"And that, is Little Lucy, by me, The Dealer," Hiro said proudly.

"You little shit," the man in the plain black mask yelled. "You tricked me!"

"Actually, I don't want the winnings," Hiro said, even though he wanted the money. The goons looming over him looked confused at Hiro's words. "I just want to barter a bit. I was hoping to sell Little Lucy." The small, snake-like robot coiled up and took a bow.

Mr. Masked - Hiro decided to call him - squinted at him. "Really?"

Hiro nodded, faking fearlessness. A front was necessary for a good sell. "I could have destroyed your robot, but I just flung it out of the ring, didn't I? I could have popped the head off or crushed it easily. You know my bot is better. I'm saying I want to make a trade."

"And what if I don't want to trade?" Mr. Masked sneered. The goons caught on and loomed over Hiro. At height too-short-to-intimidate, Hiro had to remember himself to avoid being intimidated.

Stomach gurgling marbles of nervousness, Hiro nonchalantly shrugged. "Then I walk out of here, harmed or unharmed. And when I get better at building bots, learn more, and build better things, you'll be sorry if you hurt me because I'll never sell you anything and seek out your opponents. Consider hurting me a very bad idea." Hiro grinned, showing off his front teeth's gap. "And consider buying from me an investment in the future. Gotta know where my customers are at."

Mr. Masked waved his goons away. With some suspicion, they backed away into the shadows, leaving just Hiro and Mr. Masked. "All right, brat, what's the trade you're looking at?"

"Your bot for mine, and 800 dollars."

"100."

"700."

"150."

Hiro cocked his head. "I have to buy food and stuff, you know. And parts so I can get better at this. How's 600? I can't go lower than that."

Mr. Masked tilted up his chin and snorted. "Try 200, brat."

Hiro shrugged. "I'm done." He picked up Little Lucy and turned to leave. The door was just in front of him when -

"Wait!"

Hiro stopped, afraid to turn around. Were the goons right behind him? Did his bluff work? Because he really needed some cash, or -

"500 dollars."

Hiro couldn't help a Cheshire-cat-like smile before collecting himself. With an impassive face, he turned around.

"How about $450 and that snazzy fire-breathing lizard bot too?"

Eyes narrowed as Mr. Masked tried to figure out Hiro's scheme. But even he couldn't see through Hiro's black eyes to the real truth.

Hiro was a one-in-a-billion Technopath. He could control anything within about a 20 foot radius that used electricity. With a lot of concentration, he could bring it up to 50 feet, and at the expense of tiredness, he could even power things that took less that 3 AAA batteries' worth of power. Well, he'd never tried for more than a calculator - he might be able to do more, but it'd probably wear him out more.

While useful, he never used it in fights on the other robot. It was only for when his own hands weren't fast enough on his own bot - then he'd bring his robot's full power out technopathically. It's not that he couldn't do it with a controller - just that it was easier. And he felt like he had some honor to uphold, being such a rare technopath. It was also kinda tricky to subtly affect the opponent's bot.

It also meant he could feel the parts and tech around him. Like, he already knew what he was going to design next, because he'd been thinking about that lizard-bot's legs. Product #2 was going to have gecko feet. And for that, he needed Mr. Masked's goon's broken fire-breathing lizard bot.

"I don't remember saying anything about Hotbot here. And I thought you said 600 was the minimum."

Hiro smirked. "More parts, lower price. I'm serious about building and selling."

Mr. Masked glared as he thought. Finally, Hiro heard the magic words.

"Deal."

That was The Dealer's first sale.

Hiro carved a niche for himself in the bot fighting world. He called himself The Dealer, and he worked hard to make sure people remembered that. Many people had aliases like that, like Byter or Crayfish, but he needed a rep to get customers. That Kid or The Kid just didn't work anymore.

That's right - Hiro didn't just bot-fight anymore. He sold.

Or, he tried to.

At 10, he had found this hidden world, hidden from the daylight and prying eyes of good members of society, and at 11, he had run away from the orphanage to live in it.

