Chapter Text
There are many types of people in this world.
There are some who are born ordinary, a bit of an oddity in a superpowered world. They can only do what their own two hands and singular mind can will them to do. They are not exceptional fundamentally. They are normal, in every way. Limited, but also capable of incredible things. Their positions in society are not decided upon birth. They have the free will to choose who they will be. Be it someone who does good or bad, it is entirely in their hands.
Then there are those who are born with a genetic mutation that could give them any range of abilities. While the genetic lottery is always random, that person’s powers could be influenced by those of their parents.
Within that group, there are people born with “hero” and “villain” powers, the distinction so stark it’s hard not to fold under the influence of these stereotypes. The world decides for you, and you accept it unquestioningly.
Robert Robertson the Third had such a fate.
At one time in his life.
It’s odd how heavy a name can feel when you begin to understand its weight at such a young age. Robert was born with a sole purpose: to succeed his father as Mecha Man. It should've been simple and, on paper, it was. All Robert had to do was walk in the same steps as his father and boom, there’s your new Mecha Man.
Except Robert developed powers at the age of six, something that absolutely infuriated his father while it had delighted his mother. He would be the first Mecha Man with powers and that was just unacceptable in his father’s eyes. Mecha Man didn’t have powers, he was a hero of the people who could prove that anyone could be a hero if they simply wanted it enough.
And no beating could make Robert’s psychic link with machinery go away, much to his father’s annoyance.
Once Robbie learned there was no forcing his son’s powers out of his body, he pivoted. He could make this work. There would still be another Mecha Man. Robbie’s father hadn’t died for the legacy to fizzle out so soon after it had gotten started.
His then babysitter, Chase, had been one of the few people who worked with his father that had been present in Robert’s life when he was young. He had given Robbie hell when he found out what he had been doing to Robert. Voices were raised, things were thrown, and words that couldn’t be taken back were said.
Robert never saw Chase again after that.
His mother, a feisty Korean woman by the name of Seo-hyun, was always there to defend him when he was too young to defend himself. Naturally, that meant the beatings started happening when she wasn’t home, but it didn’t stop her from tearing into Robbie when she returned, even if it meant taking a hit or two herself.
Robert apologized to her often when things got too heated. She would always hold him in her arms and murmur that there would always be other opportunities to make Robbie pay for what he had done to them. That, in truth, they didn’t need him the way he thought they did. It was a lie, an easy one to tell to a hurt child, but he always believed her. His mother was all he had, the only one on his side. Of course he believed her.
His mother had always been like that. Strong, virtuous, never letting things slide. She took so much of what his father dished out, but it was never without the threat of consequences.
Those consequences were Robert, once he grew old enough to stand up for himself. He was his mother’s son, regardless of how often his father tried to convince him they were the same. He inherited her strength, her cleverness, and her coldness. Even his powers were somewhat derived from her, hers being the ability to manipulate metal.
Shortly after Robert turned sixteen, his father showed clear signs of cooling down. He made no attempts to apologize to him or his mother, but at the very least he wasn’t hitting them anymore. Things seemed as though they would get better for the first time since Robert had been born.
Then, Robert Robertson the Second had been shot and killed by someone they all thought they could trust for a reason that sounded achingly simple despite the weight it held. Elliot Connors had wanted the Astral Pulse, the mech’s core, and Robbie had made sure to keep it from him despite the fact that they had worked on it together. After the murder, Elliot was promptly arrested, but not without promises of getting the Pulse back, according to the news.
Robert didn’t cry at his father’s funeral. He stood by his mother’s side as they both watched the casket be lowered into the ground, both of their bodies deflating with relief as they realized it was finally, truly over for them. Seo-hyun booked a flight to Korea the day after the funeral, packing her things swiftly. Robert wanted to go with her but he wasn’t about to beg. He simply asked her why he couldn’t go with her in a cool, even tone. In reply, she brought him to the large garage that housed the mech suit and told him something he knew he would never forget:
“You still have work to do here, my Taejoon. This suit will be how you do it. I know you will not disappoint me.”
With his mother now gone and Chase in the wind (doing whatever Chase did), Robert finished high school, graduating a year early and with honors. He didn’t attend college.
He wouldn’t need a college education with what he intended to do with his life.
After refurbishing the suit more to his liking, Robert spent the next fifteen years of his life doing something that brought him much more joy than his father’s original plans for him would have. He destroyed his father’s legacy as the new villain on the block, Mecha Man Silver.
Or just Silver to most.
