sumtimesIwrite
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In the dim freeze of the warehouse, Glacier took a slow, deliberate step away from the chair that held Robert, the icy sheen of his armor plate catching the dancing white glare of Chad’s flames. He trailed his frost-bitten fingers along the edge of the mangled mecha chassis mounted to the assembly rig—the uncapped power loops hummed with a deep frequency, glowing a violent, unstable red. "Look at it," Glacier said softly, his voice cutting through the roar of hot air like a razor through si
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Part XXXIV. The heavy steel access hatch of Substation 4-B shattered inward, buckling under a roaring blast of superheated air. Chad hit the concrete floor of the subterranean junction room in a blinding flare of fire, his eyes burning with frantic rage. He came in low, shoulders set, expecting to see a floor crawling with mercenaries armed with weapons. He expected a war and was prepared to tear the whole building apart with his bare hands to get to Robert. Instead, he found only
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Part XXXIII. Robert felt warm. Not just comfortable, but genuinely warm—the kind of dense, sun-baked heat that sank straight into his bones and unlocked every tense muscle he’d been holding tight for months. He shifted with a low, contented breath. Beside him, Chad was turned away, his shoulder a broad, steady contour in the golden light of the bedroom. The air practically hummed with his signature hearth-fire heat, radiating against Robert's chest like a quiet furnace. Just the q
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Part XXXII. The metallic stench of blood was still fresh, dark and slick where it pooled against his boot. There was no time for protocol—not when every instinct screaming in his chest told him that every second he spent talking was a second Robert didn't have. Chad paced the ruin of the bay like a caged predator, the soles of his boots leaving faint, smoldering footprints on the scorched concrete. Heat radiated off his skin in waves, distorting the smoke-thick air around him. The
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Part XXXI. By Monday afternoon, Flambae was scorching the earth. He moved through the city's grounds like a runaway firestorm, venting every ounce of his bottled-up rage, rejection and confusion directly into his work. Every rogue drone that popped up on the radar was met with a brutal wall of heat. He didn't hold back, burning through every objective with an efficiency that left the rest of the Z-Team watching in stunned silence. By Tuesday night when the leaderboard updated, Fla
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Part XXX. Flambae stared at the empty box of coffee pods, his brow furrowing into a frustrated line. The premium dark roast Robert brought in—specifically for him—was completely cleaned out. The Z-Team had swarmed over it like locusts, taking full advantage of the fact that better coffee was available. He let out a low growl, slamming the empty box into the trash can. "Trouble in paradise, lad?" Flambae whipped around. Colm was leaning against the breakroom doorframe, a
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Part XXIX. The morning light filtered softly through the edges of the dark curtains, a pale ambience around the windows, making them appear to glow. Robert was sleeping like a stone. He breathed deep and heavy, his face smoothed of every sharp edge and burden he usually carried. After the heat and sheer physicality of the night before, he had crashed into an absolute state of exhaustion. Beside him, Chad was wide awake. Supported on one elbow, Chad hovered over him in the quie
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Part XXVIII. The subterranean bay was suffocatingly quiet at almost eight o-clock in the evening, save for the low hum of overhead industrial halogen lights and the rhythmic clanking of a heavy socket wrench. Robert stood on the maintenance scaffolding, stripped of his clean work suit and wearing a dirtied tank top, his navy blue jumper hanging at his hips, tied by the sleeves around his waist. Grease smeared his jawline, and his hair was a wreck, sticking up in soft tufts where he’d ru
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Part XXVII. Slid deep into Robert’s bag was a sleek, unmistakable box of premium dark roast coffee pods. It was a silent, peaceful offering to calm Chad's nerves on his first day—the exact same box he had sneakily left behind months ago because he knew it was Chad’s favorite. Chad had gone straight to the restroom upon arriving at SDN—ostensibly to gather his nerves before facing the gauntlet of his first day back—and Robert had taken the window of opportunity to stealthily creep into
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Part XXVI. The alarm was screeching on the nightstand; a shrill, incessant pulse that had been going off for at least three straight minutes. But the sound was buried under the heavy, ragged sound of breathing, the sharp friction of tangled sheets and the slick, feverish slap of skin on skin. The room was thick with heat, saturated in the kind of mindless, desperate urgency that had consumed them since Friday night. A weekend where time didn’t exist; where endless, breathless contact st
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Part XXV. The last remaining hours of night yielded slowly to the soft, golden haze of early Friday morning. In the kitchen, the air was already thick with rich, comforting aromas. Chad moved between the stove and the counter with a light, easy stride—his large frame navigating the small space with an effortless warmth that hadn't been there a week ago. Dressed in a pair of dark sweatpants and a comfortable gray t-shirt, he looked entirely at peace, his heart humming with a quiet, happy
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The darkness of the bedroom felt thick and warm. On the bed, the sheets rustled with a slow, restless friction. A low, breathless sound escaped Robert’s throat - a soft, ragged groan that vibrated in the quiet space. He shifted, his head tossing slowly against the pillow, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. His muscles tensed, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths as his body heat radiated beneath the silken bed sheet. His brow furrowed, a quiet, desperate whimper
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Healing takes work, trust takes time, and the ground beneath them is still desperately thin. While Chad recovers, basking in the miracle of a relationship finally brought out of the cold, Robert returns to SDN to face the fallout after the battle. The fault lines beneath them are already shifting and Robert is quietly bearing the cost so Chad never has to. They're finally together, but what you see on the surface level can be deceiving.
