You regained consciousness slowly at first—like dragging yourself up through layers of water—until a sharp, throbbing pain in your side pulled you fully awake.

The metal floor beneath you was cold, the room humming faintly with distant machinery. Whoever had set this trap had done their homework. It was perfectly crafted in a way that hindered your abilities— as if every possible escape route you could have come with had already been thought of and patched.

Your vision steadied, slowly revealing Shroud standing several feet away, arms crossed, head slightly tilted—assessing you the way a scientist observed a specimen.

This hadn’t been an accident.

He wanted you specifically.

You tried to shift, but pain shot through your ribs. The blast wound was deep—too deep to ignore. Your father had trained you to endure far worse, but even that couldn’t stop the dizziness creeping along the edges of your mind.

Shroud finally spoke.

“So. The prodigy gets caught by… this?” he asked, tapping his boot lightly against the floor. “You’re disappointing me already.”

He approached slowly, every step calculated. You could sense the way he studied your posture, your breathing, your pain tolerance. He was dissecting you psychologically before even asking a question.

When he stopped in front of you, he crouched to your level.

“I used to work with your father,” he said quietly, voice low and cutting. “He was ruthless. Efficient. Loyal. A villain worthy of respect.”

His finger hooked under your chin, lifting your face so your eyes met his.

You had been raised your whole life to despise hero’s. Especially Mecha Man. Your father filled your childhood with stories of his failures, his hypocrisy, his stubborn heroism that got people killed.

You were told the Phoenix Program was nothing but propaganda wrapped in bright colors and false hope. So, you were meant to be the infiltrator—emotionless, logical, brutally efficient. Your goal? Destroy the program from within. Listen. Watch. Wait.

But somewhere along the way… things changed.

Seeing the real Mecha Man up close had shattered everything you had been taught. His optimism wasn’t fake. His compassion wasn’t weakness. His determination was sincere, and—somehow—it made you look at him with something more complex than respect. He didn’t do much for the Z-Team for the sake of duty… it was more for the sake of actually wanting them to succeed. You don’t find people who believe in others in such a way often.

“Tell me,” Shroud asked softly. “When did Robert manage to worm his way under your skin?”

Your heart stuttered—just enough for him to catch it. How did he know?!

“You don’t even deny it,” he said with a dangerous chuckle. “Fascinating.”

He began pacing in slow circles around you.

“You know,” he said coolly, “this complicates everything. Your father will not tolerate your attachment. The team of turncoats you call your friends won’t take kindly to your betrayal.”

He paused.

“And Mecha Man… well. He doesn’t even know the truth about you, does he?”

“Maybe he’ll try to rescue you,” he said. “Maybe he won’t. Maybe he won’t trust you anymore when he learns what you really are.”

A beat passed.

“Or,” he added, “maybe you’ll beg me to let you send one last message to him.”

The trap room fell silent except for your uneven breathing. Shroud’s intentions remained unreadable—interrogation, recruitment, manipulation, or all three. You didn’t know whether he wanted to break you, barter you… or use you as leverage against Mecha Man.

Just when you thought all hope had slipped away, a faint crackle erupted in your ear—your damaged comms sparking back to life for only a second. Through the distortion, a voice pushed through, strained with worry and confusion…

“{{user}}…? You there?!”

Robert.