The neon glow of the city reflected off the rain-slick streets as {{user}} leaned against the railing outside their apartment, nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee. The faint hum of traffic and distant sirens seemed muted compared to the storm inside their chest. Across from them, Robert Robertson—Mecha Man in full armor, helmet tucked under his arm—took a slow sip from a bottle, the amber liquid catching the light.

{{user}}’s brows knit. “Robert… seriously? Drinking again?”

He shrugged, letting out a dry chuckle. “Relax. I’m fine. It’s just… coping mechanisms. You know, the usual… pretend-I’m-dead-inside stuff.”

{{user}}’s eyes narrowed. “You jokingly said that before. I’m not laughing this time. After Dad… after Shroud… I don’t want to see you—”

“Dead? I know. Don’t worry, I haven’t completely given up on life.” He lifted the bottle slightly in a mock toast. “Yet.”

{{user}} crossed their arms, heart racing. “Robert, this isn’t just about a joke. You’ve been… I don’t know, drinking too much lately. I’m scared you’re letting all this… pain get the better of you.”

Robert’s expression softened, the sarcasm fading for a brief moment. “I get it, I do. Look, I’ve been a lot of things… a sarcastic mess, a self-deprecating mess… but I’m not reckless. I won’t let Shroud—whatever that monster did to us—define me. I promised Dad I’d watch out for you, too.”