Chapter Text
The battle at SDN between Z-Team and the Red Ring had been brutal. Months after its destruction, the Mecha Man suit had finally been rebuilt. Now it was upgraded, reinforced, deadlier than before. But Robert was rusty.
He hit the parking lot in front of the SDN building hard, concrete cracking beneath the suit’s weight. His energy sword slipped from his grip and stabbed onto the asphalt a few feet away.
Inside the cockpit, Robert panted, sweat stinging his eyes as he stared at Shroud’s grotesque, spider-like mech looming ahead. Every move he made… Shroud had anticipated. Outsmarted him. Again.
Nearby, Blonde Blazer slammed a Red Ring goon into the ground, barely sparing a glance before turning her attention to Shroud… and Robert.
Robert tightened his grip on the Mecha Man’s joysticks just as Shroud’s mech began to glow, energy gathering for a beam attack.
“Wait,” Robert muttered.
The cockpit radar flashed. A fast-moving signature.
His eyes widened.
Blonde Blazer streaked forward, flying straight at Shroud, her shout tearing through the chaos. Her eyes blazed gold, her fist wreathed in radiant light.
“No!” Robert shouted.
Shroud pivoted instantly. Firing the beam as it struck Blonde Blazer square in the chest, detonating in a flash of blinding light. She was hurled backward, smashing through the SDN lobby and out into the courtyard. Her body clipped the rim of the massive hole torn into the building, then vanished downward.
Crashing into the rec room below. The same rec room Robert had blasted through when the battle began minutes earlier.
Blonde Blazer came to slowly, pain rippling through her chest as the world swam back into focus. Flickering lights. Dust in the air. Groaning metal.
Her gaze drifted, and locked onto Coupé
The former assail lay sprawled across the rec room floor, still unconscious. Blazer grimaced. She and Robert had fought her high above the city earlier, back when Coupé decided revenge was worth risking civilian. All because Robert had fired her during his first week. To make an example. A message to the rest of the Z-Team: The Phoenix Program wasn’t playing around.
The program was filled with ifiotic supervillains, the lot of them. As Robert liked to say: Not even the super kind just plain ass, run of the mill, vanilla fucking villains.
Blazer pushed herself to her feet, wincing, then smiled despite herself as she saw Beef.
Robert’s fat little chihuahua sat nearby, ears perked, tail wagging like the building hadn’t just been turned into a crater. The best boy. Unbothered. Unbroken.
“Hey, buddy,” she murmured before her attention snapped elsewhere.
Chase.
She spotted him slumped against the wall, breathing hard but very much awake. In a blur, she crossed the room and hovered in front of him.
“Whoa—Chase,” Blazer said gently. “You should be in the infirmary.”
“Fuck that bullshit,” Chase snapped back. “Kinda hard to stay asleep after a heart attack when there’s a fucking warzone happening overhead. So—”
He squinted past her, listening to distant explosions. “—what the fuck is going on out there?”
Blonde Blazer sighed. Chase’s mouth had always been legendary. So had the cost of his powers. He looked older than he should have because in terms of time lived, he practically was thirty-nine. His speed had aged him fifty times faster than a normal person.
Blazer rubbed her face. “Shroud’s here. Mech suit. Big one.”
Chase’s expression hardened instantly. “And Robert?”
A sudden sonic boom rattled the ceiling.
Blazer looked up as debris rained down. “…still fighting,” she said.
Chase forced himself to his feet, joints cracking. “Then we don’t sit this one out.”
A spark went off in Blazer’s mind. Her hand dropped to the red gem set into her chestplate. Without hesitation, she tore it free.
Golden light erupted around her in a brief, blinding flash. The suit dissolved into motes of radiance, peeling away until it was gone entirely. When the light faded, Blonde Blazer was no more.
Mandy stood in her place. She was shorter by a few inches and leaner, her muscle tone softer, her presence quieter but no less real. Her blonde hair had darkened to a natural brunette, falling loose around her shoulders. She wore only a black sports bra and fitted leggings, both scorched at the edges from battle but intact.
Her true form.
Very few people knew the truth. Chase was one of them. Robert too, after that dinner, when secrets had spilled as easily as wine.
Mandy unclasped the chain from her neck, the red gem now dull and inert, and placed it into Chase’s hands.
His eyes widened. “You’re serious.”
She gave a tight smile. “Dead serious.”
“Mandy, this thing’s what makes you Blonde Blazer.”
“No,” she corrected calmly. “It lets me pretend.”
She met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “I’ve always wondered what my amulet would do to someone with actual powers.”
The distant roar of Shroud’s mech thundered through the building.
Chase looked down at the necklace, then back at her, adrenaline already overriding common sense. “You realize this might kill me.”
Mandy shrugged. “In the field we work on, there’s a hundred ways we can die.”
Then Chase snorted. “Fair.”
He slipped the chain over his head. The gem flared gold. And the air around him began to scream.
⸻
Mecha Man slammed into the front of the SDN building and collapsed, skidding across shattered concrete. Sparks spat violently from the suit’s damaged plating, systems flickering as alarms screamed inside the cockpit.
Robert could barely breathe.
The fight against Shroud had drained what little strength the Z-Team had left. They hadn’t just faced him, they’d fought the Red Ring all night. Across Torrance. Beyond it. Clear into the southwest stretches of Los Angeles. No rest. No regrouping. Just battle after battle, bleeding into this final stand.
They were exhausted.
Shroud wasn’t. His spider-like mech began to hum, energy spiraling inward as its main cannon charged.
Mecha Man struggled upright and raised one arm. The wrist blaster powered up and fired six rapid energy bolts streaking across the lot.
Shroud dodged them effortlessly. A counter-shot flashed. The blast tore Mecha Man’s blaster clean off at the wrist, metal spinning away in sparks.
Robert froze. For a terrible second, it felt inevitable. Like history closing its jaws around him. The old family curse… every Robert Robertson dying in the suit. His grandfather. His father.
And now him…
Then… there was a silver blur that tore through the battlefield.
It slammed into Shroud’s mech with impossible force, punching straight through its armor and sending the massive machine spinning wildly across the parking lot. The fully charged beam fired off-course, carving into the SDN building instead of Mech Man.
Silence followed. Everyone looked up.
Chase was there, hovering, crackling with energy, holding the giant power core torn straight from Shroud’s mech. He blinked at it.
“…Shroud’s got a new suit now?” Chase said, half-amused, half-stunned. “The fuck? How long was I out?”
Mecha Man turned slowly. Robert’s systems locked onto a familiar figure walking into view.
Mandy. She wore a green jacket over the workout clothes, her brunette hair pulled into a tight, messy bun. No golden glow. No suit. No illusion.
“Blazer?” Robert said softly.
The rest of the Z-Team stared. They’d never seen her like this. Never known she was brunette. Never known her powers came from an amulet.
Mandy met Mecha Man’s visor, her expressions calmly. “You were the only one I told about the amulet. So I figured—” she nodded toward Chase, still holding the core, “—he wouldn’t see it coming.”
Chase drifted closer, eyes tracing the lines of the new Mecha Man suit. It wasn’t the bulky, industrial armor Robert’s father had worn, no heavy slabs of steel or exposed hydraulics. This one was sleeker. Sharper. Almost anime-inspired, with clean angles, glowing seams, and a silhouette built for speed instead of endurance.
“Holy shit,” Chase said, circling him in midair. “Look at you.”
Mechan Man turned his head. “Look at you,” Robert shot back. The last time he’d seen Chase, the speedster had been unconscious in the infirmary bed. “You were in a coma.”
“Oh shit, yeah, look at me,” Chase laughed, flexing his fingers as energy rippled around him. “—shit, no, look out!”
In a flash, Chase slammed into Mecha Man’s chestplate and shoved him sideways with shocking strength.
Twin energy blasts tore through the space Robert had occupied a heartbeat earlier, scorching the pavement.
Shroud’s mech staggered as it fired again, movements growing jerky. Inside the cracked cockpit, Shroud stared at the empty containment chamber where his power core had been.
Gone.
That core had fed everything. Such as his mobility, his weapons, that devastating beam without energy cost. Without it, his systems were cannibalizing themselves.
“No… no!” Shroud snarled as warning alerts screamed across his displays. His optics locked onto Mecha Man.
And then Mandy. She stepped closer and placed a hand against the massive suit’s shoulder, metal still warm beneath her palm.
Robert felt it, even through layers of armor and noise. “Mandy—” he started.
“Hey,” she said softly, firm enough to cut through the chaos. “Look at me.”
He turned the suit’s head toward her.
“You are not your father,” she said. “And you are not your grandfather. This suit isn’t a coffin, it’s a tool. And you’re not fighting alone.”
She glanced at Chase, hovering then back at Robert. “They died proving something,” Mandy continued. “You’re fighting to end it. That tradition? It stops here.”
Robert swallowed hard.
Mandy pressed her hand once, grounding him. “You don’t have to outlast Shroud. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to finish this.”
The rest of Z-Team surged forward, positioning themselves in front of Robert.
Once villains. Now heroes. All shaped, trained, and believed in by their Dispatcher, one of the true superheroes of this generation.
“Blazer always did have a soft spot for helpless losers,” Shroud sneered over external speakers.
“Fuck off,” Punch Up called out.
They charged.
Flambae and Waterboy struck first, combining fire and water into a rolling wall of scalding steam. Shroud’s sensors flared and glitched as the mech fired wildly into the haze. From above, Chase harassed it with hit-and-run strikes while Punch-Up ricocheted beneath, slamming into joints and armor plating.
Prism split into a dozen light-construct clones, swarming the mech from every angle.
