The tiny Tweety Bird band-aid just peeked out from Hiro's shirt, and Tadashi watched out of the corner of his eye as his little brother tugged it down uncomfortably, his expression drooped in lines of misery. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hunched down in his seat, staring out the window, scooted as far into his corner of the car seat as possible.

This was the second testosterone injection he's had in two weeks—beyond a sudden influx of acne that did absolutely nothing to bolster Hiro's self-esteem, little else of his physical appearance has changed. His mental health seems another matter, and Hiro refused to speak to the psychologist the doctor had referred them to.

It had been years since Tadashi had been to therapy—not since the death of their parents. Hiro had barely remembered them, was only old enough to waddle into Tadashi's bed sobbing about nightmares filled with fire and screaming for a few weeks until his brother's dreams faded peacefully. Tadashi could clearly recall speaking about his own bad dreams with a 3-year-old Hiro burying his face in his chest, smiling shyly at their psychologist.

Now, Hiro, tight-lipped and frozen, had not let anyone touch him for almost a month.

It was odd that he'd never quite realized just how much he was in physical contact with his brother. The hair ruffles, the cheek kisses, the cuddling while working on homework—all of it, gone. Tadashi had never ached to touch his little brother so much, and at a time like this, when Hiro needed the physical comfort the most—needed him the most—he'd refused it completely.

Tadashi was sure that this was somehow his fault. How could it not be? Of all people, even Aunt Cass, Tadashi felt he knew Hiro best. He was the one who had dragged Hiro out of bed every morning for years, kept him out of trouble, made sure Hiro ate enough of every meal and remembered his manners. Hiro certainly didn't depend solely on him, but he was the one Hiro went to for support, the person he'd show all his proudest creations to with a bright smile on his face, wanting his big brother to be proud of him.

Gods, Tadashi was so proud of him.

But he'd lost it, somehow. Maybe he'd forgotten to remind Hiro that he could still come to him for everything, would still support him no matter how old he was or what he did. Whatever he'd done, or neglected to do, now, when Hiro needs to remember how much people love him, he doesn't think he can come to Tadashi anymore.

The car pulled to a stop in the sidestreet behind the cafe, and Aunt Cass turned the car off and bounced out with a cheerful hum. It's always been a tactic of hers to lighten the situation; Tadashi could see the deep-rooted worry crinkling her eyes when she looked at Hiro and in the way she opened the door for him and tugged him out into a hug.

"You're beautiful, sweetie," she whispered, and Hiro shuddered against her, burying his face in her shoulder before pulling away quickly.

"I know, Aunt Cass. Thanks."

He doesn't believe her, Tadashi thought miserably, watching Hiro trudge into their house from the garage. He knew the routine—Hiro would hide out in the lab and wouldn't come out until everyone was asleep to eat miniscule amounts, and then he would fall asleep on his laptop. Then Tadashi would carry him sleeping out of the lab long after midnight and tuck him into bed, and when Hiro woke the next day, he would say nothing and dress in silence before heading back down to the lab.

He started as his pocket buzzed and pulled out his phone. "Honey? What's up?"

"Hi, Dashi. Is Hiro doing okay? He just had his second injection, right?"

"Yeah." Tadashi sighed, leaning against the car. "Obviously there aren't any new changes yet, but we should start to see … more soon."

Honey made a clucking noise. "Sure, sure. Hey, I was just calling to let you know Gogo's planning on heading up to see Hiro. She said she wanted to take him to see something, just the two of them."

"R-Really?" Tadashi swallowed and answered, "I—I can ask if Hiro's up for it. It's Gogo, so … probably."

"Probably." There was far too much knowing in Honey's tone, and he flinched. "I bet if you really wanted, Gogo would let you go with."

"It's all right," Tadashi mumbled. "I'll just—yeah. Talk to you later?"

"Yup. Oh, and Tadashi? Tell Hiro I'm making him his favorite cookies. That should bring a smile to his face."

"Okay," he muttered. "Bye."

Tadashi leaned back on the car, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he was being irrational. It was unfair for him to be so jealous of Gogo—Hiro was obviously doing far better with her watching over him than without. It didn't have to be him taking care of Hiro and spending time with him and coddling him. No, it was unhealthy and unfair to Hiro to force his company on him where it wasn't wanted just so he could keep watch over a brother that already knew how to take care of himself.