At 12, he was know as The Kid. He liked to capitalize the letters and imagine that they meant it as like a sort-of superhero name, but deep down he knew they just meant he was young and dangerous - a hustler, swindler, thief. They knew he would win. He knew that he had a small following - people who would recognize him and walk away with a lot of money in a single night because of him. There were people who liked The Kid, people who cheered and whistled for him.

And then there were the sore losers. He didn't think about them.

When the cops had caught him - just once - he'd been thrown back in the orphanage for a week before he escaped again. This time, he knew something would change. He wouldn't just fight - he was going to sell. Then cops couldn't arrest him, he figured.

And so he became The Dealer.

At first, it was just enough to get by. Then word spread throughout the district, and prices went up. No one built bots like Hiro (and no one could control them like Hiro, but they were good enough even without Hiro's extra little technopathic boost). No other bot dealers even came close - many became parts dealers instead. The Dealer's bots were winners.

Hiro was a little nervous. He was still a loner, living on the streets or in the occasional shelter. He bought a fake ID (it said he was 18, not 14) but couldn't get a real place of his own. Now he was better dressed, better known, and with a long-term gym membership with showers, in better hygiene too - a visibly better target, he thought.

But more so than that, carrying the cash he had was dangerous, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he got in trouble. He left some things in the gym locker, but he considered it far from secure enough.

Which is why he was at the bank.

"You'll need your mom or dad to help you out," the teller said kindly. "You have to be 18 years of age."

Hiro nodded and grinned. "I'm 18. Here, my license says so," he replied sweetly, handing over his fake ID. It even had a fake address on it.

The lady examined it and typed in the address. It didn't exist, and Hiro knew it. It had confused the ID maker, who strongly recommended he pick a real place, even if it wasn't his own - the city network would easily figure out the fraud if the address were nonexistent.

But the ID maker didn't know Hiro had been practicing.

While she typed, he closed his eyes and felt the computer's wiring. He had maybe one chance to do this right. The switches to the network were under the desk, and he could sense the information transferring into the switch and out of his reach. It came back, and Hiro squinted for a second while he scrambled to fix the bits. There!

The lady looked at the computer screen, apparently waiting. Then she frowned. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't verify your address."

Hiro's eyes snapped open. Had he gotten it wrong? Was he mistaken? What -

"Oh!" The teller clicked a few times, but Hiro was too frazzled to feel and fiddle with the computer. Computers were hard. Switches were so much easier - they just streamed data in and out, not processing it. Fricking CPUs.

"I'm sorry, I had the wrong window open." She frowned. "That's strange, it normally pops up in this window," she muttered. She shrugged as Hiro choked on air silently in sort-of relief. "Well, no matter. Your address checks out."

She handed Hiro's ID back. "All right then. May I have your social security number?"

Hiro smiled shakily and recited the digits. With a great internal sigh of relief, Hiro signed documents and opened a bank account and got a large security deposit box for five years.

Perfect.

He went into the security deposit box room with the lady and put the most valuable currently-not-in-use parts in his box. He stored most of the excess cash he had in his new account. Things he'd need if everything went sour. But he kept some money, his current projects, tools, and toiletries on hand. And his ID and keys, of course.

As he exited the security deposit room, he kept his head down just in case, but he was noticed.

"Hiro!"

Hiro looked up without meaning to. Not many but the orphanage staff knew his name, and almost ran for it just because he heard his real name. But he was lucky - it wasn't someone who actually knew him. Just slightly better than the orphanage staff, he supposed. But not much better.

It was the goddam pedophile from the gym, stuck in line. The one who had tried to give him some kind of bruise cream after seeing Hiro naked. Who had startled him into giving his name.

Fuck. Hiro turned and left quickly before the creep could follow him.

A week earlier...

"What's your name, kid?" a voice behind Hiro asked, just as Hiro was about to put on his underwear. A warm hand landed on his shoulder, and Hiro jumped, startled.

