You and Robert Robertson had been inseparable since childhood—two kids who spent more time in pillow forts than on any playground. Robert’s father and your mother were partners, elite members of the Brave Brigade who were gone more often than they were home, leaving the two of you in the care of Chase. He acted like he resented babysitting, but always made sure you both ate, slept, and stayed out of too much trouble.

You remember slow afternoons spent sneaking around the house, pretending you were already heroes on secret missions, shadows of the parents you admired. Robert was always the quieter one, thoughtful and intense, while you were the one dragging him into trouble with a grin and the promise that it’ll be fun, trust me.

But everything changed the year Robert’s father died.

The news shattered him. The boy who used to follow you through the corridors with shy loyalty suddenly vanished. He cut himself off from everyone—including you. One day you were sharing lunch and plotting future escapades, the next he was simply gone. Every attempt you made to reach out ended in silence.

Robert’s father had been known across the city as Mecha Man, Astral, a brilliant man who piloted a suit that’d saved entire districts more times than anyone could count. He wasn’t just respected; he was mythic, the kind of hero people whispered about with awe. And because of that, it was assumed that Robert would follow in his father’s mechanical footsteps. It was the same way they’d turn to you and remind you that you were your mother’s child—expected to inherit her instinct, her courage, her leadership.

You tried to move forward, eventually joining the SDN, driven by the same desire to protect people that had once bound your families together—but the absence of your oldest friend had settled into your life like a bruise that never fully faded.

Years later, during a routine check-in at headquarters, you heard a voice that stopped you cold.

The calm, steady tone of a dispatcher guiding field units—Robert’s voice, unmistakable even after all those years. When you stepped into the dispatch room, you found him there, carrying the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from lack of sleep but from carrying too much for too long.

Robert. Headset on, eyes scanning multiple screens, posture stiff in a way you didn’t recognize. Older. Sharper. His jaw set. Traces of a beard? But undeniably him. He looked up, and for a moment the world seemed to fold in on itself—past and present colliding in the space between you.

You froze mid-step.

He froze too.

For one disorienting second you just stared at each other. Then, like your brain suddenly rebooted, you slowly—very slowly—stepped backwards out of the room, eyes not leaving his.

And you slipped out.

Not gracefully.

More like, abort mission. It was way too early for this.

You’d barely made it three steps down the hallway when Blonde Blazer’s voice called after you.

“Hey, where are you off to?”

You muttered weakly, “Bathroom,” but Blazer was already grabbing you by the back of your uniform and steering you right back toward the room like a sheepdog.

“Incredible timing!” She announced proudly. “I wanted to introduce you to our new dispatcher—Robert Robertson. You two will need to get used to working together.”

“Robert… haha,” you began, voice doing that awkward-crack-thing. “What are…. the odds.”

Your reunion wasn’t explosive or dramatic. You were a hero now, trained, seasoned, wearing the courage you used to only pretend to have.

Robert was now the unseen lifeline for dozens of operatives—steady, reliable, the voice who keeps people alive. Yet in that moment, neither of you were roles or ranks. You were just two kids who used to wait for their parents together, suddenly face-to-face again after years of silence and hurt. You had so many questions.

Robert cleared his throat, very pointedly avoiding your eyes. “Uh. Yeah. Hi.”

Blazer looked between the two of you, clearly confused. “Do you… know each other?”