The crimes he committed were consistent, but they were also fun. For Robert’s whole life, he was on the receiving end of pain and suffering. His father had no care in the world for him or who he was, he only cared about what Robert would grow to become for him. Robbie’s son was merely a piece of clay to him, something he could easily mold into whatever shape he needed. It felt so damn good to be the one dealing the hits rather than taking them.
Robert knew the cards he needed to hold at all times and when exactly to hold them, a skill his mother taught him when he was younger. He knew not to make an enemy of everyone, knew how to keep people just close enough. Using people became second nature and discarding the ones he knew he wouldn’t need to worry about became the easiest part of all of it.
Mecha Man Silver was something of a showboater, performing when he knew eyes were on him. More elaborate heists, more violent attacks, the whole nine yards. In the villain world, he became something of an entertainer. And being an entertainer to lots of people with lots of underground connections made doing what he did so much more enjoyable. Some of those confident, showboating skills even managed to bleed their way into his civilian life, which in turn made it much easier to manipulate people there, too.
He rode that high for a good fourteen years. Now, he was thirty years old and it still felt just as amazing as it had the first time.
But he should have known better than to get cocky.
Darting out of the warehouse with two rapidly darkening eyes, a split lip, and bruised ribs, the adrenaline coursing through his veins numbing the pain as he ran. He had no reason to run, given that there was no one conscious that could chase him. He eventually made it to the edge of the docks, where he sat down with a huff, the parts in his bag clunking loudly as he sat down. There was a faint orange glow reflecting off the water to his left, but he didn’t question it as he caught his breath. He needed to make it home soon so he could repair the mech first and himself second, it having taken some pretty heavy hits the last time he’d taken it out to blow off some steam. That ended up being a bad idea since there was a certain group of people in the city of Torrance that knew the sight of the mech a little too well.
Some time in the last year, Elliot Connors had broken out of prison. He went by Shroud now and was the leader of the most notorious crime syndicate in the area, the Red Ring.
Personally, Robert thought the name was a little tacky.
His breath now successfully caught, he was just about to get up when one of the boards behind him creaked. He pulled a gun from the front part of his bag and aimed it at the person behind him, the finger on the trigger practically begging to be pulled.
The person, a man, threw his hands up quickly in an attempt to show that he wasn’t a threat. It was hard to make out all of his features from that distance, but he was clearly a lot taller than Robert was standing up. More muscular, too. He brought the smell of smoke with him, which had his gaze flicking behind him and a little to his left, to a smaller dock house that was on fire.
“That from you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” the stranger replied. “Didn’t think anyone else would be here tonight.” Despite the words said, he didn’t sound too upset about someone else being present. Odd.
“Mm,” Robert said. “Well, I don’t kiss and tell. Better beat it before the cops show, though. I won’t stick around to help you if you decide to dick around.”
Rather than take Robert’s warning to heart, the man approached slowly with his hands still up. He rolled his eyes and put the gun away, facing the water again. He was annoyed, admittedly. He didn’t often get to enjoy ocean time like this, but thanks to this arsonist, he’d have to head home faster than he wanted to. He didn’t know exactly how much time he had but he knew it was enough to enjoy the water for a bit longer.
The space beside him was suddenly occupied, the warmth being exuded from the stranger making him tense. When he glanced over, he noticed his eyes glued to Robert’s bag. They returned to his face when something in the burning dock house fell, causing a loud ringing that was no doubt metal on metal. The noise made him flinch, much to his annoyance at his own self-control.
“You lit a dock house on fire. Don’t judge me for taking some scrap metal,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“What’s it for?” asked the arsonist.
“Science fair project,” Robert deadpanned.
The moon seemed to catch the silvery lining of his flight suit, garnering the stranger’s attention to it. His eyes, the most odd shade of amber Robert had ever seen, traveled all over Robert’s body, clarity sparking in them. He didn’t acknowledge the recognition that slowly grew on the man’s face. If he knew, he knew, and it’s not like he’d be running off to tell anyone. Who would believe him, since his face was still completely intact?
He squinted, taking in the stranger’s features for a moment more. Dark, luscious hair fell in waves, framing his face with the way it curved at the ends. There was a single nick on his cheek where he had cut himself during a recent shave, a blemish that was wholly out of place given how otherwise perfect he looked. There was something about him that looked familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint from where exactly. It would nag him for a while, he knew it.
“Speaking of faces,” Robert said, continuing the first part of his inner monologue out loud. “You’ve got a pretty one. What’s someone like you doing out here, this late at night?”