Punch Up curled into a ball and bounced off one of the mech’s legs, then launched himself downward, slamming into Shroud’s chassis hard enough to pin it to the pavement.
Flambae rose higher and unleashed a concentrated blast of fire.
Chase spiraled through it, accelerating the flames into a roaring fire tornado that wrapped around Shroud’s mech, heat alarms screaming.
Sonar dropped Malevola from above.
The demon hit like a meteor, her blade crashing down in a shower of sparks. Sonar followed, swooping beneath the mech and tearing into exposed wiring with savage precision.
Shroud tried to pull free.
Phenomaman grabbed one of the mech’s legs and wrapped his arms around it. “I’m going to make love to you now,” he declared cheerfully.
The metal groaned. The leg collapsed inward under the pressure.
Golem slammed his fist into the ground. Earth erupted upward, smashing into the mech’s torso as Phenomaman followed up with a crushing punch.
Malevola opened a portal around Shroud’s arm and immediately closed it, cutting the arm cleanly through it.
Royd caught the severed limb on the other side and immediately used it as a weapon, battering the mech with its own arm.
Headlights flared. Mandy came in with a stolen car as Invisigal rode the roof. Prism formed a ramp of solid light just in time.
The car launched. Mandy bailed out as Shroud blasted the vehicle apart midair. Invisigal used the explosion’s momentum, leaping onto the mech’s arms and sprinting straight up. Then dove through the glass cockpit.
Golem hurled thick mud at the shattered canopy, splattering and sealing the cracks. Inside, Invisigal slapped a bomb into place, packing the mud around it like adhesive.
She flipped Shroud the middle finger. Then jumped. The explosion rocked the parking lot. Invisigal landed in a crouch beside Mecha Man as Shroud’s mech finally sagged, smoke pouring from every joint.
Phenomaman grabbed one of the mech’s damaged legs and whirled, spinning the massive machine overhead before hurling it high into the air.
Mecha Man rocketed upward after it. Shroud’s mech fired a weak thruster burst in panic. Robert twisted aside, slipped past the sputtering exhaust, and drove a punch straight into its torso, then surged forward again, catching a clear glimpse of Shroud through the shattered cockpit glass.
Mecha Man fired a cable. It latched onto the mech’s frame, and Robert yanked hard, dragging Shroud straight toward him. The Astral Pulse flooded the suit.nMecha Man’s eyes blazed brilliant blue. Energy crackled around his fist as he reeled back and punched.
The impact sent Shroud’s mech hurtling backward like a meteor, slamming into SDN’s rooftop in a thunderous crash.
Mecha Man dropped back into the parking lot, landing in a crouch.
The Z-Team stared up at the rooftop, bracing for another round. Instead, sparks erupted. Flames followed.
It was over.
“We fucked him in the face! Phenomaman cheered.
The rest of Z-Team erupted into cheers and laughter.
“That’s it?” Chase said, buzzing with energy. He hadn’t had this kind of action in years, his accelerated aging had always kept him sidelined. But with Blazer’s amulet around his neck, the drawback was gone. “Let’s go again! Anybody wanna go again?”
He turned and locked eyes with Invisigal. The last time he’d seen her was in a warzone, when she’d gone solo to steal the Astral Pulse for Robert, trying to prove she could be a hero instead of a villain. He’d burned himself out saving her. It had put him in a coma.
“You’re alive,” Chase said, smirking. “Nice.”
“You too,” Invisigal replied, giving him a once-over. “Nice.”
Her eyes lingered. “…New, uh, look.”
“Why? What happened?” Chase said, glancing down at himself. “I still look good, right?”
“Blonde,” Mecha Man said flatly.
It was strange… an older Black man with freshly blond hair.
“You look like a French soccer player going through something,” Invisigal added without hesitation.
That was Invisigal. She never held back.
And both Chase and Robert knew that from painful experience.
Chase looked up, and his eyes went wide. “STOP!”
Everyone followed his gaze.
Shroud stood atop the wreckage of his ruined mech. Out of the mech, he looked almost ordinary. Just a man. No towering machine. No weapons in hand.
Except for Beef.
Robert’s fat chihuahua dangled comfortably in Shroud’s grip, tail wagging lazily as the villain stroked his head like a smug cat owner. Beef, utterly oblivious to the danger, was simply happy to be involved.
“No,” Robert whispered inside the cockpit.
“Is that… Track Star?” Shroud said, tilting his head as he eyed Chase. “Huh. That’s a surprise.”
Chase slowly descended, hands raised, voice tight. “Please… Elliot. Put him down.”
Shroud glanced at the dog. “Who? This fat fuck?”
He lifted Beef by the collar. “Like this?”
The Z-Team collectively shouted in anger, panic, and fury crashing together. Beef wasn’t just a pet. He was the team’s mascot. Their good-luck charm.
Shroud chuckled beneath his cracked mechanical mask. “Relax. Why’s everyone so tense?”
He smirked under his mask. “I’m not gonna drop him. TrackBlondie there would just swoop in and save him anyway.”
His grip tightened. “So if I’m killing this dog,” Shroud said calmly, “I’m gonna make sure he actually dies.”
The parking lot went deadly quiet.
“Know this,” Robert said, his voice cold and steady through the Mecha Man speakers. “If you hurt him, you will die.”
Shroud laughed. He’d taken Robert’s father. Ending things by taking the dog too? That felt poetic.
“No shit.”
Around them, the remaining Red Ring forces surged back into the fight. All the augmented villains and goons flooding the lot, weapons raised, desperation fueling them.
Shroud spread his arms slightly, Beef still dangling. “So here’s how this goes,” he called out. “You, and only you, Robert, fly that shiny version of your daddy’s suit up here and give me my fucking Astral Pulse.”
His gaze flicked to the rest of Z-Team. “And if the rest of you feel like surrendering,” he added casually, “that’d be real helpful.”
Beef barked once. Still wagging his tail.
Robert did exactly as told. Mecha Man rose into the air and settled onto the ruined rooftop, landing several yards away. The suit hissed as it stabilized. Inside the cockpit, Robert stared at Shroud through the targeting screen.
“Come on out,” Shroud called. “Don’t be shy.”
Robert reached up and unlocked the ceiling port. The Astral Pulse slid free from its housing, bathing the cockpit in soft blue light. Small. Compact. Catastrophically powerful.
Then his eyes flicked to the cup holder. The Proto Pulse. The prototype he and Royd had built. It was “functional”, but nowhere near the real thing.
Mecha Man dropped to one knee. The arms sagged as power rerouted. Panels split open, and the cockpit peeled back, allowing Robert to step out onto the rooftop.
“There he is,” Shroud said smugly. “So predictable.”
Robert started forward.
Shroud talked as he always did. “I knew the dog was your weakness. I knew you’d get attached to Blazer. Who, honestly, I preferred her blonde, but whatever. I knew you’d take, what do you call her? Invisigal? Under your wing. Teach her. Mentor her. Extra credit heroics.”
Robert’s gaze dropped to the parking lot below.
“That’s why we planted her here,” Shroud continued casually. “Yeah. She works for us too. Two paychecks for the same job.”
He gestured. “Look at her.”
Mandy wouldn’t look up. She’d believed in Invisigal from the start. Defended her. Trusted her.
A Red Ring goon shoved Invisigal forward and slapped her mask into her hands, in returned, she knocked away a rifle away from her face. She put the mask on without a word and vanished.
“Aww,” Shroud cooed. “She’s embarrassed.”
Then his tone sharpened as he refocused on Robert. “So here’s the point. There is nothing you can do that I haven’t already modeled. And once I have the Pulse, I won’t need to predict anymore.”
He smiled beneath the mask. “I’ll just know.”
He leaned forward slightly. “So don’t fuck around, Robert. Not right now.”
Robert inhaled slowly and kept walking. “All I want,” he said evenly, “is a fair exchange.”
“Fine,” Shroud said. “Just don’t be an idiot and try to hand me that shitty prototype. I may be a bad person, but I’m a man of my word. You give me my Pulse and no harm comes to your stupid dog.”
He lifted Beef by the collar again and glanced at his goons. “You all hear that?”
Robert stopped. He looked down at his hand. The Astral Pulse. The Proto Pulse. Both rested there, identical in size. Identical glow.
“I’ve run the game theory on this moment a thousand times,” Shroud said, extending his free hand, palm open. “I’m not steps ahead.”
His grip tightened on Beef. “I’m miles.”
He held his hand out expectantly. “So don’t fucking test me.”
Robert let both Pulses fall from his hand. At the same time, Shroud shoved Beef forward. Robert caught his dog instantly, pulling him close and cradling him against his chest. Beef licked his face, tail wagging like nothing in the world had ever been wrong.
Shroud stared down at what lay at his hand. “What the fuck is this, Robert?”
“You said you wanted the Astral Pulse,” Robert replied calmly, almost casually, like this was a scheduling issue. “I gave it to you. One of those is it.”
“They look fucking identical, Robert.”
“Yeah,” Robert said, scratching Beef behind the ears. “You’re right. I can’t outsmart you.”
Shroud’s eyes flicked up.
Robert kept going. “Because I’m not a smart guy.”
He glanced down at Beef again as the dog happily licked his chin. “So the only way I can keep you from knowing what I’m doing,” Robert continued, “is to not know what I’m doing myself. Which is… honestly how I live most days.”
Maddie looked at Robert, pride on her face at Robert’s clever yet idiotic performance.
“I just trust my gut and take the best guess,” he said. “Same way you used to. Before you plugged all those fucking Christmas lights into your head. Before you got scared of making your own decisions.”
