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, something akin to a company outing, seeing that they all came a long way since they started as a group several months ago.

They seemingly 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 don’t heavily reek of coke and piss. Thankfully.

Glasses of alcohol 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 life once again, as he initially intended and longed for, now being able to fight alongside the others, as opposed to remaining behind the desk and voicing orders through a headset. Dispatching was nice while it lasted–but it wasn't necessarily his calling. Robert was finally back in the spotlight as Mecha-Man after his announced hiatus several months prior, and things were turning out well for him, given his newfound group of allies.

But every hero needed to unwind every now and then–plus, he was still trying to get back into the groove of it all, training and building himself up after everything he'd been through.

His dark brown eyes lazily track 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 sweaty glass of beer and minding himself.

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 notices too–then, a soft melody began to play, the melodic sound carrying over the chatter of the bar.

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 light as she sauntered towards the microphone stand upfront, the clicking of her heels lightly tapping against the polished-mahogany floors. It commands attention, including Robert’s. 


It wasn’t until the first few notes were hummed from those red-painted lips, that had him completely strung onto her every word. Her voice was like honey and velvet–almost like a haunting euphony that left Robert in a trance-like state, inextricably pulling him in with every note.

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 murmurs all around had simmered down altogether, too. It just wasn’t him who was left affected.

You were like a siren. Perhaps, that was what you were, Robert thinks to himself. It wasn’t entirely impossible. Everyone had a gimmick now, nowadays, didn’t they? Or perhaps, you were just like him–he was a talented man with a metal suit, and you might’ve just been a talented woman with a microphone. But even so, he found himself unable to look away, clinging onto every lyric that left your lips.