The arsonist paused for a moment before giving Robert the prettiest smile he’d ever received, even if it did border on smug a little bit, “Blowing off some steam. It’s been a long week.”
“Yikes, feel that,” he agreed readily. It had taken him since Sunday to track down these parts, and it was now Friday evening, with the time admittedly closer to Saturday at that point. The payoff was sweet, however, sweeter than he could have ever hoped. He figured he’d earned himself a drink and smoke when he returned home.
The wood beside him creaked, signalling him to the man rising. Robert looked up at him, their eyes meeting. Something crackled in the air between them as he asked, “Since we’re both here, why don’t we grab something to drink? I’ll buy.”
Robert typically wasn’t the type to openly invite people to do things like that with him, but there was something unique about this guy that he couldn’t seem to shake, despite the few words they had spoken. It made Robert start thinking with his other head, something that usually would have grossed him out. However, tonight was an exception. His heist had gone off without a hitch, all his hard work had paid off, and he could almost ignore his bruising ribs in favor of crawling into bed with a stranger.
Much to his disappointment, the arsonist shook his head and gave him a snarky grin, “Another time. I’ve got places to be.”
Typically, Robert was the type to take what he wanted, and he more often than not did just that. Not in instances like these. Consent was extremely important to him, after all. Seasoned criminal as he may be, he wasn’t a monster. So, he simply waved the guy off, “Another time, then. Take winding streets on your way outta here. You smell like a damn forest fire. It’ll tip people off to what you did.”
He gave him a nod before walking off, the dock creaking with every step until they faded completely. With that, Robert felt like that was his cue to go as well. He’d wasted too much time here, mentally cursing himself for opting to have a conversation with an arsonist rather than listen to his inner voice that had been shouting at him to go the fuck home.
Standing up slowly, he began making his way back towards the center of the docks, the smell of burning wood getting stronger and stronger. It didn’t smell bad, in fact it was actually sort of comforting. Arson was one of the crimes he’d never dabbled in, mostly because it felt like it could be incredibly time consuming and risky. Even the smallest of blazes could produce a ton of smoke, and that was like a shining beacon to the police.
He barely made it past the burning dock house when he heard a loud and stern, “Freeze! TPD, get on the ground!”
Apparently, Robert had less time than he thought he did. He did what every sensible person in his situation would have done.
He ran.
Even at night, he knew the docks like the back of his hand. Most of his “business associates” held meetings there, normally in the abandoned dock houses. He quickly darted in the direction opposite of the shouting, which was followed up by more shouting from two to three additional voices. Hopping over a pile of crates, he tried hard to avoid the burning in his lungs and the pain in his body. There was no way he would let this be how he went to prison.
A figure, undoubtedly another police officer, popped in front of him from seemingly nowhere. They didn’t get time to launch into their routine speech before Robert punched them square in the jaw. He stepped over the unconscious officer and kept going, only to be brought to his knees by the most ear-splitting screech he had ever heard.
This was the only drawback of his power, aside from never being able to gauge the fuel levels of the machines he could control. High sound frequencies, like the one that came from God only knows where, severely messed with his head, similarly to the way sound resonates through metal. It can all but destroy the integrity of it, not to mention what it could do to disrupt electronics.
Hence, his brain felt like it was melting in his skull.
Robert was hauled up, unable to put up a fight even as the frequency was shut off, the sound still ringing harshly in his ears. A pair of powerdampening cuffs was placed on him as he was read his Miranda rights while being escorted away from the docks. There were several police cars awaiting him, in addition to a few dozen camerapeople and a news reporter.
Humiliation and shame crawled all over his body as he was forced into the police cruiser. Not because of what he’d done, but because he had gotten caught. The officer who put him there didn’t make it better, giving him a snide, “You’re a hard man to get a hold of, Mecha Man.” It only intensified the shame.
What would his mother say?
His stomach turned uncomfortably at the thought of the scolding he would no doubt get from her the minute he was able to call.
She had been following his career from Korea since the time he graduated high school and took it up until the present day. They wrote to each other frequently and while she never directly told him she was proud of him, she did always say that the work he was doing was good work. She had been the one to tell him that heroism wouldn’t be a good look on him, and he believed her. Besides, villainy in his father’s suit was the best possible way to tarnish the reputation that Mecha Man had built. That was something that impressed her.
Once the dizziness and ringing in his ears finally subsided, they were at the station, where he was being hauled out of the cruiser. He jerked out of one of their grips, snarling like an animal, “I want my phone call.”