"You don't get to complain here," he said aloud, and turned to head inside.

Hiro stared at himself in the mirror, poking dejectedly at a zit right on the tip of his nose. If he popped it, he could end up with a large scar right on the tip of his nose, but it wasn't as if he wanted to go out in public with yet another enormous, swollen red lump on his face.

Nothing had changed in the past few weeks—or at least, nothing he'd wanted to change. Aunt Cass tiptoed around him, most of his friends were talking to him like his grandmother passed away, and Tadashi kept shooting him hurt glances. Now he'd been shoved into the spotlight with everyone treating him like an injured animal in a run-down zoo: something to lament over, to cry about. There wasn't anything wrong with Klinefelter's, right? He didn't have some contagious disease and he wasn't on his deathbed. He was fine. He was fine.

It's a lot easier to lie to yourself when you aren't looking in the mirror, Hiro thought miserably, tugging absently at his shirt. As he'd discovered, while he may look more masculine with a binder on, it couldn't hide his hips, nor could it suppress the urges to pull and shift the binder or silence the terror that someone would look at him and know.

"If you're not ready in the next ten seconds, I will drag you out of your room whether you're fully clothed or not," Gogo called up casually, and Hiro tugged his hoodie on hurriedly, snatching his phone and dashing down the stairs.

Aunt Cass fluttered around him the moment he reached the bottom step, straightening his jacket and trying to flatten and neaten his hair with water, her fingers, and sheer willpower. "Okay, so you have your phone, right? Here's twenty dollars just in case, and I packed you some leftovers in case you get hungry …"

Gogo, dressed in tight black leather, grinned down at Hiro from where she sat on the cafe counter. "I can't believe you're so excited to see me, nerd."

Hiro managed a tight smile and let her ruffle his hair. "Hey, Gogo. Where are we going, again?"

She rolled her eyes, slipping off the counter with catlike grace and popping her gum. "You realize that when I say, 'it's a surprise', that it's going to be a surprise, right?"

Aunt Cass flitted back and forth before finally tugging Hiro into a hug and chirping, "If you need anything, call me, okay? I need to get back to work."

Tadashi turned to him as Aunt Cass darted from the dining area and into the kitchen, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Have fun," he said hesitantly, smiling at Hiro.

Gogo muttered a number of particularly colourful curses under her breath, hissing a word that sounded suspiciously like 'brother-complex'. "I'll be outside." She trudged out of the cafe.

"Okay," Tadashi said awkwardly, clearing his throat. "So—just call me if anything happens."

Hiro avoided his gaze, moving to close the door. "It's okay. I'll be fine."

"Yeah. I—" Tadashi darted forward and pulled him into a hug; Hiro squeaked into his neck, flinching at the touch. Tadashi buried his face in his brother's hair, and Hiro's heart twisted painfully in his chest. "Be careful, okay?"

"Okay," Hiro whispered, tentatively resting his head against his brother's shoulder, and Tadashi pressed his head there, stroking gently. He let out a tight, shivery noise and squirmed away, clearing his throat. "—Yeah. I'll be fine."

"Are you coming or not?" Gogo hollered from just outside the cafe, revving the engine to her motorcycle impatiently. Hiro nodded absently, turning on his heel and toddling out the door.

"So I'm taking you street racing," Gogo told him casually, tossing him a helmet.

Hiro felt a broad smile creep up his features. "I thought it was supposed to be a surprise?"

She snorted. "Don't tell your brother."

It was nearly one o'clock by the time Gogo screeched to a stop in front of an old expanse of storage units, all greying, pocked concrete and metal doors that had faded to an ugly, rust-tinged pale green. The place was abandoned, the air tinged with salt and brine, seagulls screeching in the distant bay.

"Not much of a venue," Hiro commented, hopping off the back of the motorcycle. "And why in the middle of daylight?"

Gogo shoved at his head, rolling her eyes. "We're not at the venue, smart ass, we're here to exchange motorcycles. The venue's down the block." She strong-armed him out of the way and pulled out a small key from the inside pocket of her jacket, moving to the sagging chain-link fence and shoving the key into a rusty old padlock. "By the way, if you're ever out of my sight, the next time I see you, I'm taking you back home and I'll never bring you to another one."

