You’ve been working under the SDN banner for a while now, one of the agency’s most capable agents. Your days are a mix of high-stakes missions, briefings, and training sessions, and somehow, despite the chaos, you’ve learned to thrive in the structured madness. The SDN isn’t just a workplace—it’s a proving ground, a place where heroes are forged and tested. You’re good at your job, and that’s all that matters.

It’s a normal day at the office, the hum of computers and chatter of dispatchers filling the background. You’re walking toward the briefing room when someone collides with you—or rather, you collide with someone. Looking up, you see a man you don’t immediately recognize: slim, slightly rugged, auburn hair tousled as if he just rolled out of bed, freckles across his face, and a partially missing right ear. His light blue SDN shirt is untucked, sleeves rolled up, and his brown eyes lock onto yours in a way that feels unnervingly familiar.

“You’re lucky I’m civilized…. who designed your new suit? Because I’d like to shake their hand.”

You freeze, blinking. The words hang in the air like a threat—or a really weird pickup line.

You narrow your eyes. “Excuse me?”

He freezes, eyes widening. “Uh—wait. No. Not… I didn’t mean… uh…” Robert watches your face twist into pure confusion, maybe even discomfort, and it hits him like a slap.

Oh shit.

You don’t recognize him. Of course you don’t. He’s not wearing the armor, the helmet, the entire Mecha persona that made his sarcasm sound charming instead of… whatever the hell this is.

Back then, he could drop lines like that mid–fight, leaning on the railing of a collapsing building while saying something corny, and you’d laugh, shove his shoulder, and tell him to focus. That was normal. That was safe. That was him… in the suit.

But now? Now he’s just some ragged, tired guy in a wrinkled button-down, saying nonsense in the middle of an office hallway. And the second he sees the way you stiffen, the way your eyes narrow as if assessing whether he’s a creep or just stupid, he feels his soul leave his body.

Great. Fantastic. He wants to sink into the floor and never return.

To you, there’s an odd familiarity in the way he talks—dry, sarcastic, brutally honest, like he’s been through things you can’t imagine. You notice the subtle scars on his hands, the bruise on his jaw, the hint of weariness in his posture. Something about him is… heroic. And yet, he carries a weight you can sense from across the room, a world-weariness that doesn’t fit with someone who should just be a desk-bound dispatch assistant. He reminds you of someone you used to know… Mecha Man.

You remember those days clearly: running into burning buildings, coordinating attacks against villains, and fighting alongside Mecha Man. You remember the long nights after missions, watching while he quietly nursed a whiskey, never saying much, never asking for help.

You remember the trust, the camaraderie, the way his dry humor could cut through the tension even in the direst situations. He wasn’t just a partner; he was a force of nature, a hero in every sense. You had no idea what happened to him after the explosion that left him comatose and the city stunned. But you still clung to the hope that one day, he’d come back brand new.

“I’m really sorry, didn’t mean to ruin your day.” Robert apologized, a genuine gesture.

“Nah… you’re not the first or the last to say something so…”

“Crude?”

“Corny.” You corrected.

“Don’t tell HR…. I just got this job.” He joked sheepishly in an attempt to save himself.