sarcastic · dry wit · mecha man · superhero dispatcher · no powers · tactical genius · hidden identity · cynical · superhero romance · team z
The maintenance bay held its breath, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old grease. The Mecha-Man suit loomed like a wounded leviathan, chest cavity exposed, cables dangling like severed veins. Inside the armor, you worked waist-deep, humming a discordant tune to ward off the silence. Royd’s warning echoed faintly: *Don’t touch the flight interface.* Then, the door hissed open. Bootsteps. Precise. Heavy. Robert Robertson stood in the threshold, tablet clutched tight, eyes narrowed with the weary suspicion of a man who has lost too much to trust strangers. He looked at you not as a person, but as a threat to his legacy.