A cold hand on his shoulder

Hello~ This is my blog account for my Self-aware Robert (Dispatch) AU! and,,,yeah

[insanesdisfanfiction]

꧁—A cold hand on his shoulder—꧂

Chapter two: Weights and voices

The cold air of the morning seeped through his doors towards the balcony, curtains cracked open to let the lights of the city shimmer inside alongside the sun's waking form. Beef sighed in contempt, tail slightly swaying as his owner tried fighting the clinging tiredness banging inside his skull.

Fuckkk....

He didn't wanna wake up.

At all.

A, Wake up

S, Five more minutes

D, WAKE UP.

A hand reached deep inside his chest, ribcage squeezing in discomfort as he was yanked up by the thread of his soul— a shudder left him as he forcefully sat up, trembling slightly with a sudden dryness in his throat. Beef slid down his body with a whine, shaking himself awake in his lap.

".. What..the fuck?" Robert hurled out breathlessly, a hand slowly reaching up across his scarred chest in fear, scouting. He grasped at something and everything differently, yet felt nothing. He looked down upon himself— scars, nothing else. No open wound near his heart, nothing. Not even a bruise or something.

Only Beef's confused, pitiful look up at him. The chihuahua tilted its head down and to the side, ears flopping against the side of his head in worried curiosity of his behavior, sniffing him.

"No, no— I'm good, Beef. Nothing here." Robert reassured with words that were nothing but lies to the unknowing fool, the hand messaging his chest now scratching Beef behing the ears to sooth him. The doggy let out a happy 'yip!' in response, tail wagging enthusiastically for the affection regardless.

Placing him down on the floor, Robert stood up from his couch— stretching, bones popping in places they shouldn't and the occasional scars pulling on his skin, making him wince in discomfort and quickly drop his hand and posture. He had been through enough pain already, let this rest.

Sludging over to his make-shift closet, he crouched down against the floorboards, searching through the clothes he was sure he wore atleast a thousand times to the point they were more perfume and cologne than they were him. But hey, when... When...

Robert glanced down at the ground, brows furrowing as he struggled to form that thought into the past. When... He couldn't remember, Robert observed with alarm. Feeling Beef's cold nose against his thigh, his gaze snapped over to the big dog, realizing he still hasn't picked out his clothing. He looked through his options, eyes drifting over each piece to make sure none of them had holes in them.

A, SDN uniform

S, Mecha-man one piece

D, ...

"...Yeah, let's be safe here." He grumbled in a voice different from his own, letting his hand be guided over to his slightly creased uniform. Getting that over himself and actually looking half-decent, a hand messing up his hair slightly for good measure, he looked into his mirror again. Before he could focus back on not being late to work, however, his eyes caught another in the mirror. He paused half-way out the bathroom, leaning closer to the mirror with a calculated gaze. Eyes drifting over the reflection of someone else, staring back at him.

Is he going insane?

The question hung above his head, only broken by Beef's urgent barking to get his shit together and come on already. He fumbled slightly, cursing under his breath as he rushed out of the bathroom and to his apartment door. Right, he still had a job to do— better not be late or something.

Putting Beef againts his warm, cozy dog bed, Robert looked over Chase's cubicle with clear worry in his eyes. The old man still had Blazer's amulet, which... Wasn't ideal.

He missed the old fart, no doubt.

He hoped he'll be alright, in the end. That they'll be able to make a cure, or something.

Sitting down in his seat, his shift began. Multiple voices flooded over the comms, arguing and laughing, all which sounded distant to him— even if he was sitting in his chair, headphones on and the team on full volume. His voice rocked on endlessly, fingers typing across his keyboard and hacking into the occasional thing to save Z-teams ass.

"You did great, Robert. Ever since you took over, I don't think I've seen the Z-team so high up on the board!" Blonde Blazer— or, Mandy, congratulated and complimented with the usual warm smile on her face, hands clasped together in her usual professional flair.