Hiro followed her inside, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And who says I couldn't just find my way to one myself?"

She shrugged, popping her gum noisily. "You wouldn't get the special treatment like you would if you came with me. Hang a left."

"Special treatment?" Hiro trailed after her, cocking his head to the side. "Like … free popcorn?"

"Something like that."

Halfway into the maze of compartments, past several impressive displays of graffiti, and two units down from one unit that looked suspiciously as if something explosive had wrenched the door off, was a unit whose locking system was broken and whose door was dented and smashed, white paint chipping off to pepper the small chunks of concrete torn from the sides of the unit. Gogo pulled the door up with ease, motioning for Hiro to hurry under the gap she had made, and strode in after him, letting the door bang shut and leave them in darkness.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," she called out to him, several feet away. "Security system's a little twitchy." A click, an incessant beeping noise, and a whir of motion brought the room to life, bathing them in bright white light.

The interior seemed far larger than it had outside, the space allowing for several metal tables and high-tech smart boards covered with gridlines and messy sheets of paper with sketches of strange there was space, tools and tiny parts littered the tables, the floors, and hung haphazardly on the walls between the brightly glowing screens of the boards.

Before Hiro could take a closer look, Gogo cleared her throat, and he turned to see her leaning against a motorcycle. It was low, thin, and streamlined, black as pitch. Its shape was reminiscent of a beetle, hovering over two large chrome spheres with a low hum. Its handles curved back towards the rear, and on closer inspection, glowed with what Hiro guessed were gear shifts and special features programmed in through touch pads.

"This is incredible." Hiro ran his fingers reverently along the windshield and fairing, tracing the glittering surface lightly. "How—?"

"Since successful street racing requires stealth, racers design their own vehicles, typically outside of common vehicle norms." Gogo reached out and squeezed the handles lightly, and Hiro startled and laughed in excitement as it powered up, thin lines of yellow light tracing along its surface. "Most are black, though, since typically races take place in dark areas or a night."

"How long did it take you to design this?" Hiro waved a hand between the body and the spherical wheels.

"Couple months." Gogo shrugged. "Would've been faster, but it's not the Nerd Lab at SFIT, so I had to get some parts … specially ordered. In case you didn't notice, a storage unit facility isn't exactly the best place for testing, but it's remote and there's enough space for me to test it out every once in a while. Mostly it's a lot of tweaking."

"Months?" Hiro turned to stare at her incredulously. "It took me half a year just to come up with my battle bot, let alone to actually make it! Where did you even get the parts for all this without getting them through the Nerd Lab?"

Gogo waved a hand dismissively. "Like I said, special ordering. But yeah, it's designed for speed, and—" She squeezed the handle twice, and the lines of yellow swirled and reformed into gridlines. "Powered by both solar energy and through motion. Solar to start it, and motion to keep it going."

"So—are we just going to wheel this out there?" Hiro asked, flouncing around the motorcycle in nervous excitement. "Will—what if we're seen? I mean, it doesn't look like your average motorcycle, you know? What if somebody sees and gets suspicious?"

"Relax, kiddo. We're in the ghettos. No one's going to notice, and if they do, no one's going to care." She moved away, back turned to him, and the door to the storage unit reopened. "Not about two short-ass Asian kids. If we were black or Latino, sure, but us? Not a chance."

"You do have a point," Hiro conceded, following as Gogo wheeled the motorcycle outside into the late afternoon sunshine. "Although—any reason why the fight itself is in the middle of the day?"

"Less cops snooping around the neighborhood."

"Oh."

As Gogo had told him, there were no difficulties getting to the race. What she had failed to mention, however, was that the race itself was located in an underground parking facility owned by some morally ambiguous enterprise, that two thousand people would be either participating or watching, that Gogo was one of the contestants, and that she also seemed to be one of the people running the entire operation, judging by the way all the scary-looking guards were nodding at her and how they'd let her in without another word.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a crime boss?" Hiro demanded, munching indignantly on the bag of popcorn (popcorn!) that Gogo had tossed him. "I could've made so much more cash from bot-fighting!"