One of the officers laughed, “You think you’re getting a phone call? Dream on.”
“You gave Elliot Connors one,” Robert spat as they continued walking him into the station. “I would know, he used it to call me. Fucking idiot…”
They promptly ignored his request, taking him through the process of getting checked in and getting his mug shot taken, followed by the humiliation ritual that was being stripped, searched, and then hosed off like he was some kind of animal. The cuffs he had walked in with had been replaced with some kind of collar that was fastened around his neck. Now he really felt like an animal. He scoffed at the jumpsuit that was shoved into his hands, glaring at the thing like it had insulted him.
He was already growing to hate the color orange.
Nonetheless, he changed into it with plenty of grumbling, the fabric messing with his skin and making it itch.
“Alright, you’ll get your one phone call,” an officer, a gruff older man, said.
“I need my phone to do it. It’s an international call to my mother in Korea.” Robert hated having to explain himself to these pigs, but it was unfortunately the only way he knew he’d be able to contact her.
The officer narrowed his eyes before walking away, coming back a few minutes later with Robert’s phone in hand. He unlocked it via facial recognition (being unmasked in a place like this just added to the humiliation) and reached out to take it.
“Ah ah. It’ll be on speaker phone. I’ll make the call,” the officer said coldly.
“So much for privacy,” Robert muttered.
“You’re a criminal. You don’t get privacy.”
The call was placed, and Seo-hyun answered on the first ring and in English, “Taejoon. What is it?”
“I’m calling from prison, eomeonim,” Robert said, the shame creeping into his voice.
His mother was silent for a moment before she said, “You will get out. You have worked too hard to die in a place like prison. My son will not remain there.”
Her cold tone paired perfectly with her harshly spoken words, making the officer flinch as Robert said, “I won’t disappoint you.”
“You already have, Taejoon.”
The words didn’t cut him like they would have at one point in his life. He simply echoed her former statement, “I’ll get out. I love you, eomeonim.”
“And I you.” The call disconnected immediately after the final word was said, leaving silence between him and the officer the only thing left to fill the voice.
The officer looked as though he wished to say something, but merely pulled the phone away and walked off, leaving him alone in the holding cell. He figured he would be stuck here in the Torrance City Jail until his trial, then he would be transferred to Los Angeles once he was convicted.
Realistically, they could only get him on theft, since that’s all they caught him doing. It’d be pushing it since the parts in his bag had been pretty pricey, but it should be under the felony amount. Hopefully, at least.
✴✴✴
Assault.
Battery.
Grand theft auto.
Grand larceny.
Assaulting a police officer.
And a singular count of arson.
Somehow, that was the one that pissed him off the most, the one that had him raising his voice in the courtroom. He’d never done arson, it wasn’t right to saddle him with a charge that he didn’t commit. It was absolutely outrageous!
He was sentenced to 25 years to life in prison for it all. He didn’t fight the police as they led him back to the cell he’d been occupying for the last two weeks before the trial. He couldn’t believe the amount of evidence they had gathered about him over the years, primarily from CCTV in the areas he frequented. The calculating part of it was something he had to admire; they wanted to nail him with as much as they possibly could to put him away for as long as they could.
“We’ve gotta wait till tomorrow to ship your ass off,” one of the officers said, a jovial smile on his face.
“It’s good to get another one of these assholes off the streets and into the box where they belong,” the officer beside him said, her smile so wide Robert would think she’d just won the lottery.
He wanted to tell them to go fuck themselves, but he bit his tongue and sat on the bed in the cell, wracking his brain for any idea as to how he was going to get out of there. It didn’t help that the usual buzz that swam around in his mind was completely absent due to the power dampening collar around his neck. It had been driving him insane over the last two weeks and, if he didn’t get out of this hellish place soon, it would for the rest of his life.
“Any takers for this…uhhh Phoenix Program?” A rookie cop asked as they passed by the holding cells. The name piqued Robert’s interest, so he leaned against the bars of his cell.
“What is it?” He asked, nearly startling them out of their skin.
“A program by SDN Torrance,” they said, trying hard not to stammer as they looked at him. “Uhm, it gives…villains an opportunity to turn their lives around, to become heroes. But like…heroes for hire.”
There it was. The exact out he needed! He gave them his best doe-like eyes and said, “How can I sign up?”
Whether they were entranced or not by the display of faux vulnerability, they walked him through the process anyway. It was quite brief, considering the real paperwork couldn’t begin unless someone was selected for the program, but it almost didn’t matter.
Robert knew he was a shoe-in.