"Hiro," he replied somewhat loudly without thinking. Then he turned around.

It was a much taller, broad-chested, friendly-looking Asian guy, wearing a baseball cap with some kind of logo.

"Hiro, huh? I'm Tadashi." Hiro instantly forgot his name. He only came here for the locker and shower anyway, and this guy probably used the actual gym. Hiro would just be quicker in the future or come at a different time. "Are your parents here?"

Hiro bristled. Why did everyone ask him that? It was so annoying. "I'm 18, I'll have you know. Aging deformity."

The man blinked twice and looked down. In that split second, Hiro guessed the guy had determined that no, Hiro was not in fact 18, regardless of what he or his ID said. Nervous and embarrassed, Hiro went beet red and resumed dressing with twice the speed, turning away. He had to get out of here.

Hiro finished dressing and made to pull out his stuff from the locker. Once again the creeper spoke to him. Hiro mentally named him Creeper. Hiro turned to face him.

Creeper was crouching down to be at Hiro's height. The fuck?!

"I've got some bruise cream - let me give you some; those look pretty nasty." He put a hand on Hiro's shoulder, stopping him from pulling his bag out of the locker. "Hiro? Are you okay?"

Hiro felt something twist horribly in his stomach. Whatever he was feeling, it felt like an unused muscle - foreign and strained. For a split second, he wanted to accept this stranger's help, to confess his life - that it wasn't fair how his parents died before he could remember, how he tested out of grade after grade and dropped out of high school because of bullying, how he wanted to be a real person instead of some minor with a gift on the streets, how that sore loser got him last week -

How he was so very, very alone.

"I..." Hiro swallowed and remembered himself. "I'm fine."

Then he set off Creeper's cell phone. It was a pretty nice one, from the feel of it.

But Creeper only glanced down at his pocket for a moment before looking back up at Hiro, still focused, hand still there. His phone kept ringing.

"Aren't you going to get that?" Hiro asked.

Creeper shook his head. "You're more important. Is everything all right at home?"

Hiro had no idea what to call the gut-wrenching emotion twisting through his stomach. It sounded like Creeper cared. Stunned, Hiro didn't say anything until the phone stopped ringing.

Creeper studied him, and for no reason at all, Hiro almost felt like crying - but not out of fear, whom he knew like an old friend, or wariness, whom he was practically married to. No, this was different, and - there was his old friend! - wariness crept up. What was Creeper doing to him?

"It's none of your business," Hiro murmured, just loud enough for Creeper to hear.

Creeper sighed and held out something he'd been concealing in his hand. "Will you take this at least?"

Hiro looked down. A tube of something and a note. It had a phone number written on it along with "TADASHI HAMADA".

With quick feel, Hiro confirmed it was Creeper's cell phone number. It was somewhat mathematical, and Hiro found himself accidentally memorizing it. 913-555-5319 - a palindrome.

"Bruise cream and my number, if you ever need help. With anything. I mean it." Hiro looked up at him. Unlike a lot of people Hiro knew, this guy radiated whatever the opposite of intimidating was. Friendly? Kind? He wasn't sure.

Hiro's wariness crept up into fear, whom he also knew well. That's it - he was out of here. And he was going to get a new gym membership, too.

With a flick of his mind, Hiro set off the fire alarms and ran for it. He only took his bag.

Fuck fuck fuck fuckfuck fuckfuck, Hiro chanted to himself, as he pulled himself out of the small dumpster through a side window, cringing at his new injuries.

This was a new district, one he'd heard had more sophisticated bots in the rings - more parts for him. Indeed, it had more interesting parts. But it also meant he had no actual rep - maybe rumors at best, since some of the goons had exchanged glances when he said he was The Dealer. But he'd forgotten to emphasize that "don't hurt me or I'll never sell to you again, and that means you lose eventually" point enough.

At least nothing was broken. Just a sprained ankle. And lots of missing parts and toiletries.

