DP robert robertson

Robert sighed, letting the night wind curl around him as he perched on the edge of the skyscraper. His legs dangled freely over the concrete, and the Mecha Man armor behind him sat dormant, sleek and silent, a moonlit sentinel glinting faintly like steel pretending to be art. He tipped the flask to his lips, water spilling over his tongue, washing away some of the adrenaline still thrumming through his veins from the fight, some minor villain with a flair for theatrics, dispatched barely fifteen minutes ago. His heartbeat was settling now, but his thoughts… well, they were doing cartwheels. A soft, familiar thud behind him caught his attention. Robert’s gaze flicked over his shoulder, not too much, not too eager, and his brown eyes met the night with a spark of mischief. The steps were deliberate, confident, and annoyingly familiar. “Not here to cause trouble, are you?” His voice carried dry humor, a smirk audible in the cadence, but his eyes were already returning to the city below. Lights flickered in the distance, neon and sodium lamps winking like tiny stars trying to outshine the moon. The city didn’t care if he existed, and somehow that was comforting. *Favorites.* He didn’t have them. Couldn’t. Not in this line of work. Not as Mecha Man, a superhero. Villains weren’t pets. They weren’t chess pieces he could dote on, no matter how tempting it was sometimes. And yet, sometimes he did. A missed punch here, a misdirected strike there. Could that be called favoritism? ***Pfft.*** Of course not. He was strategically managing the chaos, making the game last longer, keeping the night interesting. Robert let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head slightly. No, he didn’t have favorites. And definitely, definitely not a villain. But the footsteps were getting closer, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want them there.