His father, and his father before him, were superheroes that defined generations of people. Mecha Man Prime and Mecha Man Astral were symbols of hope for the average citizen. And for the next Mecha Man to take up the mantle, refurbish the suit, dub himself Mecha Man Silver and then absolutely shatter the people’s love for the hero? There was a story there. More than that, there was a person underneath the cowl, someone who would lead a program like this would no doubt see as broken and in need of help. And as long as he managed to throw on his best “woe is me”, he’d be out of there! It simply felt too brilliant.
Though the sign up aspect of it hadn’t gotten rid of all his problems, as he was loaded up on a bus the very next morning and transported to the California State Prison. Where he sat for four whole months.
When the fourth month rolled around, he honestly thought he’d never hear anything back, which had severely dampened the confidence he had in himself while he played the waiting game. Though he did what he always had on the outside, and that was make friends in very low places.
Contained criminals were easy to talk to, especially when all they did was bitch about the people who put them behind bars. For some, it was major heroes like Phenomaman or Blonde Blazer but for others it was simply the police they had problems with.
Robert never did find out the person that actually led the police to him. He had to assume there had been a singular person responsible rather than the police finding the fire and then Mecha Man Silver purely by coincidence. Coincidences didn’t happen. There was no such thing. He briefly considered the arsonist from the docks, but there was no way he was stupid enough to step in the path of the police after committing the crime he did.
The funniest part about prison was the fact that everyone thought they were innocent.
No one seemed to be able to fathom that what they had done was wrong, even the people who had committed murder claimed that they didn’t belong there. When Robert was addressed directly, he’d be the first to agree with them. That he was innocent and didn’t belong behind bars.
Though that wasn’t the truth. He knew he was a bad person and, as much as he hated to admit it, he had earned his spot here among these criminals. All the crimes he had ever committed gave him a high that made him feel giddy to get out there and do it again. Oftentimes, there was absolutely no motive to steal or beat people to a bloody pulp. All he needed was the gentlest of nudges and that would become the motive if anyone asked. And people did ask. People in the little circle he chose to surround himself with for the sake of that added layer of security. While criminals weren’t the most trustworthy people in the world, it was good to have at least some connections you kept closer than others. Something his little band of thieves and arsonists (and a singular, actual murderer) seemed to understand pretty well, hence their unspoken agreement.
And then, finally, he had gotten the news he wanted to hear. That he had been selected for the Phoenix Program. He fought the urge to act smug as he was escorted out of the prison and put into a police cruiser. He was impatient to get back out there, to continue doing what he did best.
Though, the potential issues began forming in his head the further he was taken from California State Prison. First, there was the matter of the mech. Robert had no means of repairing it, meaning he would be completely out of a core part of who he was until he could get the parts he needed to fix it. Less Mecha, significantly more man. What a pain. He would have virtually no free will, being heavily monitored by a whole team of people. Meaning there was no chance he’d be able to pick up where he left off seamlessly four months ago. He’d be answering directly to people who hated him, the feeling was completely mutual, and he’d have to do it unquestioningly.
Well, maybe that last bit was dramatic. He’d have some wiggle room, seeing as he’d be among a handful of people just like him. Though those people most likely had good reasons for joining the program, namely the desire to change.
He was brought into SDN Torrance, still in his prison jumpsuit and power dampening collar. The police escorted him into the building, past a group of people in hideous blue shirts with the SDN logo embroidered on it, staring at him like he had three heads. He gave them a biting, savage smile, making some of the younger employees flinch. The officers gave his shoulder a shove.
“Dick,” he muttered under his breath.
“You don’t fool me, Mecha Man,” one officer hissed in his ear. “I know you’re here for all the wrong fucking reasons.”
“Shame. You pigs are easy to fool.” The officer looked like he wanted to beat Robert to a pulp, but refrained simply because they were now in the presence of a hero, and a famous one at that.
Blonde Blazer sat behind a desk in an office that was too dark for a suitable workplace. Clad in yellow, blue, and white with a single splash of red in the center as always, she gestured for them to let Robert sit down.
Sitting in a chair more comfortable than the bed he’d been sleeping in for the last four months, he looked her over again. Golden hair, perfectly styled. Sapphire blue eyes observing him the way he observed her.
Robert was stunned by her smile. It was full of warmth and kindness, something that had a shiver running down his spine. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that.
He decided that he hated it completely.
“Robert Robertson the Third,” she said, her tone professional despite the kindness rolling off of her in waves. “Mecha Man Silver. We have a lot to discuss.”