadn’t been hurting anyone but himself and Mecha Man, and there had clearly been something deeper happening behind the scenes.
It had been a scream for help. Or a self-destructive spiral. Robert didn’t know the intricacies of what had been happening in the man’s head that day, but he understood enough to know that he hadn’t deserved to die. He’d just needed help, but Mecha Man hadn’t been able to reach him. Killing him would’ve crossed so many moral codes, and severing his fingers was definitely the wrong move. The incident had stayed with him all these years. It wasn’t like he thought about it all the time, but it had definitely been a reoccurring thought in his head that made his insomnia worse some nights.
"Uh..." Robert said, quite inelegantly. He was regretting the alcohol now, since it was making it so hard for him to think. He stared at Flambae for a few more seconds. He looked bigger in person. When he was in the Mecha, everyone always looked so much smaller to him. But reality was starting to settle in, now that he was no longer hiding behind the metal walls of his suit. He wouldn't consider himself smaller than the average person, but he was deep in the world of supers. And people who were super generally tended to be bigger than the average person, with some exceptions.
"You're really gonna act like you don't remember me?" Flambae's glare was so intense Robert could feel it even though his glasses. He felt the air around him noticeably get warmer, and was strongly reminded of just what his power was.
"I..." Robert hesitated, swallowing thickly. His heart was pounding hard inside his chest, making it hard to think. "I remember."
"Do you?" Flambae asked, prompting him to speak further. He wanted proof.
"Yeah..." Robert said. His mouth suddenly felt dry despite the glass of water he’d just been sipping on. "Flambae, right? I've seen you on the news. You're a hero now."
"Damn right," Flambae said, taking off his glasses as he stepped forward to loom over Robert threateningly. The heat in the air intensified as his glowing, orange eyes locked on to his ordinary brown ones. This guy could not make it any clearer how unhappy he was to see him. "And if you remember, Mecha Bitch, I control the fire and the flame," He lifted his hand, the one that was two fingers down, and ignited a flame right by Robert's face. "And my skin does not burn."
"I remember," Robert said again, eyeing the flame warily. He grasped his glass of water tighter, just in case it seemed like he might have to put it out. "You definitely... left a lasting impression."
"That's right," Flambae said, seeming so very satisfied with himself. "I'm a hero now. And you are no longer Mecha Man. So you need to get the fuck out of here before I burn your face off. You get me, bitch?”
"Look," Robert blinked slowly at him. "I'm... I'm sorry... okay? I'm sorry. I really am."
Flambae furrowed his brows, taken off guard. "What?"
"I'm sorry about your hand," Robert continued, nodding down at the flaming hand that was still inches from his face. He could feel the heat on his skin despite remaining untouched, and it was borderline starting to become painful. Still, he didn't distance himself from it. He didn't see a reason to. If Flambae burned him, he would deserve it. And he still had that water if he tried to take it too far. "I mean, I'm not sorry about stopping you that day. You were putting people's lives in danger, including mine and yours, and causing all kinds of property damage. Someone needed to stop you. But I... um... I'm sorry I cut off your fingers. That part was... totally my fault. Probably made you feel worse than you already did. If you wanna punch me, or... or kick my ass... I won't stop you. I’d deserve it.”
"Jesus, lad," The shorter man that was flanking Flambae's left side said. He had a thick Irish accent. "I'm not sure you wanna take this man on full force. He'll turn ya into a pile of ash if yer really a normie."
Robert shrugged, not really caring. "Then I'll be a pile of ash."
Better that than waking up tomorrow, honestly.
The other super on Flambae's right snorted. She had settled down at the bar a few stools away, and clearly already had some drinks in her. "Geez... that's... didn't know he'd be so morbid."
"The fuck?" Flambae lowered his hand, and the flames extinguished at his side. He still seemed tense and coiled to fight, but there was uncertainty in his expression now.
"What?" Robert couldn’t help but laugh. He was too tipsy for this conversation. Or actually... maybe he wasn't tipsy enough. "Is that not what you expected to hear? I could make fun of you instead, if it makes punching me easier. How about..." He hummed in thought. “I should call you... ah... Sunglasses-At-Night guy. Glad you took them off. Kinda made you look like a jerk.”
"Shut up, bitch. It doesn’t count if you don’t mean it. I expected a Mecha Dick to be a Mecha Dick," Flambae said, gesturing to all of him. "Instead, I'm faced with some depressed Mecha Loser who can’t even come up with a good insult. The mighty sure have fuckin’ fallen.”
"Well, you know..." Robert trailed off, tapping his fingers against the glass of water. "I've lost everything, if that wasn't clear. Who wouldn't be depressing after that?"
"I still wanna punch your fucking lights out," Flambae said. "It doesn't matter to me if you're some depressed little shit. You're still Mecha Bitch."
"Let's take it outside, then," Robert offered before he could stop himself. For a moment, he was surprised by his own words. But they were already out, and he didn't see why he shouldn't let him get a hit in. It wasn't like he was in the mood to preserve his life right now. "I'll let you hit me or something. Whatever you want."
"You fucking serious, bitch?" Flambae asked, staring at him like he was insane.