Robert finally looked up. “Elliot.”
Shroud froze. Both Pulses clenched in his fists, their blue glow reflecting in his visor. For the first time since the fight began, he said nothing.
Silence stretched in the battle field.
“…Maybe we wait ’til we get home?” One of the goons offered nervously.
Shroud snapped his head around. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
He looked back down at the Pulses. Both identical, humming softly, each one a promise and a threat. His fingers tightened. After a long, trembling moment, Shroud made his choice.
He hurled one of the Pulses aside. Then he reached up and tore his hood back. The mechanical mask folded away with a hiss, revealing a gaunt face and sharp blue eyes locked on Robert.
“Fuck you.”
Shroud’s hand slid to the side of his head. He ripped out the inferior Pulse embedded there, its red glow flickering weakly. Even he had never been able to recreate the real thing.
He slotted the new Pulse in. His eyes flared, then burned crimson as a guttural roar tore from his throat. Robert stepped back instinctively, clutching Beef tighter as Shroud rose into the air, energy crackling around him. He dropped back to the rooftop with a heavy thud.
“That?” Shroud breathed, awed. “Wow. That was… worth the wait.”
Around him, every augmentation lit up in response. All the cables, implants, armor plates surging with power.
“Feel that, you fucking fucks?” Shroud shouted, turning on the Red Ring. “I told you! I told you, you clowns!”
His voice shook with manic triumph. “You feel it? I see it. I see everything. Every permutation. Every—”
He gagged. Then vomited. Hard. So hard that Shroud collapsed to his hands and knees, retching violently.
“Uh-oh,” Robert muttered, shaking his head.
“Fuck—wait—” Shroud choked, bile spilling across the rooftop.
“Just a hunch,” Robert said dryly, “but I’m starting to think you guessed wrong.”
Shroud clawed at the side of his head.The Proto Pulse. Not the Astral Pulse.
“No—no, it’s just a—” He vomited again.
Then the Red Ring followed.nOne by one, goons doubled over, retching in unison and being linked to Shroud’s systems, their augments rebelling violently.
This, kids, is why you never take experimental implants from old men.
“Oh, this is fucking hilarious,” Chase said, hovering nearby.
“This can’t be—” Shroud gasped, humiliated, shaking.
“You know,” Robert added mildly, “someone’s gotta clean that up.”
Shroud growled and staggered to his feet. “You son of a bitch.”
“Don’t be mad,” Robert said. “You lost. It happens.”
Shroud’s expression hardened. “Sorry, kid,” he said quietly. “We both lose.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out Robert Robertson II’s revolver. Robert’s father’s gun.
Shroud pulled the trigger. The revolver barked once, the final bullet leaving the chamber.
He’d always bragged about it: four bullets for Robert Robertson II. The fifth? Wasted earlier that night on a bartender at some villain dive, after Robert had glassed the guy for sexualizing Blonde Blazer on the TV.
Time seemed to slow. The bullet screamed toward Robert and struck something invisible.
It passed through resistance, its speed warped, deflected just enough. The round still hit Robert, grazing him and knocking him down onto one knee. Beef tumbled from his arms, yelping.
Robert looked up, stunned. Then he saw her. Invisigal flickered into view as she collapsed beside him, blood spreading across her shoulder. She’d taken the bullet while invisible.
Robert tore off her jacket. The wound was clean but deep, the round having punched straight through her shoulder.
“I guess,” Shroud rasped, staring in disbelief, “I can still be surprised.”
That was it. Robert lunged. He hit Shroud with a punch hard enough to split skin and send blood spraying across the rooftop. Then another. And another. He didn’t stop.
Beneath them, the Z-Team surged forward, finally unleashed—overwhelming what was left of the Red Ring in a brutal, decisive rush.
Robert kept going. Shroud’s face became a ruin. Robert’s knuckles split and bled. Rain poured harder, pooling across the rooftop until Robert saw his own reflection staring back at him. It was completely twisted with rage.
“Please,” Shroud croaked. “Please…”
Robert didn’t answer. He grabbed Shroud by the throat and squeezed.
This wasn’t Mecha Man. This wasn’t a symbol or a suit or a legacy. This was Robert Robertson III.
Taking his vengeance. For his father. For every taunt. Every calculated cruelty.
Shroud’s struggles slowed. Then stopped. Robert released him and staggered back, chest heaving.
Silence followed.
Robert turned. Invisigal lay where she’d fallen, barely conscious. He rushed to her side, pulling off her mask as she struggled to breathe, the adrenaline finally crashing after everything she’d forced her body through.
He helped her to her feet. Together, they faced the horizon as the sun crept up, painting the sky in soft gold after the longest night of their lives.
They looked at each other. Shared a small, tired smile. Then Invisigal’s knees buckled.
“Ah, shit,” Robert muttered, catching her as she fell.
⸻
It had only been an hour since the fight ended. Firefighters, cops, medics, and news crews swarmed SDN, floodlights cutting through the smoke as emergency workers stabilized what was left of the building. Heroes from the Torrance branch arrived to help Z-Team secure the scene and tend to the wounded.
What remained of the Red Ring was cuffed and marched toward waiting police vans. They were all silent now, stripped of augments and bravado.
Invisigal was loaded onto a stretcher. As the medics adjusted her straps, she craned her head toward Robert. “How am I the one on a stretcher,” she said, “when you look like hammered shit?”
She wasn’t wrong.
Robert was bruised, cut, and moving stiffly, the result of going alone to a villain bar earlier that night, where the Red Ring and Shroud had tortured him for the Astral Pulse. At the time, he’d believed Shroud already had it. He hadn’t. Invisigal had taken it instead, kept it out of Robert’s hands so he wouldn’t do something catastrophically stupid the moment he powered up the suit.
“Be that as it may,” Robert said calmly, walking beside the stretcher, “you did get shot.”
“It didn’t hit anything,” Invisigal replied as a medic finished bandaging her shoulder. “Bullet went straight through.”
“Yeah, about that,” Robert said. “Quick hero lesson: when you jump in front of a bullet, you’re generally supposed to stop it. That’s kind of the whole point.”
She rolled her eyes as they reached the ambulance.
Ahead of them, the Z-Team lined up, cheering. Prism fired bursts of light into the air like fireworks. Punch Up pumped his fists. Even Golem gave a thumbs-up.
Invisigal stared. “The fuck is this?”
“Maybe,” Robert said quietly, “you should let a nice moment be nice every once in a while.”
She scoffed, but her voice cracked just a little. “Okay. Okay. Chill out, weirdos.”
The team erupted.
“NOT A BITCH! NOT A BITCH!” They chanted.
For a group of former villains turned heroes this somehow made perfect sense.
Mandy stepped up beside the stretcher, concern written all over her face. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
“This is—this is just precaution,” Invisigal said quickly.
Mandy nodded, then exhaled. “Look, all of this was a real…”
“Clusterfuck?” Invisigal offered helpfully.
“…shit show,” Mandy admitted. “Actually, I was gonna say poop show, but I’m trying to sound like less of a dork.”
“It’s already working,” Invisigal said, smirking.
Mandy reached out and took her hand. “I hope the fact that I’ve always rooted for you makes up for ever doubting you.”
“It does,” Invisigal said quietly.
It meant more than she wanted to admit, especially coming from Blonde Blazer. One of the greatest heroes alive. The woman who had given her the name Invisigal instead of the one she’d saddled herself with back in her villain days. Invisibitch.
“I don’t blame you for doubting her,” Robert added dryly. “I mean, look how untrustworthy she is.”
Invisigal snorted.
“There’s always a home for you here, Courtney,” Mandy said gently.
“I appreciate that,” Invisigal replied, sincere.
Mandy let go of her hand and gave Robert’s arm a light squeeze before stepping back.
Invisigal glanced between them. “I guess your girlfriend’s alright.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Robert said, not exactly convincing himself.
Invisigal squinted at him. “Then you’re an idiot. Because it’s very obvious she wants to fuck you.”
“Know that from experience?” Robert shot back.
“You’re never letting that go, are you?” Invisigal groaned.
She had, in fact, once admitted, very bluntly to having had a wet dream about him. In the male’s restroom. While he was shirtless.
Which was… unfortunate. Given that he was her Dispatcher. Then again, Mandy was the manager of the Torrance branch. Which technically made her Robert’s boss.
…SDN really needs a better HR department.
They reached the ambulance just as the medics moved into position, hands sliding beneath the stretcher.
“So,” Robert said quietly, walking alongside her. “Here we are. Looks like you did it.”
“Did what?” Invisigal asked, already knowing but wanting him to say it.
“A lot, actually.” He nodded toward the Z-Team nearby. “You’re apparently not a bitch. According to them.”
She scoffed. “Well, what do they know?”
“Very little,” Robert agreed. “But there’s also all that heroic stuff you pulled tonight. Saving my life. That was… pretty big.”
She watched him carefully.
“Does that make you a hero now?” He asked. He knew how much she doubted herself.
“No,” she said immediately.
But the word didn’t carry its usual weight. She was smiling, soft, satisfied, letting the moment exist.
“I think it might,” Robert said.
Invisigal met his eyes, her confidence finally settling into place. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
Robert stepped back as the medics lifted the stretcher. “Take care of her,” he said. “Let me know if it’s serious.”
The doors closed and the ambulance pulled away, lights flashing into the early morning.
Robert stood there, watching, knowing something had finally changed. He pulled the Astral Pulse from his pocket and studied it in his palm, its blue glow steady and quiet now.
Behind him, Flambae, Sonar, and Prism were already posing, Prism snapping photos for her socials like the night hadn’t nearly ended the city.
