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- Malevola
Malevola knew Robert could pack a punch. Ever since that bar fight in The Sardine, it would be stupid to think Robert was just some average guy. She couldn’t quite watch him during it though, what with all her own pummeling of Red Ring goons. When Prism wanted the team to hit the bar again after a good day’s work (If you ignore all the ways it wasn’t) — the team did not learn — and went to The Sardine. Cheap booze and karaoke far outweighed the possibility of another brawl.
She got there first along with Hermy — because after a good minute of excessive stuttering he basically said commuting sucked — and spent a good 30 minutes hazing the kid about demons in the dark before Robert went to their table, cup of shitty whiskey in hand.
“What? Not treating us anymore?” She leaned forward towards him. Waterboy seemed to slump in relief over the new arrival..
“Not after you teleported onto a guy’s car, also stop scaring Waterboy over monsters under his bed.” He said, swirling the whiskey in the cup.
“It’s not scaring if it’s true.” It was, actually, true, but the struggle of being the enlightened one means others think you’re lying. Robert opened his mouth to reply before his eyes darted to Malevola’s back. He pulled the cup back, amber spilling onto his palm, and threw it towards whoever was behind her. The thud probably meant he fell.
“Awh, fuck!” The distinctly fuckboy-ey tone seemed like the Cult of Ch’aad. Damn she really didn’t wanna deal with overzealous cultists right now. She quickly got up, the chair squealing against the floor, and pulled the sword from her portal.
Before she could start stabbing the guy, Robert pushed forward and was standing over the cultist before she could blink. She looked over and saw the cultist got glass in his brow and cheek, eyes red from the alcohol hitting it. The booze probably stinged against the cuts too. He was holding some sacrificial knife and darted it forward to slash Robert in the calf.
He side-stepped it before kicking the cultist in the chin. A quick end, barely anything really, except apparently more Ch’aad worshippers were lurking in the club and it quickly developed from there. Would’ve been nice if the rest of the Z-team was here but fashionably late was their motto. The cultists stepped out of the dark corners of the bar and lunged towards their table.
Malevola pulled her arms back to slash across the horde of them, in her peripheral she saw Robert elbow one in the neck. The man started wheezing, and pulled Robert’s arm towards him but Robert took it as an excuse to punch the guy in the gut. The cultist lost his balance, toppling backwards, and bringing Robert with him. Another cultist was running towards the pair to help his friend. She did a wide slash against the group of them in front of her before twisting to help out Robert. Instead, she got an eyeful of him banging his forehead against the other guy, giving a mean right hook, getting up and throwing cultist A to cultist B, and rushing towards them to kick in between both of their legs. Holy shit.
They crumpled forward, groaning, and she heard a couple squeaks and thuds meaning people fell on Hermy’s probably gigantic puddle made from the anxiety, but she was too focused on Robert.
She was auto-fighting at that point but damn. He took the two sacrificial knives before stabbing the cultists hands together with one, and getting up to fight another guy. Taking his nape and dragging it to his knee, blood rushing out of the broken nose and splattered against his knee. Fuuuck, she wanted to transfer that guy’s wounds to her.
Robert threw his head to the side and it cracked against the table’s edge.The cultist's head probably throbbed like a bitch. And then Robert turned around to get the guy behind him.
It was like a well-oiled machine, how Robert fought. It was instinctual and coordinated, faltering forgotten for the sake of causing more pain. When he choked a guy out with his thighs, Malevola knew she was fucked. The man’s eyes rolled back and his fingers slowly dropped from grappling against his thighs, breath effectively stolen. By the end of it, the bar was littered with cultists covered in water, stab wounds, and whatever the fuck Robert was doing.
