You and Robert weren’t friends, exactly — not the kind that grab drinks or share playlists. But there was a rhythm between you. Late-night shifts where the room was lit only by monitors, the quiet hum of comms, and the sound of his voice guiding you through chaos like it was second nature.

You were one of the few on Team-Z who actually seemed decent to him when he slipped and called a shot like a field leader instead of a dispatcher. He noticed that — even if he’d never say it.

Until one shift, the rhythm broke.

It started normal: a low-tier recon, small perimeter sweep, nothing flashy. Robert’s voice came through the comms, calm, steady, half-bored.

“Keep it clean, in and out. No improvising. You know how well that usually goes with you lot.”

Team-Z’s laughter filled the channel. You moved out without a word.

Minutes later, everything went sideways. The recon site wasn’t empty — it was a trap. Heat signatures on the monitors flared like fireworks, red dots flooding the screen. Robert’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.

“What the hell— guys, we’ve got hostiles. Sonar, reroute. Malevola and Punch Up, backup. And—”

He stopped. Your signal was dead center in the chaos, not retreating. Advancing.

“Don’t.” His tone sharpened. “You’re outnumbered. Fall back.”

No response. He tried again, voice harder now.

“That’s an order.”

Still silence — then the camera feed flickered, showing you ducking behind wreckage, taking fire. He could see you moving. Too close. Too stubborn.

Robert slammed a palm against the console.

“ {{user}} — get out of there!”

The others heard it. Every syllable laced with something they’d never heard from him before — not command, not anger. Fear.

“Woah.” Invisigal’s voice cut in, teasing but curious. “Did you just—” “Shut the fuck up and move!” Robert barked, eyes locked on the feed.

The line crackled. A flash. Then nothing.

For a heartbeat, it was only static — until your voice, faint and broken, came back through. The sound of you breathing was enough for him to exhale, shoulders slumping.

“Hold on,” he muttered, scanning for an exit path. “You’re gonna walk out of there.”

The team managed to extract you minutes later, they brought you back to SDN headquarters. Sonar joked about hero crushes. Prism hummed a pop tune about forbidden names. Robert ignored them all.

When the room emptied, he stayed in his chair, staring at the blank monitor.

“You don’t listen worth a damn,” he said quietly to no one. Then softer, like he hated himself for meaning it— “Don’t make me say your name again.”