“Holy shit,” Flambae said, shaking his head. “She took a bullet for Robert. That is something I would never do.”
Which was fair. Years ago, back when Flambae was still a villain in the middle of an arson spree, Robert had stopped him the only way he could. By cutting off Flambae’s ring and pinky fingers on his right hand. They’d made peace since then. Mostly.
These days, Robert had to let Flambae punch him once a week as part of the ongoing forgiveness process.
Chase stood under harsh camera lights. “It was a targeted attack by Shroud,” Chase said, trying, and mostly failing to sound professional, “and those miserable, uh… jerks. The Red Ring.”
“There’s a story circulating that Shroud was killed not by a superhero,” the reporter said carefully, “but by an SDN Dispatcher. Care to comment?”
“Muuuuurrrrdaaaaah!” Prism shouted from off-camera. It was less accusation, more celebration.
Chase lifted a hand to stop her and leaned toward the mic. “We can neither confirm nor disconfirm that information,” he said solemnly. Then added, “But what I can say is that bitch Shroud absolutely deserved what he got.”
He froze. “Oh. Shit. Can I not cuss?”
“It’s fine,” the reporter replied smoothly. “We can bleep it.”
“Oh, thank God,” Chase said. “Then that’s the only reason I’m talking.”
He pointed past the camera. “Pan over there.”
The lens swung toward the gathered heroes.
“These are the real heroes,” Chase said. “The team that took down Shroud and the Red Ring.”
The Z-Team erupted into cheers. Which most of them highly inappropriate.
“Does your team have a name?” The reporter asked, shouting slightly to be heard.
Waterboy, who had officially joined less than twelve hours earlier when the Red Ring attacked all of L.A. called out. Z-Team!”
“Z-TEAM!” The others roared back.
It was the name SDN had given them. The lowest-ranked unit on the board. Dead last.
Chase grabbed the mic again. “These fuckers are the best heroes in the whole motherfucking SDN Netwo—”
“Actually,” the reporter cut in, snatching the microphone back, “I’m being told we can’t bleep the curse words.”
She smiled tightly at the camera. “Reporting live from SDN Torrance. Back to the studio.”
Behind her, the Z-Team kept cheering anyway.
Robert stood off to the side, a soft smile on his face as he watched the team he’d once led from behind a desk celebrate together.
Royd stepped up beside him and draped an arm over his shoulder. “We did good, eh, bruddah. Z-Team save da day. We get you da return of da Mecha Man. Defend SDN, yeah, place still choke-damaged, but we okay.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Robert said honestly. “Seriously. All the work you put into the suit, that’s what made tonight possible.”
“Nah, nah,” Royd waved it off, humble as ever. “Dat ain’t da hard part, fella. You guys do da hard things.”
Robert planted his hands on his hips. Royd might live in the workshop, but the man could lift Mechan Man limbs like they were nothing. “Okay, sure, but I did see you throwing Red Ring fuckers around like graduation caps. No joke, I almost started feeling bad for them. Almost. It was kinda mesmerizing.”
Royd laughed, the sound easy and warm. Muscle and brains in perfect balance. “Yeah, dat was fun scrap, fo sho.”
He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “Get some sleep, brah. Lotta cleanup tomorrow.”
Robert nodded. He felt it now, the weight, the exhaustion. Royd was right.
“Good job, MechanMan,” Royd said, raising a fist.
Robert bumped it without hesitation.
Royd walked off, leaving Robert alone for a moment, standing in the aftermath, watching the dawn creep in.
Robert spotted Mandy sitting on the trunk of a car, chatting with a few SDN members before they dispersed. He started toward her.
“Whoa, hold up. Wrong gal.” Punch Up’s voice cut through the noise.
The stocky powerhouse planted himself in front of a pair of cops as they escorted Coupé toward a police van. “She’s with us,” Punch Up added firmly.
“You want the other knife-wielding assassin lady,” Flambae called out. “Easy mistake.”
“There must’ve been some mix-up,” Malevola said calmly. “She does look scary.”
Coming from a literal demon, specifically, a sword-wielding muscle mommy demon… it carried a certain irony.
“What do you think?” Mandy asked Robert. “Did she earn a pardon?”
“Is that my call?” Robert asked.
“You’re the one who’d have to work with her,” Mandy replied. “Again.”
Robert looked at Coupe.
During their fight, it had been obvious, even beneath the blades and shadows, it was obvious how much it had hurt her when he cut her from the Phoenix Program. That program was supposed to redeem villains. To give them a path forward.
Coupé still had a long way to go. Shadow-walker. Knife specialist. Winged assassin. But she wasn’t beyond saving.
“Yeah,” Robert said after a beat. “Sure. Why the fuck not.”
He waved toward the cops. “Hey! Yeah, nope. She’s with us.”
The cuffs came off. Coupé blinked, stunned, then slowly exhaled, relief washing over her face. She didn’t say anything. She just nodded once at Robert.
Grateful.
Malevola opened a small portal and reached through, pulling out a crate of beers like it was nothing. The celebration rolled on.
And this time, Coupé was part of it. She lifted a bottle, caught Robert’s eye from across the lot, and gave him a small, almost disbelieving smile before cheering with the rest of them.
Robert glanced back at Mandy as she took a long pull from her beer. After the night they’d had, he realized he definitely needed one too. “Hey,” he said. “You got an extra?”
“I do, actually.” Mandy reached down beside her, as there was a box.
“Seriously?” Robert raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t— I mean… where did all these even come from?”
“Oh, there’s a lot of booze in the Rec Room,” Mandy said. “That’s where they grabbed it. I’m honestly shocked it’s never become a problem.”
She tried to twist the cap off one and failed. “Shit. No powers.”
“I got it.” Robert took the bottle and popped it open against the car’s rear bumper. “Reduced to opening beers like a normie.”
Mandy scooted over to make room. He sat beside her, and they clinked bottles before drinking.
“I’m getting drunk like a normie too,” she scoffed. “Half a beer and I already feel it.”
Robert laughed. In the distance, Chase flew past overhead, Beef tucked securely in his arms. “So,” Robert said, nodding upward. “Is that permanent?”
“Nah,” Mandy replied. “He’s borrowing it until we figure out a different solution for his… issue.”
“The whole ‘on the brink of death’ thing?” Robert offered.
“That’s the one.”
“Well,” he said, smiling faintly, “looks like he’s enjoying it while it lasts.”
Mandy hugged her knees, watching the chaos wind down. After a moment, she spoke quietly. “So… do you feel better?”
“Oh. After killing Shroud?” Robert asked.
“Yes, Robert,” she said, half-teasing, half-serious. “Why? Did you kill more than one person today? Might be worth figuring out the tally.”
“A little, I guess. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “It was kind of like masturbating.”
Mandy looked away. Then slowly looked back at him. “Okay. I really want to hear where this is going.”
“It felt good while it was happening,” Robert said casually. “But the second it was over, I was immediately filled with shame.”
Mandy chuckled, shaking her head. “For the record, you’re suspended pending investigation. Just a formality.”
“Totally understand,” Robert said, lifting his bottle.
“You did a great job… with them. With Invisigal,” Mandy said, her tone softening. “She really stepped up. Took a bullet and everything. Honestly, I wouldn’t have put my money on this team being the ones to save SDN… but here we are.”
“Listen,” Robert said, leaning back against the car, “I had plenty of help…”
“That’s nice of you,” Mandy replied, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“I had Chase, I had Royd, I had Beef,” Robert continued, letting the words hang for a beat. “And, of course… none of this could’ve happened if you hadn’t gotten me drunk that night and tricked me into all this shit. No regrets.”
Mandy laughed softly. “Same.”
“So…” Robert stretched fully across the trunk, beer in hand, “any plans tonight?”
“You’re asking if I had plans after being ambushed by Shroud and the Red Ring?” She teased.
“Was that too weird a way of asking if you wanted to make out later?” He countered, grin teasing.
“No,” she said, cupping his face. Leaning in, she kissed him. “It was perfect.”
She kissed him again, longer this time. One of his hands slid on her down her back, loser to her ass, the other still holding his beer, as they leaned against the car. The world around them seemed to fade. Finally, she pulled back and lay down beside him, still in public, still careful, but she held his hand tight.
“So… does this mean the team’s off Monday?” Robert asked, half-joking, remembering she was still his boss.
Mandy chuckled, squeezing his hand. “I was just trying to figure that out.”
“Robert sucks! Robert sucks! Robert sucks!” The Z-Team cheered, their voices bouncing off the parking lot walls.
Robert and Mandy sat up, blinking in surprise.
“I think you might need to go,” Mandy said with a smirk.
Chase landed in front of them, Beef panting happily at his side. “I need to take this young man for a spin, if you don’t mind,” Chase said, eyes glinting mischievously.
“By all means,” Mandy replied, scooping up Beef into her arms.
With ease, Chase lifted Robert off the ground.
“That’s… new,” Robert muttered, clutching at him.
“You were right,” Chase said, a smug grin spreading across his face. “I was wrong about Visi. She didn’t actually kill me… just nearly. Now let’s see if I can make you throw up.”
Before Robert could protest, Mandy snatched the beer from his hand.
“Wait, wha—?!”
In an instant, Chase shot them both skyward. Robert held on for dear life, wind whipping through his hair, while Chase’s grin only widened.
Then, with the precision only a speedster could manage, Chase dropped him straight toward the Z-Team.
Like a perfectly orchestrated chaos, they tossed him into the air, caught him, spun him around, and launched him again, over and over, each catch slicker than the last.
“Oh, okay. Yep. Okay,” Robert gasped, tumbling through the air as the Z-Team tossed him again and again.