Robert shuddered, knocking himself back in the game upon regisering Blazer's voice. He was just heading home, Beef in his hands, lazily sprawled out. He couldn't remember anything regarding his shift, honestly— but if Blazer said he had done a good job? Pat on the back right there.

A, I'm just that good.

S, It's all them.

D, REALIZE AND BREAK.

>Option input: Failure.

>Error: option doesn't have code, not recognized by the program.

"That's all them," Robert assured, hands behind his head stretching his face into a small smile. "They're still... A little immature, but I have faith they'll make a bigger impact one day than I ever could as Mecha-man." Another voice spoke, earning Mandy to nod in agreement.

[Did you even hear hear what she said? Were you even listening?]

Robert soon found himself back in his home, the usual color of gray invaded by the zims of purples and oranges from outside. How did he get here?

[insanesdisfanfiction]

꧁—A cold hand on his shoulder—꧂

Chapter one: Blackholes

Was that even the way to describe how he was feeling? Like a black hole, drifting in space? Like how Chase said it— no, no. He didn't suck anyone in... Or off, for that matter. He just...

Existed.

Like a star in space, slowly dying out.

Slowly losing his spark, or something more precious.

He was losing... Himself, it felt like.

Robert's eyes drifted by on the crack in his ceiling, examining the deeper parts and giving himself something to do, other than pet Beef. The chunky Chiahuha was laying on his chest, softly panthing as he slept on him— getting rest, unlike him. Probably also peace-minded, unlike him.

A groan of frustration left his lips, his other hand messaging the bridge of his nose. The groan evolved into an tired sigh as he dragged his hand down his face, a miserable expression crossing his face as he continued staring up at the crack in his ceiling with furrowed brows. What the hell has he done? No—that's... Not quite how he would say it.

What the fuck happened to him?

He just couldn't decipher it. He can be Mecha-man again— 𝘞𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘢 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, as Royd said. And hell, he did. He did a good ass job at it. Robert couldn't remember the last time the suit operated so well, and for so long— it looked so shiny, radiant even. He was eternally grateful for the miracle Royd had managed to give him, despite everything.

The smile on his face didn't last long, however, overtaken by the coldness in his chest. Sure, Beef was quite heavy and gave good warmth, but.... This cold was more, metaphorical. More like his heart was heavy with... Sorrow, missing something.

God, that sounded corny just in his head.

Robert grimaced at his inner thoughts, shaking his head to remember back why he was awake right now— his dreams. Right. The dreams that have been haunting him, controlling him like a puppet. Like a child, needing assistance. The dreams that have gone against every thing he has done, or hasn't.

Attacking thugs on a cold night, starting a fight in a bar, murdering someone in cold blood—

He just shuddered at the violence his head conjured up, which was weird. He didn't do bad with violence— he's been on both parts of it, the perpetrator and both the person who suffered from it.... Mostly the person who suffered from it, but... Y'know. That's just a question of perspective. But still, it felt.... Weird. Unlike him. Like he wasn't quite there in the head, a sweet, urgent whisper echoing in his head everytime he did what he did in his dreams.

'Not so fast, assholes.' He'd shout, his voice not his own.

—Glass him. C'mon, no one gets to talk about Blonde Blazer like that. Especially not when she's talking about Chase.

—Drop him. He's one of Shroud's goons, should be no problem.

He could almost distinguish the voice apart from his, but... It was deep in his head. Like an instinct he could barely resist, or an itch he couldn't quite scratch, or a wound he couldn't quite disinfect. It was... Weird, all things considered. And he needed a moment. Well, no— he needed multiple moments, to discuss whether he has gone insane or is currently going insane.

Slowly, reluctantly, Robert raised Beef from his chest— Jesus, was this dog always this heavy? Maybe he really should stop over feeding him. Sitting up, Robert put his sweet dog back on his couch, watching as he quietly whined and went back to sleep, nuzzling against a pillow. It was adorable, honestly. Robert gave a small pat to his head before pushing himself up, sauntering over to the bathroom with the grace of a zombie. Which, if you asked anyone? Wasn't far off, honestly. He felt like a zombie. Like an undead, missing something vital— his life.