Making a mental note to make emergency kits to put in the new gym locker, he thought about how to protect himself better. Like, something that could be small enough to hide in his pockets or clothes but deadly enough to keep people from hurting him.

Thinking... thinking... thinking...

The super-efficient magnetic bearings he'd seen tonight! If he could get his hands on a bunch of them, then he could power a mini army with his mind. No problems getting beat up anymore, and he could make super-fast escapes, too!

Hiro trudged back to his own district and slowed down business for a week while he made his own tool. He did a few repairs here and there, keeping a smaller inflow of cash, and helped designed things and sold one more bot. And at the end of the week, Hiro had a new tool literally up his sleeves, coiled around his wrists and in his shirt and backpack and hidden in other places he didn't tell anyone.

He named them Microbots.

And so Hiro went back to the new high-tech district, armored this time. Most of the bots were in his bag where they took no concentration, but he kept just enough to make gauntlet-like sleeves under his sweater. He had a headband on too, in case he had to use them - that way, people would guess he had some kind of neurotransmitter, not technopathic abilities. This time, he went to a different bot ring.

It had a weird bouncer.

"This place isn't for children," the broad-shouldered black man said to him. Despite the bouncer's appearance, Hiro felt far less threatened by him than he had other smaller bouncers.

"I'm not a child. I'm The Dealer."

A loud snap - bubble gum? - drew Hiro's attention to the right. There, a smaller Asian woman stood. Hiro swallowed and was grateful he'd thought to bring a scarf that covered most of his face as his Adam's apple bobbed with a nervous swallow. "You mean the one that got kicked out of Yama's place the other night?"

Hiro choked. That was not the rep he wanted. "Yea, the one and same."

She raised an eyebrow. "Come on in."

The black guy turned to her in disbelief. "You're kidding me! He's like, 12! Gogo, you cannot - "

The Asian girl stopped the black guy with a snap of her gum. Hiro marveled the volume. "I bet The Professor would want to see his stuff. Didn't you hear he won? Yama just flipped his shit."

"That doesn't change the fact that he's a - "

"Wasabi."

"Eh-eh-but - he's - you - "

This time, Asian girl silenced him with a glare. "Better here than anywhere else. We play fair."

She turned to Hiro, who was thoroughly amused by the exchange, though wary. "In you go, kid."

"Thanks," he said quietly as he stepped through the doorway.

"Hi there," a long-haired blonde said as he walked in. "It's a flat fee here. No betting. It's 10 dollars to watch."

Hiro's mouth dropped open, and his scarf slipped down. Pulling it back up, he managed, "How much to fight?"

The woman looked at him, openly surprised. "Oh nonononono-no!" she said sweetly. "We pay players to fight! One dollar a win. Or advice from The Professor or whoever's on deck."

Though surprised by the system, Hiro didn't even have to do the math in the lively venue to know that they were making way more money than the fighters. "What about the rest?"

She smiled. "It goes to the employees."

Hiro contemplated that for a sec and attempted some rough estimates. They were nothing compared to his winnings, even if there were only 3 employees.

"And the competition's...good?"

"Top-notch," she said. "We're popular with college students, since we're legal, and our professor - oops, silly me - The Professor is here. If you lose, he gives advice as a consolation prize - so even street players come here to better their bots! Also, a lot of girls come when The Techman is here. He's pretty good, but he's a student, not a professor."

"Haha..." Hiro sort-of laughed, not quite sure what to make of this place.

"Oh!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "I'm Honey Lemon." She stuck her hand out. "What's your name?"

Hiro blanched, though he took her hand. "I'm, uh, The Dealer."

"Oh, that's so cute! Well, Mr. Dealer, if you ever need anything or have any questions, come ask me, okay?" she said. Hiro wasn't quite sure what to do about her cheerfulness. It was hurting him inside somehow, in a way he couldn't describe. He didn't think he'd ever met someone so friendly in a bot-fight arena. Not that he liked her - it's just that he really didn't meet many nice people. He nodded and turned to the commotion that surrounded fights.