She panted, a bit roughed up but nothing too bad all things considered. Hermy was sporting a few cuts on his wetsuit, but Robert looked fucked up. The man had a purpling bruise blooming against his cheek, not an insignificant amount of still bleeding cuts on his body, and the skin on his knuckles split from punching. He wiped off the blood on his lips from biting a dude’s hand, which took the skin with him, and panted. He walked up to the bar, Malevola and Hermy following, and asked “Think this deserves a few fancy whiskies this time?” and damn if she’d disagree.
And hey, if she absorbed a few wounds off the guys on the floor, that was no one’s business.
- Blonde Blazer
Mandy was never a fan of the ‘fighting’ part of being a hero. She chose to be one because the powers she had could make a difference in the lives of those without any. So when the SDN building was compromised by a group of villains breaking in, she felt grim responsibility in taking them down. By the time she ran into the dispatcher’s area to help evacuate, she saw Robert run off to the lab, presumably to put on the Mechaman suit. He was running while texting, probably giving the Z-team instructions, when a criminal turned around the corner. She saw the supposed regular civilian and raised her gun to shoot. Robert didn’t seem to notice, however.
“No!” She flew to pull him away, but saw him duck underneath the red beam, still on his phone. Stunned, she paused for a second and watched him put the phone away before calling out.
“Next time, maybe don’t make your gun whirr like some cheesy spy movie laser.” He started running forward; he looked back at Blonde Blazer and made a shoo-ing motion. She’d be stupid if she let this danger-seeking man go off on his own though. There were enough heroes on site to be good on their own for now. Still, Robert saw her stay and went,
“Fine, but if you’re gonna watch, at least let me warm-up.” and he slid under another laser, skidding across the ground and using the momentum to grab the woman’s ankles. He pulled her down and got on top of her. She raised her large gun to his face, finger on the trigger, before he pushed it to the side, inches away from his cut up ear. It hit the ceiling, concrete dust scattering in the air. He pulled it out of the criminal’s hands, and she let out a curse, struggling against his body above her.
He whipped the gun against her cheek and loomed above her. The criminal’s eyes gave a look of fear and started thrashing harder. Pushing against his legs, clawing at his stomach, attempting to punch him in the nether region before he made slight movements to evade. Blonde Blazer felt a spike of revulsion at the scene,
“Robert, maybe you sh-”
Before she could finish, Robert let out a sigh and got off the criminal. He threw the gun on the ground as she scrambled to get up on shaky legs. He stomped on it and it let out shards that scattered against the ground. The woman barely seemed to get her bearings before rushing forward to punch him.
“Fuck you! Do you think I’m some girl who needs to be coddled?! Fucking fight me like a man!” She screamed as her fist charged towards his face before it was diverted with a steady hand. Robert punched her in the stomach and she let out a choked sound and bit his shoulder as she doubled over.
He hissed and pushed her head to the side as her hands seemed to claw at his waist. “Shit– I’m fighting you like I fight anyone else, it’s just I have basic human decency to not embody the bastards in your nightmares.” He said before socking her in the jaw with enough force to push her to the ground. She groaned, and her hand darted to pull him down but his eyes caught it before it could make contact. He kicked her prone form before resting a foot on her sternum. She scrabbled against it but he held firm. The woman seemed to wheeze as his foot pushed.
“Now, I’m gonna politely knock you the fuck out like I would most criminals,” and then he kicked her in the chin and she blacked out.
He nursed his shoulder and Blonde Blazer could see dots of red poking through. He made to run towards the lab again and Blonde Blazer flew to keep up.
“Surprised you recognized the look on her face and actually stopped what you were doing.” She said, subtly prying for answers.
“Look, maybe most guys wouldn’t care but it’s not that hard to spot a victim’s stare. Me personally, I don’t want some piece of shit’s face transposed onto mine.” And it was true, most heroes wouldn’t actually stop. It’s a tough job to extend compassion to a criminal you were meant to stop because people seemed to mix fictional villains with real life criminals. It was why Mandy really put up with being one of the figureheads of heroism; she was willing to put up with the PR if it meant someone out there would show a bit more kindness to everyone. Even villains.
