Chapter Text
Prologue
The Astral Pulse is a soul infused with divine magic, reduced to pure energy and contained through a ritual, essentially turning it into an amulet by definition. Elliot created it on accident while trying to figure out an old spell book he‘d somehow obtained off the black market (the book was later confiscated after he got found out while studying one of the lesser spells).
But Elliot had never quite managed to decipher the instructions of the amulet ritual. With the typical containment spells sloppily done or even completely missing, the Pulse constantly tried to connect to the people around itself. Robbie never spent enough time around it to experience any effects of this, only using it during his last three years as Mecha Man Astral.
Robert, however, inherited the suit already completely infused with the Pulse‘s magic and proceeded to basically live inside it for months at a time. Especially him regularly being unconscious (asleep) inside the suit allowed the Pulse to imprint on and connect to him, slowly exploring his mind and the few drops of inherent magic every living being contains.
Robert didn‘t notice the effects until he finally got an actual apartment at eighteen.
Having a safer place to sleep took enough stress off him to finally take some time to look at himself in the mirror. He‘d noticed his nails growing pointier than they should for well over a year now, but he would have never expected this to affect his teeth as well. And yet, when he opened his mouth, he was greeted by a set of fangs. They looked sharp too.
Later that night Robert returned to the bathroom to get some painkillers for his back (he wasn‘t used to sleeping on an actual mattress), not bothering to turn on the light. He could see in the dark just fine, though he had always chalked it up to LA generally being very bright. He‘d never noticed that his pupils emanated an eerie blue glow, like those little glow-in-the-dark stars Chase had gotten him for his bedroom.
Robert was definitely a little concerned about all of this, but he didn‘t have the time or money to justify visiting a doctor over anything that wouldn‘t immediately affect his hero work. He kept a close eye on the changes for another few months before deciding to simply ignore them and pretend to have hybrid heritage if anyone asked.
Over the years, not much changed about his appearance. His ears became ever so slightly pointed and a tiny bit of blue crept into his brown eyes, forming a barely visible rim around his pupils. All barely noticeable and with nothing to suggest he hadn‘t always looked like this.
But there were invisible changes as well, only apparent to Robert himself. His night vision became clearer, he could hear and pinpoint sounds he shouldn‘t have been able to perceive, and recognize smells he had barely noticed before. He could feel blows coming without seeing his attacker, could predict a bullet‘s path and dodge in time. He could hit harder and fight longer and easily take hits that would have knocked him down at the start of his hero career.
Robert thanked whatever deity had blessed him; if not for his powers, if he could call them that, he probably wouldn‘t be able to afford keeping the Mech and the motorcycle he‘d bought a few years back in such good condition with all the money he would be spending on hospital bills.
________
Robert was twenty nine when he finally tracked down Shroud. Fifteen years since he had become Mecha Man, nine years since his powers had fully manifested.
He‘d thought he‘d been prepared. He‘d poured hours of work into coming up with a plan. He‘d studied various members of the Red Ring, learned their fighting patterns, taken out as many of the big fish as he could over the course of a few months. He was at his best in every way that mattered for hero work.
Still, he found himself struggling after over an hour of continued fighting.
None of his attackers lasted long, but they kept coming, flooding in through the doors and windows, more coordinated than Robert had ever seen them.
He fought beside the Mech‘s autopilot for a while before becoming too injured to hit with full force and having to retreat to the relative safety of the cockpit. But even with less strain on his body and his enhanced endurance, Robert couldn‘t keep going forever. The flurry of attacks slowed as the fight went on, but so did his own movements.
His focus slipped for just a few seconds, his head pounding from multiple injuries, and he found himself caught in chains, strung up in the air.
The remainder of Shroud‘s men retreated and opened fire, forcing him to activate the Mech‘s shield while the systems recalibrated. The Mech wasn‘t meant to operate at this level with so much damage. Robert was honestly surprised that most systems were still online, like the suit itself was determined to keep fighting.
He wouldn‘t look that gift horse in the mouth though, he had to focus on getting out of this. His suit was at 28% capacity as Toxic had so helpfully informed him. He wasn‘t going to take that asshole‘s advice though, it was either take the risk and divert all power to the thrusters or certain death. The shield would only last for a few more seconds and the Red Ring wouldn‘t hold back.