Disregarding the creek from his bathroom door, Robert simply stood in the mirror and... Stared at himself, eyes drifting across his body. All the scars, bruises, stitches, memories he had made.

No, he didn't make them. That's... Not quite it.

He just... Remembered them.

A hand went up to his injured ear, fingers slowly holding the make-shift bullet hole he had gotten from the mech, once his father had it. He grimaced at the sight, no better than any of the scars he had gotten himself. Maybe it was the first hint he got he wouldn't work out as mecha-man— until he did.

"Have I always looked so shitty?" He echoed quietly, leaning with both hands against the sink, leaning closer to the glass. No one answered him, but that was to be granted.

His eyes took in his appearance— his disheveled brown hair, his tired and baggy eyes, his faint freckles, the scowl on his face and his pathetic excuse of a beard. He looked... Miserable.

Maybe because he felt miserable, let's start there.

Ever since the whole thing with Shroud, he felt... Empty. Lonely— which was weird, considering all the friends he has now.

SDN, altogether. The Z-team, Mandy, Chase was still kicking, Royd, Gallen. They were all there, and he felt... Happy with them. Laughed with them, joked with them, comforted them, basked in their presence. He had everyone and everything he could ask for— family, friends, his suit, Beef. Peace, finally and mostly.

So what was missing?

That question made his brows furrow in frustration and helplessness. Something had to be missing, right? It was like he was a shell of his former self. Like the astral pulse wasn't the only thing that he lost once upon a time. He looked deep into his eyes, examining the swirl of browns.

There's no light in his eyes, that's what. But— then again, when did he ever have them? Life was throwing him around like a fucking ragdoll, it would be hard to have a light in his eyes when he was almost always in a coma or something. But there was something missing in his droopy eyes. Something he couldn't decipher. Something he couldn't quite grasp.

A sad whine knocked him out of his head, his head snapping to his door and eyes down to the ground— a crack separating the door from being closed, and also Beef. A small smile crossed his face at the sight of his doggy, immediately leaning down to pick him up— with the slightest stumble, because he was still heavy as hell.

"Aww, did I wake you up, buddy? Couldn't sleep without me?" Robert babied, a hand scratching behind Beef's ear, his tail wagging in appriciation.

"...Yeah, I also couldn't sleep without you." He replied to himself, cold feet sticking against the floorboards of his apartment as he went back to his couch. He hesitated for a moment before laying down, putting Beef back down on his chest.

"Let's hope this passes..." He'd mumble to himself, an actual pillow againts his head. The silent static of his many lamps, the one he had gottem from the Z-team, buzzed on with the night. His eyes drifted over the same crack in the wall, examining it once more. Was it him, or was it getting bigger?

His inner thoughts lingered in the air like stiffled tension, fading into the night as sleep slowly, gently took over his form— bringing the sweet, restful relief of life to him and giving him a break of his thoughts.

[insanesdisfanfiction]

Hey. Psst. Dispatch fans who appreciate Robert's depressive side, you wanna get a shitty Fanfic where he becomes self-aware? No? Too bad, you're getting it straight from the stove.

Here are some fair warnings about the ff as a whole though:

—This fanfic doesn't start from a canon ending. Any choice you, the player, had available during the game? Those don't matter, because you made them. Not Robert.

—There will be no canon ships in this, unfortunately. So yeah, you might be like— "oh, but you said what we chose didn't matter"— which, yes. Mostly true. Robert is single and ready to mingle (hehe 😏), so luck to those who didn't get together with anyone

—This Fanfic consist of Robert slowly becoming self-aware and becoming aware of the player.

—I'm not sure how long this fanfic would go on for, or how it would end. There's a chance I will make a poll about it on social media, or I will throw a dart and see which I get.

Now regarding me, the writer, —I'm 89% sure there will be some grammar mistakes since English isn't my first language and YEAAHHH I'm a minor so it's aboutto be absolute dogshit but!! I wanted to try since I related to Robert a ton --!Original post was taken from 1jas-mine1 (my main)