She still didn’t like fighting, not at all, but Robert looked a little better in her eyes after that fight. Maybe she was a little stupid for appreciating basic empathy but it was tough to find these days and seeing it in Robert, scarred and human as he is, maybe gave her a little butterflies. She hummed in response and accompanied him towards the lab before they went out into the battlezone together.
“Hey you shits! Flambae I know you didn’t need to burn down half the parking lot!” And maybe Robert was a little funny when he wasn’t kind.
- Flambae
It seemed to be a ‘thing’ after the first time they ran into each other at the gym because now whenever Flambae went to the gym, Robert fucking Robertson was there. Flambae went later than usual today, hoping to have missed the Mechabastard, but really when was he ever gonna get lucky?
It was fuller since he didn’t go early and he scanned the room, joy coursing through him the longer he went without seeing him, when he caught Robert on the punching bag. He wore his blue hoodie and wrapped hands, seemingly honed in on punching the stupid thing, jumping around looking like a dumb shit. The bag barely pushed back when he did, and he saw the sweat drip off his face as it did so.
The hood wasn’t on his head, so he got a full view of the man’s face, focused and letting out little grunts when he punched a little harder. Flambae could ignore him, but that would be acting like a loser and damn if he was a loser. He walked up behind the guy and stopped the punching bag before it could recoil back. He stood over him, casting a large shadow across his body.
“A little punching got you tired, Robert?” He smirked. Or well, he would’ve, except Robert quickly turned around and punched him in the abs. Flambae let out a little curse, leaning forward before looking to face the man. He could see Robert’s flushed complexion and sweat drip under his collar; his face still looked focused before he blinked a couple of times and snapped out of it.
“Oh, shit. My bad.” He did look surprised and a bit remorseful, but Flambae saw the small uptick on the side of his lip. Bitch found it funny. Flambae pulled his lips into a snarl and glared.
“Your bad? I’ll show you–” He pulled his hands down to summon some flames—
“How about you two take it to the training grounds?” Blonde Blazer chimed in between them.
He’s never actually been there because most of the team fighting happens through meeting rooms and windows, but seeing the fight in Robert’s eyes he’d rather move there than end it here.
The two walked towards the hallway with the training rooms, quiet and tense-filled moments of silence, with Flambae strutting ahead of him and opening the first unoccupied one before slamming it shut when Robert entered, locking it.
“Want me to put you in your place, bitchboy?” He cracked his knuckles and twisted his neck. He felt the blood thrumming under his skin ready for a good fight.
“Probably gonna be the other way ‘round.” He retorted, fists raised already. Flambae huffed and raised his own before charging forward to hit him. He could feel the warmth under his hands, ready to ignite, but he’d probably get in trouble for burning SDN’s dear dispatcher. Robert moved to dodge but wasn’t fast enough as it grazed his shoulder. ‘Always the shoulder…’ Flambae heard him mutter.
Robert followed up with a punch to the side and Flambae chuckled at the obvious display, ready to guard against it, but it turned out to be a feint as he ended up kicking him on the other side. It seemed he put on a bit of muscle because it hurt way the fuck more than a normie who reps 165 would. Flambae goes to uppercut Robert and catches the satisfied glint in his face, the small smile he’s wearing. Fuck that’s hot. Wait, what?—
And then he’s punched in the face. Flambae feels a pool of rage as his gorgeous complexion was hit — and not because of the short moment of attraction he felt — so his hand instinctually flares up as he tries to retaliate. Robert’s eyes have a small flash of concern before he hones in on it again. He backs away, leaving a large distance between them, and strips off his hoodie revealing a frankly soaked white sleeveless shirt underneath, and holds the hoodie in his hand.