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Thanks for following along!
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Part XXIII. Waking up didn't feel like opening his eyes. It felt like trying to swim upward through wet cement. Chad couldn't register cold or warm yet - his nervous system was too numb, his limbs feeling less like flesh and more like heavy, carved stone. Breathing was manual, a conscious, agonizing effort to drag stiff, resisting air into lungs that didn't want to expand. Before he saw anything, he heard them: rhythmic, clinical sounds slicing through the gray fog. The steady, ho
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Part XXII The wind whipped across the SDN rooftop, smelling of exhaust, hot asphalt and the thick, heavy smog of a Friday evening in the city. It was just past 4:00 PM and the energy was a live wire. All around the perimeter, tactical police leads stood huddled over mobile mapping stations, their voices clipped as they went over the detention logistics. The plan was clear: the Z-Team would break the enemy's front line and the police would sweep the targeted power stations, detaining the
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Part XXI. The slide of the zipper tracking up his suit was the only sound breaking the silence of Robert’s office. He clipped the utility belt around his waist, the feel heavier than usual on his exhausted frame, a literal manifestation of the deployment weighing on his shoulders. Yet as he adjusted the straps, he couldn't deny the change in his own reflection. His shoulders were broader, his core solid. All those brutal hours in the gym had paid off; he was physically stronger than he had e
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Part XX. The morning sun cut through the blinds like an unforgiving blade, pinning Robert to the leather of his office chair. He groaned, a deep ache radiating through his neck and shoulders. He hadn't even had the energy to call an Uber last night. Total lethargy had anchored him right into the cushions of his leather chair, his body entirely spent from the staggering intensity of what had happened on that very desk—and the weight that had crashed into his chest immediately after. Everythin
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Part XIX The boardroom was packed to capacity with senior analysts, logistics directors, dispatchers from the Torrance unit and a select handful of top-tier heroes. The atmosphere was thick with a nervous, electric energy after the massive villain outbreak announcement was made. Robert stood at the podium. Even without the press, looking out at a sea of expectant faces made the collar of his dress shirt feel like a vice. His heart hammered but he did his best to stay calm and project
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Part XVIII The coffee was lukewarm and bitter, but Robert drank it anyway. It did nothing to clear the fog in his brain from the lack of sleep he got overnight. The dark circles under his eyes felt carved into his skull, a physical tax levied by a mind that refused to shut down. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain bypassed sleep entirely and placed him straight back into the cockpit: the crushing weight of the mecha and the inevitable reality of the upcoming launch. And the m
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Part XVII The sterile hum of the lower-level tech lab was sometimes a sound Robert found comforting, but today it felt like the mechanical buzzing of a countdown clock. Holographic blueprints of the Mecha unit floated in the center of the room, casting a sharp blue light across Royd’s face as he hovered over a terminal, tapping furiously at a diagnostic keyboard. Beside them, the massive, towering frame of the Mecha suit sat securely in its gantry, its newly calibrated power core pulsi
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Part XVI. Tuesday morning was moving with the agonizing speed of molasses. Robert stared at his tablet, the text of a standard department report blurring into white noise, his hand loosely cupping a mug of lukewarm, generic office coffee. It certainly wasn't the dark roast he’d specifically sought out and dropped off in the main floor break room last Friday. Robert had delivered them personally, but he hadn't been able to resist a tiny display of his old, familiar snark. Even if h
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Part XV. Robert let out a heavy sigh, the sound swallowed by the cavernous quiet of the armor bay as he set his wrench down with a loud, metallic clank against the concrete floor. The Mecha unit towered above him, imposing and silent. To anyone else, it looked formidable, pristine and ready for a war zone - it was in the best shape it had been in years. But to Robert, who knew every hidden weld and hairline fracture, it was a living checklist of things he still needed to fix. Or maybe, thing
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Part XIV. It took exactly seven days. For a full week after the Red Ring’s assault collapsed, the SDN Torrance building remained a ghost town, blocked off behind heavy yellow tape. From the outside, it looked like a total loss. But by the eighth morning, the barricades were finally hauled back, signaling a stubborn return to regular programming. Moving through the entrance, the lingering odor of damp drywall hung heavy, masked poorly by the aggressive, chemical pine scent of industrial
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Part XIII. Robert woke up with a start. The room was eerily dark and profoundly quiet. He sat up, his hands immediately falling onto a soft, but familiar silken texture. He turned his head around, his eyes falling on a clock in the far corner that said “3:54 AM”. He blinked, disoriented in the dim, shadowy light and laid back down for a moment, his nostrils instantly breathing in a very distinct scent of sandalwood. Robert shot up again, a hand going to his body in a quick