"As a heart attack." Robert said.
Flambae seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if waiting for Mecha Man to reveal it was all a bluff. But in the end, he decided to just go with it. "Then let's fucking go. Out back, right now. So I can punch your lights out.”
"Alright," Robert agreed easily. He turned to the bartender. "Let Blazer know I stepped out when she gets back, alright?"
The bartender glared at him. "Whatever gets you out of my bar."
Well... he didn't know what he did to piss off the bartender, too. But it seemed par for the course right now.
Flambae followed on Robert's heels as they made their way outside to the alley behind the bar. The heat radiating from the man blanketed him from behind, shielding him from the cool air of the night. If he weren't following him for the sake of beating his ass, Robert might've been able to find the sensation comforting.
What a twisted thought that was.
Robert sighed as he turned to face the ex-villain. He put his hands in his pockets, trying to make it clear that he wouldn't be fighting back. He didn't want Flambae to think this would be anything other than a one-sided, consensual beat down. They watched each other for a few seconds. He looked back and forth, making sure nobody else was around. Thankfully, the alley seemed empty. He swallowed thickly, feeling a little sick to his stomach. Just because he was exhibiting these self-destructive behaviors, it didn't mean he enjoyed the pain. He was no masochist. It was more along the lines that he felt he deserved to be punished. He deserved to suffer. To be hurt.
He'd failed as Mecha Man, and Flambae was one of his failures. He'd hurt him irreparably in the past. That mall incident... Robert wasn't dumb enough to see it for anything but what it had been.
A self-destructive spiral. Maybe even a botched suicide attempt, not unlike where Robert's mind was right now. Flambae hadn't been stealing. He hadn't been fighting anyone. He hadn't killed anyone. He'd looked at the footage that had been uploaded to a cloud before the cameras melted. The man had simply... walked into the middle of the food court. Paused for a long while. And then lit up in flames. Everyone was able to evacuate the building. There weren't even injuries.
And when Mecha Man went in there, he had at first tried to talk him down. But Flambae hadn't wanted to talk. He'd wanted to fight. He'd thrown himself at Mecha Man relentlessly, with a drive that only someone with nothing to lose could have. Robert understood now what that was like. And he could admit to himself how poorly he'd handled the situation.
Who the hell cuts off someone's fingers when they're trying to indirectly kill themselves?
"Alright," Robert said, when the silence between them became too much. "Go on. Hit me with everything you got. I won't fight back. I deserve it. Just... try not to burn me too bad if you're planning to use your fire, okay? Burns are a bitch to heal."
"Your pussy ass couldn't handle my flames without the suit." Flambae clenched his fists. There was smoke rising from his shoulders, but notably no flames. Despite everything, he was holding himself back. At least a little.
"Probably not," Robert admitted. The burns he'd suffered in the crash were the most painful to deal with. Even after waking from the coma, those wounds hadn't healed easily. Some of them still hurt even now that they were healed. Nerve damage, the doctors said. There was a lot of that, now. Just another burden on his back, and that was partially literal. "But I said whatever you want, so..."
"I'll just fucking punch you," Flambae huffed at him. "You deserve worse than that, but if you're not fighting back, it would feel wrong."
Robert shrugged. "Take your shot, then."
Flambae stepped closer to Robert, his eyes blazing with hatred and fury. "You cut off my fucking fingers."
"Yep," Robert said. "Guilty as charged."
"You put me in jail." Flambae continued.
"I did." Robert nodded.
"You ruined my life." Flambae accused.
Robert shrugged. "I'm not sure if I can be considered solely responsible for that, but sure. I definitely aided in that."
"Fuck, you're such a dick," Flambae huffed, smoke coiling above him. "I hate your guts. And you're not a hero anymore, I'm the real hero now. I'm better than you. And better than you ever were."
The words stung. So did the words earlier, when he said he shouldn't be in a hero bar. Because he wasn't a hero anymore.
"You are," Robert agreed, trying not to sound as small as he felt. His chest ached from more than just physical pain. There was something deeper gnawing at him. "You're a hero, and I'm a nobody. That's the way things are now. I'd say I'm proud of you, but you'd probably hate to hear it."
In some fucked up way, he was kind of proud. A villain that he'd put away had found a path into the light. He'd worked on himself and became a good person. He did good things now. Had overcome some personal hardships to get there. He was a hero, during a time when Robert couldn't be one himself. He gave him every reason to keep being a villain, and yet... he'd overcome it.
"I don't need approval from the bitch that took my fingers." Flambae snapped.
"Didn't think you did." Robert said.
"Brace yourself, Mecha Dick," Flambae said, rearing his fist back. The same one causing all of this animosity. "You'll be fucking lucky if I don't knock your teeth out."
Robert closed his eyes, bracing for the punch.
Flambae hit him hard. Hard enough for his head to snap to the side and his whole body jolted before he fell flat on his back. For a few seconds, his ears rang so loud he thought he'd gone deaf. The world spun above him as Flambae stared down at him, and he saw his image duplicate. Damn, he really hit him hard. It was taking everything in him not to throw up after that.