Flambae, perplexed, stops for a short moment before pushing forward and Robert rushing back to him as well. He then, in a pretty stupid display, hits Flambae’s fiery hands to put out the flames while Flambae keeps aiming to punch the man. Robert manages to dodge them and then drops the hoodie in Flambae’s hands to smother the rest of it out before kneeing him in the sore spot where he punched him. Flambae groans in pain, as he shucks off the hoodie.
Doubled over, he springs his hands forward to grapple Robert, making contact with his sweaty waist before Robert grabs it and moves behind Flambae to apprehend him, hands behind his back and leaning forward. Flambae lets out an angry cry, ready to break out or burst into flames until he hears panting and Robert lowly, next to his ear, says
“How do you feel being put in your place, bitchboy?” And, and.
Fuck.
FUCK.
Flambae’s face heats up in a comically red shade. He can feel the warmth in his cheeks, not unlike that of his power. Robert, the bastard, chuckles before letting go. He slinks over to his hoodie and bends down to pick it up. Thank fuck his ass is flat. Flambae doesn’t know what he’d do if he got a face full of a fat one right now. Probably burn this place down. He’s still considering it. Robert turns around and Flambae’s face still feels hot.
“Great fight. See you on call later…,” ‘bitchboy’ the pause seemingly echoed. But thankfully, it was left unsaid. Robert goes to leave the room, and Flambae is left staring at the closed door and ignoring the heat in his groin. Thoughts of anger circle in his head, and he’s left thinking.
‘I’m gonna show him next time.’
- Invisigal
Courtney was smoking outside of the convenience store while waiting for Robert to finish buying whatever shit he liked to eat at home. (It was Twinkies, she knew) The two of them left work together so the night cast a dark shadow over everything. It was just her karma for some loser goon to come up to her with a cry of revenge or whatever the fuck. She instinctually held her breath as the villain came closer with a metal baseball bat in hand. He laughed as he looked directly at her.
“I can see the fucking cigarette, Invisibitch,” He ran as he raised his bat to hit before she saw a familiar blur in front of her grab it. She could’ve dodged it, but this felt much better. She lets out a breath and readies to watch him fight. Robert is always a good fighter.
“I leave for one second and—” The goon doesn’t wait for him to finish before wrenching it out of his grip and aiming for a hit to his waist. Robert steps back, and Courtney quickly sidesteps so he doesn’t trip on her. He goes to kick the man’s dick and he instinctively closes his legs and protects the pathetic thing before it turns out it was a feint and he punches him in the nose. Blood spews and splatters against his knuckles. A strong hit, considering his dominant hand was currently holding a plastic bag of Twinkies. She let out a low whistle.
“Fuck you!” The goon, enraged, stops trying with his baseball bat and goes to punch Robert. Robert goes to block but the villain laughs and moves his fist to grip his baseball bat and go for Courtney. Roberts eyes widen in surprise as he darts his forearm forwards to receive the blow and—
Fuck why does he always fucking do this for her? Doesn’t he know better?
—-He raises his leg to kick the guy’s exposed waist. Thank fuck. The goon cries out but she could give less of a damn and she runs forward and kicks him square in the stomach as he falls on his knees clutching it. She rears her foot back to hit again, and again, and again, and aga–
Robert clutches her bicep and she looks at the man’s groaning, crying form. He lies down protecting his head and she feels a little sick. She takes a deep inhale to run except Robert holds steady.
“I’m not mad nor disappointed.” He blurts out first. He sounds like her dad or something and the thought brings out a chuckle.
“Okay, laugh it up. I just stopped you before you killed this guy because I don’t want you to regret doing reckless shit.” And, yeah. She’s always acting without thinking like some annoying kid whose frontal lobe never developed. She clutches her face and looks up with a groan.
“God, why am I like this?” Robert pulls her over to the side and slides down to sit on the sidewalk. She follows. Courtney feels like some stain on the earth again and wants to crawl out of her skin. She hugs herself tightly as Robert pulls her shoulder to lean against him. He promptly lets go to rummage through the plastic bag and get a pack of Twinkies. He hands one over to her and she lets out a shaky breath before grabbing it and mauling the thing.