Hiro ducked and wove his way through the crowd until he was past the spectators. There was a loud monster on stage, commentating. Hiro wondered what the guy inside looked like.

"Aaaaaand look at Severus the Snake go! Holy mother of Megazon, is that snake is sli-ther-in'!"

Hiro was mildly surprised to see that his first sale, Little Lucy, had changed owners. It looked it was still holding up really well, even without repairs from him. It looked like it had gotten a few upgrades in the quality department too, but Hiro could feel that the design was the same.

In the ring with it was a roughly humanoid thing with a buzzsaw. Hiro could easily see and feel the flaws - speed exchanged for strength in the gears, poor software design in the controls. The pig-tailed woman controlling it was struggling to keep up with Little Lucy - or Severus, Hiro supposed - but the snake was simply too mobile for it to even touch. Hiro grinned as the snake coiled around the robot and pinned it to the floor. While strong, the humanoid robot's strength was applied to the wrong places in that position, and it was unable to get out of the grip.

"Oo, ouch!" the commentator exclaimed. "RoboHobo is down! Ah, one! Two! Three!" He got to ten.

"THAT'S IT, FOLKS!" Hiro saw money exchange hands out of the corner of his eye. So this place was mostly legal, he gathered. "Anyone else want to challenge Le Prue-fess-see-ur and Severus? Step right up, step right up!"

Hiro looked around, but it seemed all the bot-holders weren't stepping up. In fact, some were looking on with awe at Severus.

The man behind Severus's controls was really good, Hiro knew. He realized that he had no idea who the new owner was - just that they were in the room. And then the controller stood up.

Hiro blinked. Masks weren't uncommon in the underworld of bot-fights, but they were just to conceal identities for people who couldn't be seen. This guy, however, had on a Kabuki mask - bright and flamboyant. He was talking to the loser, saying something hushedly, who was nodding and taking notes.

Wow, this place was weird.

The presenter saw Hiro and the bot Hiro was holding - Megabot, Hiro decided to call it. It was his best yet - just three magnetic bearings, six modified bearings, and some facial work. Perfect for hustling, since it could appear broken.

"You there, little man! I see you've got a bot! Wanna shot?!"

Hesitantly, Hiro nodded. It might be fun. This place reeked of fun and friendly competition, not fight-bet-win-sell-run - or whatever it was Hiro was used to.

As he set Megabot down in the ring, he let it fall sillily. Some people cooed at how young Hiro was, and others laughed.

Nothing Hiro couldn't handle.

"And ready, set, GO!" the mascot man shouted.

Hiro wished that The Professor would take off his mask. It was super frustrating, since he couldn't tell how much of an effect his own actions and demeanour had on the opponent. But no matter - Hiro knew Little Lucy better than this guy - he'd made her!

Megabot wobbled around and waddled toward the snake. Hiro wasn't sure if The Professor would fall for it - but sure enough, he did.

Severus wove its way around Hiro's bot. Hiro pretended to fiddle with the controls desperately, but he actually deactivated some of the magnets. Megabot fell apart.

Hiro was careful to keep a dejected face while he pondered his temporary loss. Now, what would The Professor say? Hiro was simply curious.

"Oooo that looked painful!" the mascot man shouted. "And the battle goes to The Professor, once again! Undefeated tonight, like always!"

As he picked up the pieces of his robot, he waited for The Professor to say something - give the loser's consolation prize, whatever. But it wasn't what he expected.

"My advice to you is to play like you mean it. Your robot seems fine enough to me, but you weren't even trying." That was spot-on. Then he went on, to Hiro's surprise. "And I think your controller's a bit small for the nine bearings you have there. You might want to change that."

Not bad, Hiro thought. But now he had a chance to sell to this guy. The opponent liked his bot.

"Want to go again?"

The Professor stilled. Then he nodded. "Fred, we're going again."