“Wait, wait! Let me get a picture!” Mandy said, fumbling for her phone.
“Nah, Blazer, come on, let somebody else take it,” Chase called out, grinning mid-flight.
Mandy looked around, trying to figure out who could capture the moment, until she felt a light tap on her shoulder.
It was Mr. Whiskey, the mute, mysterious cat mascot who loved Irish coffee and hated spilled drinks, he was holding out his hands.
“Yeah. Thanks!” Mandy said, handing over her phone and running over to join the rest.
Snapping photos, the team laughed and cheered, even Invisigal appearing seemingly out of nowhere. She should have been at the hospital, but somehow she stumbled into the chaos, knocking people off balance left and right.
Robert, mid-air, suddenly realized there were no hands to catch him.
“Okay! Instantly painful!” He yelled, hitting the pavement with a solid thump. A mix of pain and laughter in his voice.
Prism immediately formed a soft glowing light cushion underneath him, but it barely dampened the impact.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Robert groaned, sitting up and rubbing his back.
Chase landed beside him, smirking. “Nah, just giving the Z-Team practice. You survived, didn’t you?”
“Barely!” Robert yelled, waving a hand. “Next time, I want a warning before being used as a human football!”
Invisigal appeared fully now, still grinning. “You make it sound like we didn’t have fun.”
“You mean chaos,” Robert muttered, shaking his head, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
Mandy plopped down next to him, holding her phone out. “At least we got pictures. You’re going viral, Mecha Man.”
Robert groaned. “Just my luck. Survived a Red Ring massacre, nearly killed by my own team, and now I’m going to be Internet famous for looking like a pancake.”
The team erupted into laughter, and even Robert couldn’t help but join in.
“Alright,” Chase said, stretching. “Who’s up for round two?”
Robert looked around at the exhausted, but ecstatic team, shaking his head. “You’re all insane.”
“And you love it,” Mandy teased, nudging his shoulder.
Robert just groaned again, but the grin that followed betrayed him.
⸻
Once the celebrations finally wound down, Robert leaned against the car, glancing at Mandy.
“So… you’d be down to go somewhere a little more… private?” He asked, voice casual but hopeful.
Mandy raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. “Depends on where ‘private’ is,” she teased. “But with you? Yeah, I’m down.”
A shared look passed between them, quiet and charged, before they left the chaos of the lot behind.
They ended up at Robert’s apartment, his space still bare, mostly boxes that were filled with parts of the Mecha Man suit, a lone chair in the corner, and the collection of lamps the Z-Team had brought him during his housewarming party.
And, of course, the couch. The couch Mandy had brought during the party instead of a lamp. It was a subtle, symbolic gesture of comfort, home, and the life she wanted to build with him. She hadn’t brought another lamp like the rest of the team; this was different. It was hers. Something meaningful, something personal, something that said, I want to be here with you.
Robert glanced at it and then at her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Still love this couch,” he admitted.
Mandy laughed quietly, settling onto it. “Good. Because I plan to see a lot of it… with you.”
The apartment felt small and chaotic, but in that moment it was theirs. Boxes and lights and all. And as they sank into the couch together Mandy leaned back against the couch, letting her head rest against the arm. After a beat, she turned her gaze to Robert.
“So… what now?” She asked softly. “You… you killed Shroud. That was, well, that was your whole motivation for almost everything. And now… you’re suspended from Dispatching.”
Robert let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then back at her.
“Honestly?” He said, voice quiet, almost reflective. “I have no idea. I’ve spent fifteen years being Mecha Man. That was me. And I haven’t even really… been him for months. Barely returned, barely touched the suit. And now… it’s all done.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes distant. “Guess I’ll figure out what being ‘just Robert’ means. For the first time in forever, I don’t have a mission. Don’t have someone to punch, a villain to chase, a world to save… or a dog to protect from my enemies.”
Mandy reached over, lightly resting her hand on his arm. “Sounds… weird, doesn’t it? Not having a mission?”
Robert managed a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. Weird… but kinda nice too. Less explosions, more… quiet. Maybe I need that.”
He paused, then tilted his head, studying her. “What about you, though? How’s it feel… not being Blonde Blazer for a little while?”
Mandy smiled faintly, letting her eyes drift to the scattered lamps and boxes around the apartment. “Honestly? It’s strange. I mean… part of me misses it. Being Blonde Blazer, it’s a rush. But right now…”
She glanced at him, soft and real. “…right now, I like just being Mandy. Just being here with you.”
Robert’s smile widened, a warmth settling in his chest. “Guess we’re both figuring out life after the chaos,” he said, voice low but steady.
Mandy nodded, squeezing his arm gently. “Yeah. And I kinda like it.”
There was another moment of silence until she ended it.
“So, I was thinking if we could…” Mandy noticed it when Robert’s breathing evened out.
His head had tipped slightly toward her shoulder, breath evening out, the tension finally draining from his body now that the adrenaline had nowhere left to go. Morning light filtered through the blinds, catching the cuts and bruises he nor she hadn’t bothered to patch up. The fresh lines of red and purple earned across a night where the city burned and he never stopped moving.
She smiled softly at the sight.
Of course he crashed now. They all had been through hell, but Robert especially, dispatching nonstop while Torrance fell apart, holding Z-Team together, then climbing back into the Mecha Man suit after months away like it was muscle memory carved into his bones. Fifteen years of being someone, losing it, then becoming it again just long enough to kill the man who took his father.
Mandy carefully shifted, easing him down so he could stretch out properly on the couch. She tugged a throw pillow under his head, stripping off her jacket and adjusted it around him so it didn’t press against a cut on his side. He didn’t stir.
Beef was already asleep nearby, curled into a pillow like he owned the place, snoring softly.
She stood, letting Robert rest, and wandered the apartment. And towards the kitchen that was right there, she opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, popping the cap off with the fridge’s door before leaning against the counter.
Only then did her thoughts finally catch up.
Robert had killed Shroud. Not Mecha Man. Not a symbol. Robert Robertson the Third. A dispatcher, engineer, tired man with blood on his knuckles and grief in his chest.
They were heroes. That was true.
And she knew what Shroud had done. She knew he killed Robert’s father, Mecha Man Astral, Robert Robertson II. A thought that still made her shake her head slightly. Three Roberts. Three generations. Three Mecha Men. Tragically unoriginal. Almost funny, if it weren’t so cruel.
She took a slow sip of her beer.
Shroud had earned it. Mandy knew that. Some lines, once crossed, couldn’t be uncrossed. And still… it sat heavy. Not wrong. Just heavy.
Her gaze drifted back to the couch. Robert slept, finally still, face slack with exhaustion instead of determination or rage. Just a man who had run out of fuel.
Mandy exhaled quietly.
Whatever came next with the investigations, suspensions, questions could wait. For now, he was alive. The city was standing. And for the first time in a long while, Robert wasn’t carrying the weight alone.
She stayed there a moment longer, beer in hand, watching him sleep and she found herself wanting to help.
Not in the save-the-city way just… help. Fix things. Make them softer. The place wasn’t bad. Honestly, it was impressive in a strange way. For someone who had burned through millions just to keep the Mechan Man suit running for fifteen years, before SDN ever stepped in with her offer, it made sense that everything else came second. Priorities, clearly defined.
Her eyes drifted back to the couch. Her couch. The one she and Chase had hauled in during Robert’s housewarming party. Well, she had hauled it in. Chase mostly walked nearby and offered commentary while Invisigal “kindly” decided everyone should make a party at Robert’s apartment, whether he was ready or not. It had been hot that day too, classic California heat, no AC, too many bodies, too many lamps.
And somehow, Robert hadn’t complained once.
Mandy smiled sadly and wandered toward his bedroom. It was small. Bare.
Her place was nicer, it had more space, better lighting, furniture that matched. That came with being a corporate-friendly, poster-child hero. Robert, on the other hand, had never cared about any of that. Fame rolled off him like rain. He was grounded. Practical. Almost stubbornly so.
She opened his closet. And frowned. There wasn’t much there. An SDN work shirt. A couple pairs of jeans. Workout clothes, that was just a hoodie and some pants. That was it. No excess. No options. Just… enough.
You live on bones, she thought.
Which explained a lot. He was skinny, well, lean, a little built from years of suit work and stress, but still skinny. Running on fumes more often than not. And, if Mandy’s observations at work were accurate, his diet consisted largely of vending machine Twinkies and whatever Beef didn’t steal first.
She shut the closet quietly.
Back in the living room, Robert slept on, face peaceful in a way that felt earned. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t bracing for the next crisis.
Mandy took a slow breath.
We can work with this.
⸻
Robert woke up feeling… heavy. Not in a bad way, just the kind of deep exhaustion that comes after your body finally decides it’s allowed to shut down. Sunlight filtered through the blinds at an angle that told him he’d been out for a long time.
He shifted. Warmth. He looked down and saw Mandy lying beside him. Same workout clothes as yesterday. Hair a little wild. One cheek pressed into his chest. And… drool. A small, traitorous spot of it on his shirt.
Robert stared at the ceiling, lips twitching. Worth it.
Before he could overthink it, Mandy stirred. She mumbled something unintelligible, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then blinked awake.
“…Oh.” She paused. “Yep. I drooled.”
“You did,” Robert said calmly. “I was going to take it to my grave.”
She groaned, then pushed herself up, stretching fully, arching her back with a sleepy sigh that made several of Robert’s thoughts immediately derail. “Okay,” Mandy said, cracking her neck. “We’re going shopping.”
Robert frowned. “We’re… what?”