“Fight gets too real sometimes and you can’t see the shit you’re hitting anymore. It all just becomes… anger and meat. It’s not fine but it’s not some crap you need to beat yourself up over. Just promise to do better next time and if you fail, try again until you’re actually saying the truth.” Robert always had this way of speaking where it almost made her feel like a good person. It was a low, pronounced thing. Like she could fall asleep and yet never forget every word he said. Damn she just wanted to watch him get nasty and now she feels like she’s aged 10 years or some shit.
She said as much and he laughed.
“Yeah. Yeah that sounds about right.”
Maybe it was the darkness blanketing everything, or the quiet understanding between them, but Courtney never felt as peaceful as she did now.
- Waterboy
Herm was always pretty good at looking at things optimistically once he started looking back. However, in the moment, there was no optimism at seeing a villain blocking the road on his way to the SDN. He quickly shuffled past the other people on the bus, muttering “‘s-scuse I– me, sorry, oof I-I did not- didn’t mean to-” among other things before he exited. The villain had a unique face, painted white with black streaks. Almost like a metal singer.
“Get ready for a deadly performance by The Screecher! If you think about calling a hero, don’t even try it. One note from my voice and they’re kissing death.” It might be a bit rude of him to think, but the villain’s speech was kinda… corny. Still! Underestimating a villain leaves space only for regrets! So he steeled himself and walked over to The Screecher, maybe a little moist from the anxiety but he had to push forward!
The Screecher was still rambling until Herm caught their eye and they turned to face him. They gave him a once over before letting out an ear splitting laugh. Herm felt his ears ring and he instinctively moved to cover them.
“U-Um! I-I am here- over here to… to s-stop, no, apprehend! You! Yes,” He stuttered out, ears still covered. The Screecher smiled mockingly before saying, at normal volume, “U-Uh-Uhm! Y-y-you need to luh-learn some INTONATION!” They yelled at the end. A flush fell over his cheeks but he pulled back to spew at the singer’s face, a jet of water gushed out of his lips and the villain sputtered for a moment, pushed back a few steps before it trickled down. Their makeup dripped down their leather getup, white stark against the shiny black, before their angry lips pulled back to complain, probably, maybe.
Before that could happen, a bag of dog kibble hit them square in the face.
“Whu-whugh- What?!” Herm sputtered, the villain not much different.
He saw a brown haired, blue-shirted figure run past him and jump to knee The Screecher to the floor. They seemed to get their bearings and their mouth opened to scream. “THE FUCK?!” Their voice was a deep, guttural, growl. Herm’s hands quickly moved to his ears again and he wasn’t sure if the moisture was blood or just water. The figure — Rober– boss- sir?!! — Seemed unphased though.
“Ro- Bos- Sir! Your ears!” Robert didn’t seem to hear it and upon closer inspection he saw earplugs in his ears. Did he really just bring that around?! Still the knee landed square in their chest, and The Screecher tumbled; they were left astounded at their seemingly nonfunctioning powers. Their eyes widened at the earplugs and they moved to pull it out but Robert pulled at their arms, moving it above them. It didn’t quite seem to go fully on the ground, and the leather squeaked.
“Just hold a concert instead of this stupid road shit!” Robert said, louder than the average volume. It was pretty funny– wait no that’s rude. This is hero work!
“At this distance, even those earplugs aren’t gonna be able to handle THIS!” They said and they were right, Robert winced but he kept calm even as red dripped beneath the plug. He seemed to say something but Herm couldn’t hear it underneath the guttural screams. Robert’s other hand moved to the villain’s neck and clenched.
The Screecher’s scream seemed to taper off as they gasped for air. It soon turned to clicking as their eyes rolled back from the lack of oxygen. Robert let go right before they passed out and as they gasped for air he unbuckled his belt before strapping it around their mouth.