"Right-o, Professo!" mascot-man - Fred - replied. "Aaaaand once again we have The Professor versus the same contender! And ah 3, 2, 1!"

The robots almost danced around each other for a few moments, and then Hiro snapped open his controller to its full width. He grinned. It was time for Megabot to destroy.

The face of Hiro's bot flipped. Hiro wished he could see The Professor's face. Megabot split apart and wheeled around just out of Severus' flexibility range. It ducked and wove until Hiro got the neck caught between all the ball bearings. Then he mashed a few more buttons and popped the head off.

Child's play, really.

The crowd was silent for a moment.

They erupted into cheers.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!" Fred was shouting. "THE PROFESSOR HAS LOST! FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER WITH SEVERUS!"

Hiro smiled a little bit. It always felt good to take winners down. But now he had a sale to make.

Rather than take another fighter on, he followed the loser away from the crowd and coughed, following him into a backroom only when the man waved him in. The room was small and cozy. There was a table, a desk, and a few chairs.The Professor sat in one of them.

"I'll sell you my bot for 900 dollars," he said, just loud enough for The Professor to hear. "It's a bargain, trust me."

The Professor laughed. Of all things, that was not the reaction Hiro expected.

"Kid, I invented the bearings you used. I could build what I just saw you design."

And there was the last thing Hiro liked to hear. Copycats. Almost never as good as his originals, but still powerful and well-designed bots. It wasn't like there was copyright infringement or intellectual property rights on the streets.

Ugh.

Hiro replayed what the man had said in his head.

Wait.

This guy invented magnetic bearings?!

"Wait - you're Professor Callaghan?!"

The man laughed and removed his Kabuki mask. Sure enough, there he was - just a bit grayer than the picture in the back of Hiro's tech book. With a broad nose and shifty eyes, Hiro knew this man was Robert Callaghan.

"The one and same. But don't tell anyone - I actually hoped you'd follow me back here because I'd like to talk to you. Have you ever considered going to college?"

Hiro looked down. He was too young, no guardian, no address. No way. And not enough money, based on his preliminary college search, even if he could keep bot-building full time.

"I can't."

Callaghan frowned. "I don't mean to pry, but why not? SFIT's a great place, and I'm there."

Hiro shrugged. He'd thought he'd be the one making a sell, not the other way around. "I want to, but I really can't. I'm sorry." He paused, but Callaghan seemed to be thinking. "Do you want to buy Megabot?"

"No, I should really be designing my own things. Like Severus."

Hiro looked up sharply. Most of his customers had the decency to admit that they didn't build the robot, just used it well. Maybe this guy wasn't worth it. But Hiro didn't see any reason to anger him or call him out. It was just a simple note for the future - this guy would steal designs and lie.

It was probably better that Hiro kept his cards close to his chest with this man.

"Hm," was all he said in reply. "Well, I guess I'd better be going then."

Callaghan nodded. "Will you come back to The Silent Sparrow's? Here, I mean?" Hiro blinked, filing away the name.

Sure, this guy might be a lying cheat, but the other people had been really nice. And everyone here seemed pretty decent in a friendly but competitive atmosphere. "I guess so."

Callaghan smiled. "I started this place in memorial of my daughter. She passed away a few years ago, and I'd always wished there could be a safe place for young enthusiasts to fight. You know, I think she got into bot-fighting around your age, Mr. Dealer."

Hiro froze, suddenly very uncomfortable. "I'm 18."

Callaghan's smile disappeared for a moment, then came back. "Ah, well, then when she was around 12. Not that you're that young."

Hiro faked a smile and ground out, "I think I'd best be going." He made mental notes galore about this guy - while not dangerous, he certainly had ways of getting under Hiro's skin.

AN: Wow, this fic just wrote itself. I started with, "Hiro, The Dealer" and wound up with this. Also "sillily". Didn't think it was a word, but whatevs. XD

Please review! Just X or O is fine - O if you're interested, X if this is dumb and I should never bother writing the next chapter(s).