Robert entered the command to reroute Pulse Power and threw the joystick forward with a grunt. He ignored Toxic‘s comment and watched the countdown on the screen in front of him.
Three more seconds until critical damage.
The metal of the pinned leg groaned under the strain.
Two seconds.
The suit moved just the tiniest bit. Robert leaned his entire weight into pushing the control stick further.
Zero point five seconds.
The metal finally gave out with a loud snapping and tearing noise that grated on his ears.
The Mech sprung forward and burst through the refinery‘s roof, cold air rushing into Robert‘s face through the hole in the side of the cockpit. It was an exhilarating feeling and he didn‘t bother holding back the adrenaline-fueled shout of joy.
He‘d made it. The Astral Pulse was safe. Robert wouldn‘t have to give up his hero work, he wouldn‘t have to die at the same hands as his father, he could still avenge him. He could still enjoy riding his bike through the streets of LA, he could come home and be greeted by Beef. He could-
[WARNING]
The voice of the Mecha-AI pulled him back to reality.
[FOREIGN DEVICE DETECTED]
Robert cursed, pulling up the full diagnostics and clicking into the suit‘s back camera, revealing an amalgamation of plastic, wires and buttons, a screen showing a countdown sitting in the middle.
A bomb. One of Shroud‘s men had placed a bomb on his back that was seconds away from detonating.
No. No no nonono. He had just escaped. He had allowed himself to relax too early and now it would be the thing to kill him.
...no, that won‘t do.
Robert didn‘t know where that thought had come from, suddenly piercing through the haze of panic that was closing in around his mind. Somehow, he knew exactly what he had to do and his body moved without his command. His hands flew over the controls, flipping safety switches and activating the mech‘s backup power reserves. His arm reached above him to unlock the Astral Pulse‘s compartment.
Time seemed to slow as he watched himself pull the tiny glass vial towards himself and press it into the skin right underneath his sternum.
For a short moment, nothing happened.
Robert stared down at the twisting blue and green strands of energy, wondering what had led him to making that decision. His mind was quiet for a second, before suddenly, pain tore a scream from his mouth.
The bomb. He‘d wasted precious seconds and now he would pay with his life without even trying to prevent it.
His lower body felt like something was tearing and melting its way through his flesh. The throbbing in his head intensified and concentrated somewhere above his temples. Every inch of his skin burned, though not quite in the way he‘d imagined an explosion would feel.
He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of relief when his vision turned dark.
________
When Robert came to, his first thought was “I’m supposed to be dead.”
He had felt the pain of a lethal injury. He had clutched the suit’s power source to his chest, the Pulse would have amplified the blast should it had gotten damaged, reducing any chance of survival to zero.
...wait, the Pulse! Robert blinked open his eyes and looked around frantically. What he saw made him freeze like a deer in headlights. Under his sternum, slotted neatly between his lower ribs, sat the Astral Pulse embedded in his skin, surrounded by faintly glowing patterns creeping up to his chest and framing his ribcage. The flight suit around it was torn and bloody but there were no signs of a recent injury.
Robert stared at it for a few more seconds, afraid to touch it.
Instead, he brought his shaking hands to his face and pressed them into his eyes in an effort to soothe the headache thrumming inside his skull. He moved to rub his temples but stopped in his tracks when his fingers met something hard. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there.
Robert held his breath as he slowly brushed his fingers along the sides of his head, confirming his suspicion. For some reason, he had horns now. It took great effort to not panic. Robert closed his eyes again and focused on his breathing. Four in, six out. Repeat. He took a minute to sort his thoughts before he opened his eyes again.
He had somehow absorbed or fused with the Astral Pulse. He had grown a pair of horns. He most likely had a concussion and ...wait, he couldn’t feel any pain besides the pounding headache. That was concerning.
Okay, check for injuries first, worry about the new features later.
He took another deep breath and began by scanning his arms. A few shallow cuts, lots of bruises probably, and the shoulder he’d dislocated one too many times was bugging him again. Surprisingly, only one smaller burn and nothing broken. His chest and stomach seemed fine, even though he remembered having sustained multiple injuries there.
The relief over his limited number of injuries didn’t last long though.