She rolled off the couch and stood, still half-asleep but completely decisive. “Shopping. You need clothes. Groceries. Actual food. Possibly a chair that isn’t emotionally damaged.”
“That’s… a lot,” Robert said, sitting up. “Why today?”
Mandy turned, hands on her hips. “Because it’s Saturday.”
“…Okay?”
“And we don’t work weekends.”
Robert blinked. “Yeah. Still can’t believe that.”
She gave him a look. “Robert. You dispatch heroes. Not earthquakes. The world can survive forty-eight hours without you.”
He rubbed his face, trying to process that. “I’ve been at SDN for months and I genuinely thought weekends were a myth.”
Mandy laughed, walking back over and nudging his knee with her foot. “Congratulations. You’re learning work-life balance.”
He glanced at her outfit. “You’re still wearing yesterday.”
“So are you,” she shot back. “Difference is, I didn’t bring anything else. Just my phone. And I can’t fly home without my amulet, so congratulations, this is now a team errand.”
Robert sighed, then smiled despite himself. “I wake up from a twenty-four-hour coma and immediately get assigned chores.”
“Correct,” Mandy said cheerfully. “Now get up. We’re fixing your life.”
Robert swung his legs off the couch, shaking his head. “This feels like a trap.”
“It is,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. “But it’s a very well-intentioned one.”
Mandy sniffed once. Then frowned. Then sniffed again. “Okay,” she said, pointing at Robert. “You need to take a shower. Immediately.”
Robert blinked. “That bad?”
“You smell like blood,” she said, ticking it off on her fingers, “sweat… and—” she paused, squinting, “—piss?”
Robert winced. “Yeah, okay, that tracks.”
“That tracks?” Mandy repeated, incredulous.
“Look,” he said defensively, holding up his hands, “when the Red Ring attacked SDN and I hadn’t gotten to my suit yet, one of the goons really had to pee.”
Mandy stared at him. “…I’m already upset.”
“And the bathrooms were card-locked,” Robert continued, completely unfazed. “So he couldn’t get in. Me and Visi handled it.”
She crossed her arms. “Handled it how, Robert.”
“Well,” he shrugged, “I knocked him out mid-piss, and then I made her zip up his pants.”
Mandy’s eye twitched. “You made her—”
“She had gloves, but then she used my shirt as a towel for her hands,” Robert added.
Silence.
“…She used your shirt,” Mandy said slowly, “to wipe her hands from a villain who had just peed.”
“Yeah,” Robert said. “Didn’t really bother me. Shirt was already ruined.”
She stared at him like she was reassessing every life choice that had led her here. “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, turning toward the bathroom. “Shower. Now. I don’t care if the city is on fire again, you’re not sitting next to me like that.”
Robert stood, sniffed himself, then nodded. “Fair.”
He shuffled toward the bathroom, calling back, “For the record, that guy would be thanking us.”
Mandy groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I’m dating a man who was used as a paper towel.”
From the hallway, Robert replied calmly, “Heroism comes in many forms.”
⸻
The clothing store was… aggressively expensive. Clean white floors. Soft lighting. Minimalist racks where a single shirt hung like it was being honored. Prices printed in small, elegant fonts that still managed to scream.
Robert stood just inside the entrance, hands in his pockets, wearing yet another SDN work shirt and jeans.
He glanced at a price tag and physically flinched. “…That’s a shirt,” he muttered.
Mandy, on the other hand, moved through the store like she belonged there, because she did. The staff nodded politely as she passed.
One of them even smiled in recognition. “Morning, Mandy,” a clerk said.
“Hey,” she replied easily, already flipping through a rack.
Robert leaned closer to her. “They know you.”
She shrugged. “I shop here sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” He gestured wildly at a jacket. “That costs more than my rent.”
Mandy smirked. “Relax. You’re not buying the jackets.”
Robert eyed the tag again. “Good, because my dispatcher salary would start crying.”
He tugged lightly at his SDN shirt. “I’ve been getting paid for, what, a few months? And most of that went into suit repairs.”
Mandy laughed softly, holding up a pair of jeans against him. “You saved the city. You can afford pants.”
“I saved the city cheaply,” he said. “There’s a difference.”
A sales associate approached, professional and unfazed. “Can I help you find anything?”
Mandy smiled. “Yes. Casual clothes for him. He works too much.”
The associate glanced at Robert, then nodded without judgment. “Of course.”
Robert leaned in again, whispering, “I feel like I’m committing a crime just standing here.”
Mandy bumped his shoulder. “You’re fine. You just look like someone who doesn’t waste money on clothes.”
“That’s because I don’t,” he said. “I waste it on giant robots.”
She grinned. “Exactly. Now let’s get you something that doesn’t smell like a vending machine and moral exhaustion.”
Robert sighed, resigned. “If I get bankrupt, I’m blaming you.”
“Deal,” Mandy said. “I’ll visit you in your cardboard box.”
For the next few hours, Mandy took it upon herself to help Robert rebuild a wardrobe.
Not luxury. Not statement pieces. Just… normal clothes. Things that didn’t scream “I’m a depressed superhero who burned through his family’s savings on a giant robot suit and called it responsibility.” Jeans that fit. Shirts that weren’t issued by SDN. A jacket that looked warm instead of tactical.
Robert followed along dutifully, occasionally checking price tags like they might jump him. “This one’s fine,” he’d say, holding up a plain hoodie.
Mandy would tilt her head. “It’s fine, but it’s also sad.”
“I like sad,” Robert replied.
She ignored him and swapped it for something better. As she worked, something quietly clicked in her mind.
Robert had to be sixteen when he became Mecha Man. Sixteen.
That fact settled heavy in her chest as she watched him fidget near the fitting rooms, arms crossed, waiting for her opinion like a kid who didn’t trust his own taste. Sixteen meant high school. Homework. Friends. First stupid crushes. Prom, maybe.
Had he even gone to school? Had he sat in classrooms worrying about tests while also worrying about cities collapsing? He was brilliant, no doubt about that, but brilliance didn’t replace a childhood.
She glanced at him again. Skinny. Scarred. Grounded in a way that felt learned too early. “Hey,” Mandy said casually, holding up a sweater. “You like this color?”
Robert shrugged. “Sure. If it doesn’t itch.”
She smiled faintly, but her thoughts lingered.
He’d spent fifteen years being Mecha Man. Spending money on armor instead of comfort. Fixing machines instead of figuring out who he was supposed to be when he wasn’t saving people.
Mandy folded the sweater over her arm, determination quietly setting in.
Maybe now, just maybe, he could start living a little.
⸻
The day turned into a montage.
The bus hissed to a stop. Doors opened. Robert and Mandy stepped out with arms full, laughing, tired already.
At Robert’s apartment door swinging open again. Boxes thudded onto the floor. Grocery bags piled up where nothing used to be.
A table. A real trash can. Plates. Actual plates.
Mandy was on her phone, reading a list. “Okay, we forgot forks.”
Robert groaned. “I’ve been eating everything with my hands.”
She stared at him. “…Of course you have.”
Another bus ride. Another trip up the stairs.
A small bookshelf went in.nA plant Mandy insisted would “change the energy.” Curtains, because apparently living like a raccoon in a concrete box was no longer acceptable.
The fridge. Once a barren wasteland of beer and condiments, now stocked with real food. Vegetables. Protein. Stuff that required cooking.
Robert stood there in awe. “I don’t know what half of this is.”
“You’ll learn,” Mandy said, closing the fridge with finality. “You’re thirty, not feral.”
Then the Pet aisle. Beef sat proudly between them as Mandy grabbed a bag of actual dog food.
“No more sharing your lunch,” she told him.
Beef wagged his tail.
Robert looked personally offended. “He likes my lunch.”
“He is a dog, Robert.”
Back at the apartment, Beef immediately face-planted into his new food bowl like he’d been starving for years.
“Wow,” Mandy said. “He’s been surviving on vibes.”
“Hey,” Robert muttered. “So have I.”
Later, the evening the apartment finally looked lived in. Not fancy. Not perfect.
But warm.
Robert collapsed onto the couch while Mandy kicked off her shoes and joined him, grocery receipt still crumpled in her hand.
For the first time in a long while, Robert’s place didn’t feel empty. It felt like a home.
Mandy clapped her hands once, surveying the mountain of boxes stacked against the walls. “Okay,” she said, already rolling up her sleeves. “Just so you know, we’re gonna be busy. Like… all day busy. Everything’s still in boxes.”
Robert groaned softly from the couch, eyes half-lidded. “We’ve already been busy all day.”
“Congratulations,” she shot back. “Now we do it again, but with furniture.”
They started small. A table here. Chairs there. Opening boxes, breaking down cardboard, realizing halfway through they were missing screws, then finding them taped to the bottom of something completely unrelated.
At some point, Robert leaned against the counter, watching Mandy wrestle with an instruction manual that looked like it had been translated through three different languages and a headache.
“You know,” he said casually, “I could’ve just moved in with you.”
Mandy froze. Not dramatically. Just… paused. She looked up at him, expression unreadable. For half a second, her brain short-circuited.
Because, yeah. She was one of Mecha Man’s biggest fans during his prime. Posters. Merch. Collectibles.
Stuff that absolutely should not be discussed unless they were alone and in bed.
But this wasn’t Mecha Man saying it. It was Robert. In old SDN clothes. Surrounded by half-built IKEA furniture and a dog chewing on cardboard.
She cleared her throat. “That’s… uh. A big step.”
He shrugged, quick to backpedal. “I mean, not like right now. Just joking. Hypothetically. Financially efficient. Less buses.”
She smiled despite herself, shaking her head. “You’re terrible at hypotheticals.”
