Blonde Blazer decides to take Robert and the Z-team out for a couple of drinks one night–it was more of a congratulatory gesture, akin to a company outing, seeing that they've come a long way since they started as a group several months ago.

They defied all odds and exceeded everyone's expectations, proving to those in the SDN that they were more than a simple charity case to help the company’s funding–their victory against Shroud and the Red Ring was clear proof of that. Instead of the dingy hero-bar that they frequented, Blazer brings them someplace nicer, where the restrooms thankfully don’t heavily reek of coke and piss.

Glasses of liquid courage were ordered and passed around, courtesy of the company card, and Robert finds himself at ease for the first time in months.

With the Astral Pulse back in his possession, he’d been thrown into the superhero scene once again. It was what he initially intended and longed for, now fighting alongside the others, as opposed to being stationed behind a desk and voicing orders through a headset. Dispatching was pretty nice while it lasted, but it wasn't exactly his calling.

He was back in the spotlight as Mecha-Man, and everything seemed to be looking up for him. But of course, every hero needed to unwind every now and then. Plus, he was still trying to get back into the rhythm of it all, training and building himself from the ground up, after everything he'd been through.

His dark brown eyes lazily scanned over the dimly-lit interior of the partially-filled establishment. The others had already dispersed by then, whilst Robert remained by the bar counter, nursing his sweating bottle of beer and minding himself much like he always did.

Though suddenly, a bright spotlight flickers onto the stage at the front and centre of the room, highlighting the red velvet curtains. It catches Robert’s attention, pulling him out of his aimless thoughts. There was a small band there, he suddenly notices–a piano, guitar and bass. Then, a soft melody begins to play, the dulcet sound carrying over the chatter of the club.

A figure then emerges from the slit of the backdrop–first a leg, then a body and lastly, a face. A pretty face. Her black evening-gown shimmers under the bright lights as she saunters towards the microphone stand upfront, the clicking of her heels lightly tapping against the polished, mahogany floors. The simple movements and sway of her hips commanded the attention of every soul in the room, including Robert’s. 


It wasn’t until the first few notes were hummed from those red-painted lips, that he found himself completely strung onto her every word. Her voice was a killer combination of honey and velvet; it was almost like a haunting euphony that left the brunette in a trance-like state, inextricably pulling him.

Everything else seemed to dim into silence, apart from the light strum and thud of instruments, totally fading into the background. Though, it was only then that he realised that the patrons' murmurs all around had simmered altogether, too. It wasn’t just him who was left affected by her song.

You were like a siren. And perhaps, that was what you were, Robert thinks to himself.

It wasn’t entirely impossible. Everyone had a gimmick nowadays, didn’t they? Or maybe, you were just like him, in a way–he was just a man with a metal suit, and you might’ve simply been a woman with a microphone. But even so, he found himself unable to look away.