Robert turned a bit to better examinate his right side when his vision suddenly turned white with the pain flaring up in his left leg. He whimpered and sobbed in between heaving breaths as the pain grew worse by the second. Whatever effect had made him so blissfully numb was now quickly wearing off as the agonizing tearing pain from earlier returned as well.
Robert clutched his abdomen, struggling for breath, and immediately yanked his hand back as the contact burned like an open wound. He looked down just in time to see his skin pulling back from the Astral Pulse, letting it fall into his hand. He closed his fist around it and held on to it like a lifeline as unconsciousness finally claimed him.
________
Despite having spent surprisingly little time in hospitals, waking up to the steady beeping of a heart monitor was a familiar experience. Robert opened his eyes to the sight of bland white-ish walls and medical equipment, as expected.
Why was he here again?
He vaguely remembered the fight at the steel mill. He’d gotten out, so why...
Suddenly, the memories came flooding back. The bomb, his body moving on its own, the pain from what he’d assumed to be the explosion. Waking up in the remains of the mech suit, the Astral Pulse nestled into his flesh, the pair of horns growing from his forehead. The comfortable numbness and the moment it had disappeared. His leg, crushed and broken and bloodied.
Robert could feel his breathing speed up as the panic washed over his mind again, curling into himself and grabbing fistfuls of hair just to have something to hold on to.
A sudden touch on his shoulder pulled him out of his spiral. He flinched back and blinked a few times, forcing himself to take deep breaths. When he finally looked up, he saw a nurse standing next to his bed, hand still hovering in the air, looking slightly startled. Robert mumbled a quiet apology as he leaned back down into his pillow.
“It’s alright.”, the young woman assured him. “How are you doing? You’re currently on painkillers while you recover from the surgery, if you feel a bit disoriented, that might be the cause.”
Robert replied with a slow nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. Surgery for, uh... my leg, right? Why are you looking at me like that?” The nurse quickly schooled her sad frown into a neutral expression.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I should be the one to tell you this. I could call for doctor-“
“No.”, he interrupted her. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Robert sat up and stared at her challengingly, and her expression saddened again.
Even through the haze of drugs, the pieces started clicking into place in Robert’s head and his expression fell as well. “No. Fuck, please don’t tell me-“
He scrambled to pull back the end of his blanket, hoping desperately that his leg was broken, burned, anything so long as it was still there.
However, the gods didn’t answer his prayers and Robert was greeted with the sight of his worst nightmares. The entire lower half of his left leg was missing, cut off right above the knee. Reduced to a stump covered in bandages.
Robert bit his lip until he tasted blood to keep himself from letting out a sob.
He slowly lowered himself back down and pressed his hands into his eyes, digging his fingernails into his forehead, barely able to control his breathing. He refused to have a breakdown in front of other people, but it became harder by the second as his thoughts began running in circles again while a voice at the back of his mind screamed about how he was a failure, how he couldn’t even complete his one goal of avenging his father.
With an injury like this, he would have to stop his hero work for months if not forever. He couldn’t afford a good prosthetic, not with the surgery likely already costing thousands.
Robert looked up from his silent panic attack when he heard the door open. A woman in a hospital uniform and a man in a suit entered the room and he carefully pushed himself up to lean against the headboard in an attempt to appear at least somewhat put together.
“Mister Robertson”, the woman said. “I hear you’ve already been informed of the unfortunate circumstances. My name is Doctor Garcia, I was the head surgeon on your case and I am deeply sorry that we couldn’t do more. Unfortunately, the first responders had some trouble reaching you because of a group of villains trying to apprehend them.”
Robert had to surpress a shiver at that. The thought of the Red Ring finding him in that state was not a pleasant one to say the least. So, he quickly shoved it into the box labeled ‘think about it later’ and focused on the conversation.
“It’s not your fault.”, he told Dr Garcia. “I saw the wound and looking back, I’m honestly surprised I didn’t die of blood loss. Or from the explosion. Pretty sure I shouldn’t be alive right now. So, uh, thank you for saving my life.”
“Of course, it’s my job. Before I continue, you should know that everyone in this room knows of your identity and has been sworn to secrecy.” Robert let out a relived breath. He wasn’t sure whether he would have been able to keep making coherent excuses for long while under the influence.
