Your name is BRO STRIDER. It's been that way since it was given to you, there's no reason it should ever have changed in these years. It's your job to take care of your little brother, DAVE STRIDER, who you honestly think is creeped out by you. That does not make you happy one bit. Whenever he gives you that look, regardless of whether he's conscious of it or not, you make sure to make note of it and leave at least seven more swords in the fridge next time. You're pretty sure he's catching on.

You were lounging sideways in your desk chair playing online chess when it happened. He caught you. You weren't wearing a shirt, as you had just finished fixing up your arm from a particularly irritated strifing session that had started out of an argument rather than the usual methods of practice. You'd managed somehow to forget about your door, it wasn't locked and Dave got halfway through a complaint about the lack of apple juice in the fridge before his flamboyant voice trailed off, and you reacted too slowly. You'd paused out of sheer shock before shoving him out of the room and shutting the door in his face, and he'd seen it. The cross-symmetrical octo-bond panel spanning your upper back. It had obviously shocked and confused him, it was something he'd probably never even thought about seriously, you having even a little bit of machinery.

He didn't talk to you for the rest of the day, just stayed in his room. He was probably afraid of you.

Step one: Initiate.

Three days passed before he spoke to you again, though you started it, summoning him to the roof. He let out a complaint but you were already gone and he took a few minutes to dramatically drag himself upstairs, pausing to grab one of his favorite swords along the way. But he finally made his way to the rooftop, where you were waiting.

Step two: Expose.

You had taken that time to strip off your shirt and toss it aside, the four long steel tendrils unfolding and extending from your back, clawed ends like little grabby hands. Abacus, Corinth, Tzar, and Gyros. He froze when he saw you, looking like he wanted to back up a step but he didn't. His hands, you noticed, were trembling just slightly as he kicked the door closed and approached you warily. You were also wielding your favorite sword, a long black Damascus katana embedded with red LEDs. You didn't much get to use your favorite color anymore, being who you were, but you figured he wouldn't care at this point.

Step three: Strife.

He initiated the strife, flashstepping forward and slashing his sword in a wide arc against your shoulder. Abacus immediately grabbed his sword and twisted it from his hand, Tzar tossing it hilt-first at his head. He whined about you cheating and it being unfair but he snatched the sword and feinted a swipe to your legs, punching you straight in the gut. He yelped in pain as he made contact with a dull metallic clang, shaking his wrist and skittering backwards as he stared at you incredulously. Corinth and Gyros grabbed him by the tops of his arms and hefted him up as he shook, obviously afraid of you.

"Wh-what the fuck! What are you?!"

He still held his sword with the hand that wasn't tucked into his stomach, his shades had fallen off and his pale blue eyes, rimmed in red, showed not just fear but anger. 76.3% chance of betrayal.

"Bro! Fucking answer me, you cocksucker!"

Step four: Truth.

You shook your head. "Your Bro died a long time ago."

He went absolutely still and silent at that, his eye twitching before he barked a harsh laugh of disbelief.

"Haha yeah, nice fucking prank, Bro. Oughta write Egbert about this one, he'll put it in his fucking family history books. I'm just wondering where the fucking mountain of smuppets I'm going to walk into is."

Tzar takes your shades, revealing your synthetic ruby red irises. He shuts up.

"Dirk - Bro, whatever - built me about eight and a half years ago and deemed me Robro. Basically, when he left to go fight the forces of evil and whatnot on his awesome hoverboard, he didn't want you to know because you were so young. So he left me in his place. He hoped you would never find out, but if you absolutely had to it shouldn't have been for another five or six years. I'm sorry, Dave. I fucked up, end of story, there we go. Feel any better?"

"...So you're a robot."
"Android."

"Whatever. And you've been around for... more of my life than Bro ever was."

"2.756 years more."

He went silent, and you put him down, extra arms collapsing flat into your back. He looked like he could barely stand as he stared at the roof between his feet. You picked him up again with your primary hands, carrying him to his room and shutting the door behind you. He'd need plenty of time to think.

Well, that's my HEADCANON for you. Illuminati confirmed and all that shit. Sorry about my long absence, I swear I'll have your guys' present out soon enough. Love and Jell-o, AR.