“Hey,” he said, grinning. “Worth a shot.”
She went back to the instructions, cheeks warm. “Focus, Romeo. Hand me the Allen wrench.”
Robert did and their fingers brushed. Nothing dramatic happened. No sparks. No slow-motion moment. Just a quiet understanding settling in between boxes and screws and the sound of Beef snoring nearby.
They weren’t there yet. But… maybe someday.
⸻
Monday came anyway.
With Robert suspended, the Torrance branch fell to Mandy. Even though it always did as she was the manager of the branch, but now today, was different. Again.
She pushed through the glass doors and was immediately reminded why this was the lowest-ranked SDN branch in the network. The place wasn’t bad just… tired. The carpets had permanent stains that no one remembered earning, the desks wobbled if you leaned too hard, and the computers looked older than Chase did. And Chase was a thirty-nine-year-old man trapped in a body that looked like it belonged in an assisted living brochure. Eighties, easy.
Mandy dropped into Robert’s chair and stared at the monitor as it wheezed to life. “C’mon,” she muttered. “You can do it. I believe in you.”
The screen flickered. Thought about it. Then finally booted.
She reached for Robert’s headset and slipped it on, adjusting the mic like she’d done this a hundred times before. In a way, she had, just not from this side of the desk. The weight of it settled in, familiar and strange all at once.
The feeds lit up. One by one, Z-Team icons came online.
The chatter started immediately.
“Yo, is that—?”
“Hold up, is Dispatch Blonde Blazer today?”
“No way, she sounds way more put together than Robert.”
Mandy smirked and tapped the mic. “Morning, Z-Team.”
Instant respect. No hesitation. No testing her. Powers or not, this was the woman who’d dragged them out of villainy, put her reputation on the line, and somehow convinced SDN that these idiots were worth saving. Blonde Blazer wasn’t just a hero to them, she was the reason they were here at all.
Still… a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Last time I did this, she thought, I sent Malevola to substitute teach Sunday school.
In her defense, the address had said “St. Mark’s,” and no one specified what kind of emergency it was.
Malevola’s voice crackled through comms. “Boss, quick question before we roll out.”
Mandy closed her eyes. “Go ahead.”
“So, hypothetically,” Punch Up jumped in, “we beat Shroud. And the Red Ring. Like hard.”
“Very hard,” Flambae added proudly.
“Historic levels of ass-kicking,” Sonar said.
“…So shouldn’t we have Monday off?” Punch Up finished.
Mandy leaned back in the chair, folding her arms. “No.”
Collective groan.
“Why not?” Prism whined.
“Because,” she said evenly, “Shroud and the Red Ring didn’t just rob banks. They burned half the city, broke three containment zones, and left cleanup that doesn’t magically disappear because you won a fight.”
She tapped a few keys, pulling up the damage reports. “Hospitals are overloaded. Infrastructure’s strained. And guess who’s best suited for crowd control, emergency response, and not making things worse?”
“…Us?” Flambae said, less confident now.
“Congratulations,” Mandy replied. “You’re heroes. This is the job part.”
Malevola sighed theatrically. “At least tell me I’m not teaching children again.”
Mandy didn’t miss a beat. “Only if you promise not to bring the sword.”
“…No guarantees.”
Mandy smiled despite herself and adjusted the mic. “Alright, Z-Team. Patrol assignments are live. Try not to traumatize civilians, don’t explode anything you don’t have to, and if you see something weird call it in.”
She paused, then added, softer but firm. “And do me a favor. Come back in one piece. Robert’s gonna want his team intact when he returns.”
The comms lit up with affirmatives.
As the icons fanned out across the map, Mandy settled deeper into the chair. Old computers. Low-rank branch. Questionable team.
Yeah. She could handle this.
“Hey,” Visi’s voice cut in over comms, quieter than the others. “Uh… is that you dispatching us, Blazer? Again?”
Mandy exhaled through her nose. “Yes. It is.”
“So… what’s Robert doing?”
⸻
“FUCK—!” Robert staggered back as a particleboard shelf collapsed in on itself, taking a bag of screws and his dignity with it.
He stood in the middle of his bedroom which was still mostly bare but he was surrounded by half-built furniture, instruction manuals that might as well have been written in another language, and an Allen key that had already betrayed him twice.
“Why are there six extra pieces,” he muttered, kicking a plank aside, “but somehow the one I need is missing?”
From the living room came the soft thump of another box being dragged into place. Beef snored through it.
Robert wiped sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt, smearing sawdust across it. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled to no one. “Mecha Man, savior of the city. Defeated by IKEA.”
⸻
Mandy smirked, already knowing. “He’s… assembling furniture.”
Invisigal snorted. “Oh my god.”
“Yeah,” Mandy said. “Suspension life. Very glamorous.”
There was a pause on the line, then Invisigal spoke again, more subdued. “And, uh. You know. While I’ve got you.”
Mandy’s tone softened instantly. “How’s your shoulder?”
Another pause. Longer this time from Invisigal. “It hurts,” she admitted. “Doctor says I’ll be fine. No permanent damage. Just… sore. And itchy. And I’m not supposed to turn invisible for a bit, which is annoying.”
“You took a bullet,” Mandy said. “You’re allowed to complain.”
Invisigal huffed a quiet laugh. “Worth it.”
Mandy nodded, even though Invisigal couldn’t see it. “You did good. Really good.”
“Yeah,” Invisigal said, voice lighter now. “Guess I did.”
Mandy straightened in the chair and tapped the console. “Alright. Take it easy today. Light duty, no heroics, and if anything even looks like Shroud-level nonsense call it in.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Invisigal replied.
The channel clicked off.
Mandy leaned back, staring at the empty dispatch board for a moment, thinking of Robert swearing at furniture and Invisigal sitting in a hospital bed with a bullet wound she never should’ve had.
Heroes. All of them. Even the ones currently losing a fight to furniture.
⸻
Mandy spent the first hour of the shift very aware of the fact that she was rusty.
Not bad just… off. A half-second late on callouts. A wrong street name that she had to correct. The rhythm Robert had made look effortless now felt like trying to jog in someone else’s shoes.
She leaned back in the dispatcher chair and tugged at the SDN work shirt she was wearing his shirt, technically. Stolen off the back of a chair that morning because it smelled like him and because she hadn’t brought anything else.
Something crinkled. She frowned and reached inside the breast pocket.
A folded note. Mandy opened it.
Robert’s handwriting greeted her immediately in that slanted, messy, confident in a way only someone who knew exactly what they were doing could be.
If you’re reading this, hi.
You’re doing great. Even if you don’t feel like it.
She smiled despite herself. The note continued, bullet-pointed like a playbook.
Quick refresher, just in case:
– If things go sideways and you need to send multiple heroes at once, don’t overthink it.
– These pairings work. Trust me. My gut has a better success rate than the algorithm.
Invisigal + Golem:
Stealth + unstoppable force. She plans, he finishes. They weirdly get each other.
Flambae + Prism:
Chaos and spectacle. Keep them busy, keep them loud, point them away from flammable hospitals.
Mandy snorted quietly.
Sonar + Malevola:
Recon + intimidation. Also Sonar listens to Malevola.
She shook her head, smiling wider now.
Punch Up + Coupé:
Close combat, mutual respect due to the fact they dated
Waterboy + Phenomanan:
They both need a win. Don’t separate them unless necessary.
Mandy’s thumb lingered there. Phenomanan. Her ex.
The alien who looked human enough until things… didn’t line up. Not just physically, though that had certainly been a thing but emotionally. He loved Blonde Blazer. The image. The symbol. The flying, glowing, invincible version of her. He never really saw Mandy. When she’d ended it, it broke him. He’d spent days hovering around the building, miserable and directionless, until Robert of all people had quietly given him an ultimatum: Join the Z-Team or keep being sad in the hallway.
Yet again, it was her idea, it’s just that Chase told him first before she could. Either was him or Waterboy first. Someone to fill up after Robert fired Coupé.
Phenomanan had joined. And, slowly, gotten better.
Mandy folded the note back up, her chest warm in that tight, unfamiliar way that came from being truly understood.
She looked up at the screen again, more confident now. “Alright,” she said to herself, slipping the headset back into place. “Let’s do this the Robert way.”
She straightened, fingers flying over the console. “Z-Team,” Mandy said into the mic, voice steady now. “Dispatch coming in.”
Somewhere else in the city, heroes moved.
And back at his apartment, surrounded by half-built furniture and lost screws, Robert Robertson slept through it all, still, somehow, doing his job.
⸻
Throughout the rest of the shift, things… functioned.
Not smoothly. Not cleanly. But no one died, which Mandy considered a win.
The Z-Team treated the comms like a group chat more than an emergency line.
“Hey,” Flambae said, voice crackling through the headset. “Hypothetically hypothetically how illegal is it to scare a guy into confessing?”
“Very,” Mandy replied instantly.
“…What if he confesses really fast?”
“Still very.”
“Cool cool cool.”
Mandy pinched the bridge of her nose and glanced at the call board. She was juggling three minor incidents at once, none world-ending, all annoying. A noise complaint involving Sonar that turned out to be Sonar himself. A false alarm Prism swore was “definitely a vibe.” And a purse-snatching that Punch Up handled by accidentally throwing the thief into a recycling bin.
Twice.
“Blazer,” Punch Up said cheerfully, “can I log that as community service?”
“Just… just write ‘suspect detained,’” Mandy sighed.
There were a few failed calls too. One time she sent Waterboy to the wrong block, forcing him to awkwardly apologize to a confused birthday clown.