Flambae crouched down and smacked his cheek lightly a few times. "Damn, you alive, bitch?"
The audacity of this man to ask him that after nearly snapping his neck. His one hit alone hurt ten times worse than anything those damn thugs earlier had done. But he supposed that made sense. Even when someone had a basic power, they always seemed to have the added benefit of being stronger and more durable than the average person. Fuck, it sucked being a normie. What was he thinking, becoming Mecha Man when he couldn't even handle one punch from a super outside of the suit?
Robert attempted to say he was alright, but he wasn't sure what garbled, butchered version of that sentence actually came out. Flambae sighed and grabbed Robert's shoulders, forcing him to sit up. He didn't know why he was helping him after all that, but he figured he shouldn't ask.
"Damn, didn't know you were that fucking weak, Mecha Bitch," The Superhero said, actually looking a little worried as he looked into Robert's eyes. He seemed to be checking for signs of a concussion, and that assumption seemed to be correct when he reached forward to pry open one of his eyes. He was checking pupil dilation. "Outside the suit, and all it takes is one punch to knock you flat? Can't believe a loser like you beat me back then. Fuck, man."
Sitting upright, the world slowly started to steady itself once again. He huffed breathlessly as he pushed Flambae's hands away, feeling his cheek throb like crazy. He raised a shaky hand to feel that it was already starting to swell. But with a quick check using his tongue, he was glad to realize no teeth had come loose. He couldn't exactly afford a dentist, so it was a small victory that he didn't have to worry about that.
"Feel be'ter?" Robert slurred, still feeling pretty dizzy even if he wasn't seeing duplicates of Flambae anymore.
Flambae seemed unimpressed with his questions. "Are my fingers still gone?"
"Uh..." Robert struggled to form a coherent response. "Yeah?"
"Then no," Flambae said. "I don't feel fucking better."
"Wanna hit me again?" Robert asked. He tired to phrase it like a joke, but he wasn't really joking. He'd let him do it again if he wanted. He dreaded the inevitable pain, but he knew he’d deserve it.
"Are you fucking suicidal?" Flambae asked in return, exasperated. "If I hit you any more, I'll catch a murder charge. You tryin' to turn me into a killer, bitch?"
Robert shrugged again and laughed, as if the question wasn't as serious as it was. Flambae scowled at him for it. "Not like I got anything to live for at this point. Already dead on the inside, it won't be much different to match on the outside."
He should stop talking. It could be the alcohol, or maybe the possible concussion. But he was being a little too honest.
"Shit," Flambae gaped at him. "This bitch... you for real wanna die? You're not fucking joking, right?"
Robert went silent, not sure how he was supposed to respond to that. Flambae glared back at him, waiting. His gaze was still sharp and angry, but under that there was a hint of... concern?
Before anything else could happen between them, they were interrupted.
"Flambae?" They turned to see Blonde Blazer standing a few feet away, two glasses in her hands. She looked them both up and down, clearly suspicious. "What did you do to Mecha Man?"
Flambae stood up, instantly defensive as he frantically waved his hands out. "I didn't do anything to that bitch. Fuck, I swear.”
"Right..." Blazer said, her voice sharp. "And that's why you're standing over him in an alley, and he looks more beat up than when I left him."
"Blazer, I--" Flambae tried. But Robert cut him off.
"I stepped out for some air," Robert said, and Flambae turned to glare at him. "Some guy tried to mug me, and Flambae stepped in to help me out. Guy got away, though."
Blazer didn't seem convinced. She eyed Flambae with heavy suspicion, but since Robert was advocating for his innocence... she decided to let it slide.
"Alright," Blazer said, voice a little more gentle. "Are you okay, Mecha Man?"
"Got decked, but it's nothing new," Robert laughed it off. "Not like it'll make a difference, since I was already beat up earlier. What's another punch?"
Honestly, it could have been worse. Flambae could have burned him. Or cut off some fingers, to make it even. But he hadn't.
Somehow, he got away with just one punch.
Turns out, Blonde Blazer was interviewing him.
For a job.
A dispatching job.
That's what the ‘proposition’ was all about.
After parting with Flambae in that alleyway, she took him to another location. They sat on an SDN billboard, staring at the Hollywood sign. There, she revealed the truth. In exchange for becoming a temporary dispatcher, SDN wanted to help him fix his Mecha suit and hire him on as a hero once it was done. In the meantime, his previous hero-ing experiences made him more than qualified to dispatch other heroes.
It was... so fucking lucky. Short of a miracle, he'd believed his days of being Mecha Man were over. But here Blazer was, offering his old life back to him on a silver platter. And this time, he'd even get paid for it, if things went as planned. He still hadn't been able to find the Astral Pulse, but getting everything else about the suit repaired was a step in the right direction.
He felt actually good for the first time that day. Despite the conference, facing his past, and getting his ass beat twice, it was turning out to he the best day he'd had in months. All he'd had to look forward to lately was PT and Beef. And only one of those things actually made him happy.
He just hoped he wouldn't have to run into Flambae too much, since he'd be working in the same building as him now. But who knows? Flambae was out in the field, and Robert would be behind a desk. Maybe they wouldn't have to see each other at all.