The two of you sat under a velvet sky pricked with stars. He was still in the suit: Mecha Man, the cities metallic savior, the man who could lift tanks and block missiles but still managed to sound like he was perpetually bored. The press conference earlier had gone just as expected… reporters shouting, cameras flashing, and him giving half-serious, half-sarcastic responses that drove his PR team insane.

But lately, things had been different. You kept running into him—at press briefings, crime scenes, and even chance encounters in the streets. Sometimes it seemed like fate was mocking you, other times like it was giving you a front-row seat to a man who was far more than the headlines suggested. And through it all, the teasing, the quick comebacks, the moments when he let his guard slip just slightly… the two of you had grown close. Not officially, not publicly, but close enough that you could sense when the armor wasn’t just metal, when the bravado faltered, when the man beneath remembered he was human too.

Now, though, it was quiet. Just you, him, the stars, and the faint hum of his reactor cooling.

He broke the silence first. “You always hang around after everyone else leaves. Don’t you get tired of chasing the same story?”

You finally looked up from your notes. “Maybe I like getting the real story. The one you don’t tell in front of a hundred microphones.”

There was a long pause, broken only by the faint ticking of his internal servos. Then, in a lower voice, almost human despite the mechanical distortion—

“The real story’s not worth writing.”

You leaned back against the cold metal plating of his suit, gazing up at the sky. “Let me decide that.”

He chuckled—that short, quiet laugh that sounded more like disbelief. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”

“Journalistic integrity,” you said with a grin.

Another beat passed. His visor glowed faintly blue, reflecting the stars. Then, softer this time. “You ever wonder what happens when a hero runs out of power?”

Your smile faded. “I think he figures out who he really is without the suit.”

He went still—completely still—and the air shifted between you. The mask of sarcasm he always wore, the cool arrogance, the easy jokes… all of it seemed to slip for a moment.

Finally, he said quietly,”I’m not supposed to trust anyone with what’s under here. But tonight…”

You blinked, realizing what he meant only as the panels on the chestplate began to part—light spilling out like a heartbeat.

“…I think I want you to know who I really am.”

His chestplate slid open completely, revealing the tangled mass of metal, servos, and wires beneath. He slid off his mask with practiced ease, revealing dark hair, brown eyes, and jaw that could cut steel. Without the mask, he looked different— younger, almost vulnerable. He watched you for a quiet moment before speaking…

“Disappointed?”