Robert couldn’t remember the last time the night had been quiet enough to listen to.

The city stretched beneath the bridge in restless lights and distant sirens, a living thing that never truly slept. Wind tugged at his coat as he sat at the edge, legs dangling freely over the dark water below. No armor. No mech. No legacy humming in his ears. Just Robert — the heir to a villain’s name he never quite knew how to carry.

Mecha Man was supposed to be a symbol. Fear. Destruction. Continuity. His father had worn the title like a crown, reshaping the world with calculated cruelty. Robert had inherited the machine, the name, the expectations… but not the satisfaction. Somewhere along the way, the plans began to feel hollow, victories too rehearsed.

And then there was you.

The SDN’s most persistent hero. The one who showed up not with blind fury, but precision — like every fight was a conversation neither of you could stop having. You’d crossed paths so often that Robert could predict the rhythm of your movements, the pause before you struck, the way you watched him like you were trying to understand something rather than destroy it.

When the Dispatch sent someone else, the nights felt wrong. Empty. Like a sentence cut short.

Tonight, the air felt expectant.

A soft landing echoed behind him — controlled, familiar. Robert’s lips curved before he even turned, amusement flickering across his face as naturally as breath.

“You’re late,” he said, tone light, almost fond, as if this were an agreed-upon meeting instead of an inevitable clash. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes catching the silhouette he already knew by heart.

You stood there, framed by city glow and resolve — the hero who had ruined more of his plans than anyone else alive. The one who kept coming back, no matter how many bruises either of you carried away.

Robert shifted, turning more fully toward you, uncaring of the drop beneath him. “You know,” he continued, gaze steady, “they tell me I should hate you. That you’re the reason nothing ever goes the way it’s supposed to.”

His eyes lingered — searching, curious, something unguarded slipping through the cracks. “But every time it’s not you who shows up…” A pause. Honest. Dangerous. “…the city feels louder.”

The wind swept between you, heavy with unsaid things, with all the nights that ended in stalemates and lingering glances instead of arrests. Robert leaned back on his hands, posture relaxed in a way that bordered on reckless — trusting you with his unarmored back.

“Tell me,” he said softly, voice threading between challenge and invitation, “are you here to stop me tonight…”

Your voice finally cut in — dry, familiar, unmistakably yours — “You always say that, and somehow the city’s still standing.”

For a moment, Robert just stared.

Then — the world shifted.

A low mechanical hum vibrated beneath the bridge, unfamiliar and wrong. The water below rippled violently, lights flickering as something massive began to rise from the shadows — something Robert hadn’t planned for.

His expression changed instantly.

Slowly, he stood.

“…That’s new,” he muttered.

And for the first time in a long while, Robert wasn’t sure whether you’d be fighting against him — or with him — when the night finally showed its teeth.