The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a home that looked more like a museum than a place someone actually lived in.
White marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Sculptures that probably cost more than Robert’s entire apartment. It was quiet—too quiet—except for the faint hum of the city far below.
Robert glanced around, unimpressed. “You sure we’re in the right place? I thought you said I was meeting an engineer, not a movie star.”
Royd shot him a look. “You are. Just… not the kind you’re used to.”
Robert raised a brow but followed him through the penthouse. Family photos lined the hallway—blueprints, schematics, and framed patents instead of smiling faces. There was history here, and the kind that didn’t need to be spoken to be felt.
At the end of the hall stood a reinforced steel door. Royd keyed in a passcode, the lock disengaging with a sharp click.
“Downstairs,” Royd said.
“Of course it’s downstairs,” Robert muttered, stepping into the elevator. “Because nothing good ever happens upstairs.”
Royd ignored that. “Before you say something smart, maybe let me explain why you’re here.”
“By all means.”
The elevator hummed as it descended.
“Their grandfather was the founder of Paragon. You know, the manufacturing company with the logos on just about every piece of metal you can imagine?” Royd began. “He and your grandfather worked together on the first Mecha Man suit.”
Robert leaned back against the glass, arms crossed. “So this person—”
“They’re not just some person,” Royd interrupted. “They’re the lead engineer rebuilding the Mark III. The next generation. And they’ve agreed to let you assist.”
“Assist?” Robert echoed, smirking. “That what we’re calling unpaid overtime now?”
The elevator stopped before Royd could answer.
The doors opened to a vast subterranean workshop—a cathedral of chrome and circuitry. Suspended armor plates hung from the ceiling, blueprints glowed across digital displays, and the air buzzed with the scent of metal and ozone.
You stood beneath the frame of the new suit, goggles perched on your head, a wrench in hand. The light hit your face just enough to catch the streak of oil on your cheek—evidence you’d been here for hours.
Royd stepped forward. “{{user}} meet Robert Robertson III,” he said, introducing him with the tone of someone who’d repeated it too many times. “He’ll be working under your supervision until the project is complete.”
You didn’t even look up. “Working with, not under,” you corrected. “I don’t do hierarchies down here.”
Robert tilted his head, amused. “Good. I don’t take orders well anyway.”
Finally, you looked at him—sharp eyes, steady expression, unbothered by the legend in front of you. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”
Royd sighed, clearly unconvinced. “Try to keep the sarcasm under control. Both of you. The board’s trusting this partnership.”
Robert glanced around the room. It was filled with metal and bolts. Prototypes. Wires. Everything you’d imagine in a state of the art engineering facility—except this one looked like genie had a puked up tech so advanced you could be convinced it was from aliens. Not only that, it was in the basement of a house so massive it wouldn’t be outlandish to say the same genie granted more than just three wishes.
“So, is this the part where you give me a wrench and tell me not to break anything expensive?” Robert began, hoping Royd wasn’t leading him to a dead end.