“I do have a personal question though, if you want to answer it.”, the woman continued. “Does your mech suit have any sort of forcefield to protect the pilot? Because we found not a single injury directly caused by the explosion even though we couldn’t get any read on typical metahuman power outputs.”
Robert frowned. He hadn’t had much time to think about that after the crash, but it was strange. Not wanting to give out too much information before he could figure it out himself, he decided to give a vague answer. “It’s probably a failsafe, the Mech has a few of those. My father was rightfully paranoid regarding that.”
That wasn’t even a lie, those emergency programs had saved his ass multiple times, but he was pretty sure that a strong enough forcefield would have not been possible with the Mech already running on emergency power reserves. ...wait, Dr Garcia is talking again. Focus, Robert.
"…very glad your suit has those safety measures. Sadly, it seems the mech didn't do quite so well. Mister Nelson here wanted to talk to you about that." The man with the suit stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Mister Robertson, I regret to inform you that the Mecha Man suit has been almost completely destroyed. Parts are still structurally intact, but none of the systems are functional and the inner workings have been completely torn apart."
There were the news Robert had been dreading the most. It would take months of work and hundreds of thousands of dollars to get even the basic functions back online. Nelson didn't even give him a second to mourn this however, immediately continuing as if this was just another task on his to-do list he had to get over with.
"I'm with the Identity protection services of the superhero support department and have been instructed to hold onto this. It’s one of the few pieces we found to be in good condition.” He pulled out and opened a small briefcase from behind his back, the kind used for transporting weapons. In the middle of the foam padding, clearly smaller than the shape it was supposed to hold, sat the Astral Pulse, looking without a scratch.
Robert felt about ready to cry, both from the overwhelming amount of info competing for his attention in his head, and from relief that the only truly irreplaceable part of the suit was still here. He carefully took it and pulled it towards his chest before thinking better of it and holding it in his lap instead. He would rather not risk triggering that transformation with an audience.
Mr Nelson cleared his throat again as he closed the briefcase. “The suit is being kept in a secured storage unit until you are able to retrieve it. We also found your apartment through the emergency protocol in your phone. Your pet is being taken care of in a trusted shelter.”
He pulled out a small business card as well as Robert’s smartphone. “These are the contacts you’ll need to retrieve them. You will also have to give a statement to the press soon, likely over a recorded call in order to protect your identity since your mask was damaged.”
Robert felt bad about forgetting Beef. The little guy couldn’t take care of himself after all. He was grateful that he wouldn’t have to give the interview in person though, he didn’t want to deal with those pushy, arrogant reporters.
He took the phone and card and put on his best attempt of a polite smile. “Thank you.” The man gave a short nod, turning on his heel and marching out the door. Robert let out a deep sigh and slumped against the headboard, his head hitting the material with a quiet ‘thunk’.
Dr Garcia and the nurse looked up from where they had been quietly talking. The latter went to check Robert’s meds and vitals before hurrying off to check on another patient. “Do you have any more questions?”, Dr Garcia asked.
He thought for a few seconds before replying. “How long was I out for?”
The Doctor checked her watch. "It’s currently half past six pm. You were brought in yesterday shortly before midnight, so about nineteen hours.” Not even a day. That was much less than he had expected.
“And how long will it take to get a prosthetic?”
“We can take measurements in a few days and if we pull some strings, you’ll have a temporary prosthetic in a week or two. I’d recommend switching to something higher quality as soon as possible, but those can take around three to five months to get. If you are planning to continue your hero work or anything to do with lots of walking and running, you would have to get a second prosthetic, the kind used by athletes. You’ll also need an artificial knee joint, which will add to the wait time and cost.”
Great, absolutely fantastic. He would already barely be able to afford the temporary solution.
“Anything else?” Alright, one step at a time. He had to get well enough to actually use a prosthetic. “That’s it, thank you."
"Of course. Dinner will be at seven. Call for a nurse if you need something.” With that, she left the room, carefully closing the door behind herself.
Robert just lay there for a few minutes, trying and failing miserably to prevent his thoughts from spiraling. Eventually, he just curled up on his side, pressing his face into the blanket to hide his tears.