Another time she hesitated too long, overthinking, and Sonar had to repeat himself. “Blazer, uh, Miss Blazer? You still with us?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Sorry. Thinking.”
“Yeah,” Invisigal chimed in. “That’s usually Robert’s job.”
The channel went quiet for half a second.
Then Invisigal added, clearly grinning through the mic, “No offense. You’re doing great. I just miss the guy who doesn’t send demons to Sunday school.”
Mandy closed her eyes. “Once,” she said flatly. “That happened once.”
Malevola’s voice slid in, amused and unapologetic. “For the record, the children were delightful. The priest cried.”
Mandy cracked a smile despite herself. She leaned back in the dispatcher chair, exhaling slowly, letting the noise wash over her. They were loud. Messy. Unprofessional.
But they were alive. They were working. They were a team.
“Alright,” Mandy said, tapping her console with renewed confidence. “Z-Team, listen up. We’ve got one more call before shift change, and I swear to God, if anyone freelances—”
“—Robert would never let us hear the end of it,” Invisigal finished for her.
Mandy huffed. “…Yeah. Exactly.”
She glanced down at the folded note still tucked safely in her pocket.
He’ll be back, she told herself.
Until then? She adjusted the headset and kept dispatching.
⸻
As she stepped out of the SDN building, Mandy slowed her pace.
The front of the Torrance branch still looked rough. With burn marks that were spiderwebbing up the concrete, scorch lines that no amount of pressure washing could erase yet. Someone had tried to scrub away the worst of it, but the building still wore the fight like a bruise that hadn’t faded. It had only been a couple of days. No one expected miracles.
She exhaled, reached into the pocket of Robert’s SDN work shirt, her SDN work shirt now and pulled out her phone as she headed toward the bus stop. This time, she was going to her place. She needed real clothes. Clean clothes. Not borrowed hoodies and shirts that smelled like oil, sweat, and faintly like Beef.
She typed while waiting for the light to change.
Mandy:
You survive your first day without dispatching?
Robert:
Barely.
I yelled at an Allen wrench like it owed me money.
She smiled and leaned against the bus stop pole.
Mandy:
I dispatched the Z-Team.
No one died. No one cried. No Sunday schools were harmed.
Robert:
That’s huge.
Proud of you, boss.
She rolled her eyes fondly.
Mandy:
How’s the apartment?
Is it still a crime scene or has it evolved into “livable”?
Robert:
Define livable.
Actually. Hold on.
Her phone buzzed again with a notification.
Robert sent an image
Mandy’s eyebrows lifted before she could stop them.
The picture showed Robert’s living room, with actual progress. The couch she’d brought was now properly centered. A small coffee table sat in front of it. One lamp was on, casting warm light instead of the harsh overhead glare he’d lived with for months.
And right there, stretched out on the couch sat Robert. Barefoot. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. No shirt. Just skin, faint bruises, healing cuts, and the lazy sprawl of someone finally letting their guard down. Beef was asleep on his stomach, snoring like a tiny chainsaw.
Mandy stared. Her face warmed instantly.
Mandy:
…Robert.
Another picture came in before she could say more. A selfie this time. Same outfit. Same couch. Same idiot expression.
Robert:
I ran out of clean shirts.
Also the apartment gets hot.
She swallowed and looked around the bus stop, suddenly very aware of her surroundings.
Mandy:
You could’ve lied.
You could’ve said “doing great, very normal.”
Robert:
I’m giving you proof of progress.
She bit her lip, then typed.
Mandy:
I’m going to my place to change.
Because I am a professional adult woman.
Robert:
Tragic.
Mandy:
And you are doing this on purpose.
Robert:
Maybe a little.
The bus rounded the corner, headlights washing over the sidewalk. But it wasn’t so soon that the bus hissed as it pulled up. Mandy slipped her phone back into her pocket, heart still doing that annoying, fluttery thing as she stepped inside and took a seat by the window.
As the bus rolled away, she glanced at her reflection in the glass. She was tired, smiling, flushed.
Yeah. Things were complicated. But for the first time in a long while, they were also… kind of good.
⸻
The phone buzzed before Mandy even finished unlocking her apartment door. She kicked it shut behind her, toed off her shoes, and glanced down at the screen.
Robert:
You make it?
She smirked, tossing her bag onto the counter.
Mandy:
Nope.
Still on the bus. Been circling the block for forty minutes.
They feed us crackers now.
Robert:
Don’t do that.
You arrived, right?
She laughed softly and dropped onto her couch.
Mandy:
I’m home.
Alive.
Wearing my clothes again.
Robert:
Thank God.
I was about to file a missing person report on my girlfriend.
She paused, her thumbs hovering at the keyboard on her phone
Mandy:
Careful.
Robert:
Too late.
Her phone buzzed again almost immediately.
Robert:
Okay important question.
What do people eat for dinner.
Mandy:
Robert.
Robert:
I’m serious.
I can’t do vending machine cuisine anymore.
My body is filing complaints.
Mandy:
Are you asking me…what to eat?
Robert:
And how to cook it.
Like. Step by step.
Assume I am emotionally fragile and armed with a stove.
She grinned, already picturing him staring at his kitchen like it might attack.
Mandy:
Are you asking me to be your virtual chef?
Robert:
…yeah.
She laughed out loud, leaning back against the arm of the couch.
Mandy:
Wow.
Mecha Man.
Slayer of villains.
Brought to his knees by dinner.
Robert:
I killed Shroud.
I cannot defeat pasta.
Mandy:
Alright.
What do you have?
Robert:
Uh. We brought…
Eggs.
Bread.
Butter.
Something green I don’t trust.
Mandy:
That’s spinach.
Robert:
It knows what it did.
She typed fast now, slipping into manager mode without even thinking.
Mandy:
Okay.
We’re doing a grilled egg sandwich.
It’s impossible to mess up unless you actively try.
Robert:
Bold of you to assume I won’t.
Mandy:
Step one: turn the stove on.
Medium heat.
Not “volcano,” not “sad candle.”
Robert:
Stove is on.
It’s humming.
I don’t like that.
Mandy:
That means it’s working.
Put a pan on it.
Butter in pan.
Robert:
How much butter.
Mandy:
Enough that you feel joy, but not guilt.
Robert:
I feel both.
She smiled to herself, imagining him squinting at the pan like it was judging him.
Mandy:
Crack two eggs into a bowl.
Not directly into the pan.
We’re not animals.
Robert:
Copy that.
Bowl acquired.
One shell fragment detected.
Situation contained.
Mandy:
Proud of you.
She could practically hear his voice through the screen.
Robert:
I would like it on record that I am doing this because you told me to.
Mandy:
Of course you are.
She set her phone down for a second, smiling to herself, then picked it back up.
Mandy:
Stir the eggs.
Pour them in the pan.
Bread in toaster.
Robert:
Mandy.
Mandy:
Yes, chef?
Robert:
Thank you.
For… this.
And everything else.
Her smile softened.
Mandy:
Anytime.
Now don’t burn the apartment down.
Robert:
No promises.
She shook her head, laughing quietly as she leaned back on her couch, knowing exactly what she’d be doing in ten minutes. Waiting for the inevitable follow-up text: “Okay so hypothetically… what does ‘smoke alarm’ mean?”
Robert’s next message came in with no warning.
Robert:
Behold.
The photo loaded.
It was… actually decent. Two slices of toasted bread, eggs folded neatly in the middle, a suspicious amount of butter sheen, spinach wilted just enough to look intentional. Not restaurant-level, but unmistakably food. Real, adult, cooked-with-guidance food.
Mandy smiled despite herself.
Mandy:
…holy shit.
You didn’t ruin it.
Robert:
I followed instructions.
Fear is a powerful motivator.
Mandy:
I’m genuinely proud of you.
8/10.
Would let you cook again under supervision.
Robert:
I’ll take it.
Tastes like victory and cholesterol.
She was about to reply when her phone buzzed again. But at the exact same moment…
Another notification slid down.
SDN – Human Resources
Her smile faded.
Across town, Robert stared at the same banner lighting up his screen, his fork paused halfway to his mouth.
Robert:
Uh.
Mandy:
Please tell me you’re seeing this too.
Robert:
Unless I’m hallucinating corporate authority, yeah.
She opened it.
Robert did too.
SUBJECT: Mandatory Review & Temporary Status Update
Due to recent events involving SDN personnel during the Red Ring incident, you are required to attend a formal review. This is not a disciplinary hearing at this time.
Attendance is mandatory. Further details to follow.
Mandy exhaled slowly, already feeling that familiar tightening in her chest, the one that came whenever the word review showed up.
Mandy:
“Not a disciplinary hearing.”
That’s HR for we’re deciding how mad we are.
Robert:
Yeah.
That’s the “we promise not to fire you… yet” font.
She leaned back against her couch, staring at the ceiling.
Mandy:
They’re going to talk about Shroud.
Robert:
They’re going to talk about everything.
The three bubbles appeared for a moment.
Robert:
I’m not sorry.
Mandy’s fingers hovered for a second before typing.
Mandy:
I know.
And for what it’s worth?
Neither am I.
Robert finally took a bite of his meal.
Robert:
Still eating dinner though.
If HR’s going to ruin my week, I’m at least finishing this.
She smiled, the tension easing just a little.
Mandy:
Good.
Tomorrow we face bureaucracy.
Tonight you enjoy the first real meal you’ve had in years.
Robert:
With my virtual chef.
Mandy:
Don’t get used to it.
She set her phone down, letting the quiet of her apartment settle in, knowing full well that whatever SDN decided next, things were about to change again.
But for now? Robert was eating. Mandy was home. And neither of them were alone.