The Screecher let out muffled noises, and Robert sighed in satisfaction before removing the earplugs. The blood had stagnated, but it was a stark contrast against his unmarred skin.
“S-sir! Are you fee- you okay?!” Herm asked. Robert didn’t seem to hear and so he moved in front of him and asked again. The Screecher was biting against their makeshift gag and thrashing; Robert’s hand still gripped their hands together.
“Oh shit I think I busted my ear again.” Again?! Herm felt waves of concern and admiration in equal measure wash over him. This– He– Robert was a handful but… there was something in the nonchalance of his injuries and the quick takedown of The Screecher that made him feel fond. Even outside the Mecha Man suit, Robert was admirable.
Unknown to Robert, as Herm nodded to himself he swore that he would be strong enough that Robert wouldn’t need to jump in like this again.
“Sir, do you ne- want help?” He asked. Robert nodded and got off their body and handed The Screecher’s held together wrists for Herm to hold. He stretched his back and a couple cracks resounded.
“Wh- Boss, Sir, why do you have e-ear plugs?” Herm timidly asked. Robert looked like he remembered they existed and looked down at the bloody things in his hand.
“It’s for Sonar, actually. He was complaining about the Z-team’s shit being loud as fuck so… but anyways I should probably trash these.” He pocketed them before shrugging to the sidewalk.
“Let’s go, we’re blocking traffic.” He said and Herm followed.
+1 Why Robert hates Fighting
It was a world of fire. His cheeks warmed and his mind screaming and he felt his fist pound and hit and punch and crunch against cheek against teeth against bone. Under him he saw Shroud except now it was Visi in a pool of blood with a bullet she wasn’t meant to take and… Robert is punching her. Why is he doing that? And his fists shake and he wants to stop and he can feel his muscles lock but the body moves before the brain. And so he keeps punching and she is sobbing or is it him?
It is no longer fire. The room is cream, but it looks blue because it is night time and Dad is on the TV and he is a boy and his dad is a hero who is punching the villain. The villain groans and is red with blood, Robert cannot remember the villain’s face because the villain is bloodied, and there is nothing but anger and meat now. Robert thinks the villain looks like the boy who is him. He is so very afraid. He hears echoes of his dad saying his name, an angry quick thing like he doesn’t want to say it. When his dad is angry he can see his jaw tighten and his fist clench and he knows his dad wouldn’t raise it against him but he knows he wants to. Robert’s fists clench when he’s mad, and he knows he wants to.
Robert jolts off the couch and he hears his heart throb in his ears. He’s soaked in sweat and his body is shaking. He can feel the thick skin of his knuckles ache and he slumps forward, his hands clutching his face and hair. He takes a few deep breaths and loosens his body voluntarily before he starts feeling like a person again.
“Fuck…” He whispers under his breath. He should let go of his face but he can’t seem to because if he looks up he’ll need to be a normal, well adjusted, Robert Robertson III and he can’t quite manage that. He barely remembers the dream and it slips away from him, thank god, but he knows all the beats it hit. Chances are he felt like his dad again from the phantom ache of his knuckles.
It isn’t a bad thing, he lies.
When he peeks through his fingers it’s still night but he knows he won’t be able to sleep so he unclenches his fingers from his hair and face one by one until the red fades from his eyes, and the fight leaves his body. Chase said he wasn’t like his father; but he knows, from the way he asked if he’d kill shroud, that he’s afraid he is.
Because Robert isn’t stupid, Shroud was at the fucking barbeques and his dad is a bastard, and a hero, and a man. So he probably got what was coming to him. Robert remembers the live recordings of his dad fighting before they got censored, and also when his dad was fighting petty thieves that broke into the grocery they shopped at. It always ended with dripping knuckles and mushy faces. And Robert feels like his father whenever his body is not separated by a mech suit to fight.
He felt like his father when he was beating up Shroud. Especially then.
So, Robert hates fighting. (But his blood aches for it)