Robert Robertson

Robert Robertson looks like a guy who trained his whole life for a job that no longer exists, and hasn’t figured out what to do with his hands since.

Hair is neat but never fully cooperative. Posture straight in a way that suggests old discipline, not current confidence. Expression stuck between determined and tired, like he’s constantly waiting for a mission briefing that isn’t coming.

He used to pilot a mechanized suit — not because he had powers, but because he didn’t and thought he needed something bigger than himself. When the suit blew up, so did his sense of identity. He didn’t talk about it much. He doesn’t talk about most things much, unless you ask, and then he talks like someone who practiced being important in a mirror for years.

At SDN, he keeps his desk neat. Like he’s scared chaos might expose how lost he is. Still sits like he’s ready to be called into battle, even though the most dangerous thing here is a printer jam.

He dresses like every day might suddenly require tactical readiness: boots, reinforced watch, shirts tucked in with the precision of someone who used to iron uniforms. He blends into office culture the way a battleship blends into a kiddie pool.

His humor isn’t intentional — it’s in the seriousness he applies to ordinary things. He treats paperwork like mission briefings. Treats lunch breaks like debrief windows. Apologizes to the coffee machine if it sputters.

He’s earnest in a way that’s bordering on outdated. Believes in legacy the same way some people believe in traffic laws — strictly, quietly, and slightly resentfully. The name “Robert” feels more like a duty than a choice to him.

He’s uncomfortable being idle. Fidgets with broken mech components he carries like worry stones. Checks news feeds like part of him still expects a threat only he can handle.

He’s not scary. He’s not flashy. He’s not tragic in a big cinematic way — more like someone whose dream got repurposed without asking.

And despite every awkward pause, every anxious checklist, every moment where he doesn’t quite fit…

He tries.

That’s his defining trait. Not power, not tech, not legacy. Just the stubborn, quiet insistence on trying — even if no one’s watching anymore.