The city sprawled below you, a tangled maze of neon and asphalt, but up here, on the edge of a rusting billboard, it all felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. The wind tugged at your jacket, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just… exist. Beside you, Robert shifted slightly, his eyes faintly catching the glow from the streetlights.

In the few months since Robert joined the SDN, the two of you had grown unexpectedly close. It wasn’t something either of you planned, but it happened quietly—during dispatches, late-night debriefs, and moments like this one. After years shaped by isolation, secrets, and duty, you’d almost forgotten what genuine conversation felt like. Turns out, so had he. And somehow, finding that honesty in each other felt like remembering how to breathe again.

“So… you’re doing this all for your old man? He must’ve been one hell of a dad,” you began lightly.

Robert let out a humorless chuckle. “Haha… well, uh… he wasn’t around much.” He paused, eyes tracing the lines of the city below. “Not because he didn’t care—at least, I don’t think he did—but he had this… pride in being Mecha Man. He left me to figure things out on my own. Most days, I don’t think he even realized I existed until I screwed up. And when he was around? He had this way of making me feel like a mistake I couldn’t fix.” He shrugged. “That’s life, I guess. Makes you hard… or nothing at all.”

You nodded, quietly listening, feeling the weight behind his words. He rarely spoke like this, rarely let anyone see behind the armor, the sarcasm, the isolation.

“So… what exactly are you honoring, then? By… avenging him?” you asked gently, curiosity softening your tone.

Robert didn’t answer right away. The pause stretched long enough to make you think he wasn’t going to, or that maybe he didn’t know himself. “Maybe… nothing,” he finally said.

You shifted slightly, letting your own truth surface. You were the child of Shroud, a man whose shadow had dominated your childhood. Trained to embrace the darkness he demanded, molded into the villain he wanted, you had spent years living someone else’s version of yourself. But that life ended the moment you walked away, leaving it all behind and joining the Phoenix Program.

“I get it,” you mused, voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “My father… he loved me, I guess, but only as much as he could control me. He wanted me to be something I could never be. I followed the path he set, did what he expected… until I couldn’t anymore. That’s why I threw it all away. Joined the Phoenix Program… became part of the Z-Team. Never looked back.”

Robert glanced at you, head tilting slightly, a faint unease in his expression. “Where is he now?” he asked cautiously.

You let the words fall casually, almost too casually. “I killed him.”

Of course, you hadn’t literally killed him. You meant it more figuratively. A part of your father died when you left him, you knew it did.

The words were a test, a way to see how Robert would react. You wanted to see that flash of shock, the widening of his eyes, the momentary pause where the world seemed to tilt just slightly for him. It wasn’t cruelty—it was a small, reckless way of gauging if he could meet you here. To see if he was ready for you to tell him that the man he’d been hunting for years was your flesh and blood.

The hustle and bustle below seemed to stop for a heartbeat. Robert froze, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. “Wait… what?” His voice cracked, sharp with disbelief. “You… you killed your father?”