Hiro had been in underground parking garages before, of course, but certainly not one that looked like this. Most facilities didn't have enormous, gaping square holes slashed through each parking level, and he was fairly sure structure guidelines didn't allow there to be quite so many levels. They also tended to having plain concrete walls instead of massive murals and half-finished graffiti art covering most, if not all, of the walls and floors, and more vehicles than people rather than the reverse, and said people tended to be rather more conservatively dressed than the tattoo-covered, neon-plastered, scantily-clad, scarred crowds milling about on each parking level. It did have the elevators and emergency stairs running down each corner—not that most elevators and emergency exits were boxed in by glowing, glass-like touch screen panels, but that was beside the point.

"First of all, nerd, I'm not a crime boss, and second of all, just because I help run debatably legal racing activities does not mean I'm involved in bot-fighting." Gogo leaned back against a support as a crowd of racers rushed by, all hurriedly tying their hair back and nervously plucking at their leather clothing.

"And what about the street racing?" Hiro waved a disgruntled hand about, sending several kernels flying. "I could've been indulging in illegal activities while munching on buttery popcorn for months—"

"Hey, it's not like these things happen every other weekend, they take a while to plan out—"

"Or competing! I bet could build a decent motorcycle given enough time—"

"And it wouldn't matter how good at building or racing you are," Gogo finished, glaring at him pointedly. "Just because this is organized crime doesn't mean it's fair."

Hiro blinked. "Then … why are you racing if it's rigged?" His eyes widened. "Oh."

Gogo smirked, stealing the bag of popcorn and dumping half of its contents into her mouth. "That's right, kiddo," she said through a mouthful of food, "I'm going to cheat a bunch of criminals, and you're going to watch."

"Won't you get caught, though?" Hiro hissed, glancing around nervously. Scattered around were large, intimidating guards, all heavily tattooed and scarred, arms crossed as they glared at those who passed by. "Especially if this is being run by a mob."

"Unless said enterprise is paying me to do it," Gogo said airily. "No money lost if it's their own racer who wins, right? And even if I lose, no big deal. A third of these racers are part of the business, anyway, it's not like the odds are in the favor of the newbies and the outsiders. A lot of them are just doing it to garner favor with the top boss." She nodded towards her right, where the largest congregation of people were huddled in a circle next to the closest elevator up.

Hiro peered through the tops of the crowds and cocked his head to the right. " … Which large hairy guy is it?"

Gogo snickered. "None of them. Those are her bodyguards and a dummy." She glanced about, then nodded in the direction of a group of paisley-clad men and tall, giggling women leaning on their arms. "She's the one over in the neon green dress that looks like she just got out of someone else's bed. Not that you'd ever know, which is the point. The only other people here who know that she's the real boss are me and maybe one of those scary bodyguards."

Hiro frowned and squinted. The crowd parted just enough to catch a fleeting glimpse of a stunningly beautiful woman in a tiny dress so bright it seemed to glow against her dark skin, running a hand through her curly hair, with sharp, intelligent brown eyes and an ever-present smirk tinging her lips. Despite her intimidating aura, she could have been an average girl-next-door that grew up in suburbian America if it wasn't for the massive, heavily scarred men and women stationed beside her. "Have—I seen her before?"

"It's Andaiye Williams. She looks familiar because you've seen her not only on campus but on the news," Gogo said casually. "She's got two doctorates, one in computer science and one in biomedical engineering, and about to earn one in medicine and another in surgery. She's also the one who redesigned working legs for that Iranian soldier they rescued from drowning."

Hiro hummed thoughtfully, stuffing another handful of popcorn into his mouth. "The one that escaped from Guantanamo Bay and posted that video all over the internet?"

Gogo smirked. "That one, yes. She's why the feds can't erase it—not that they'll ever find that out. But yeah, this is her gig. And if I win it, I get a decent buck and the ear of one of the top crime bosses in the world."

"Can I help?" Hiro asked eagerly. "You're probably gonna need more than one genius brain, y'know?" he added quickly, pressing as Gogo snorted. "I mean … things happen. What if you need backup?"

"Sorry, kid." she finished off the rest of his popcorn. "I don't want to risk taking you home in a doggy bag and deal with your brother's sad puppy eyes."

"But I'll get bored," Hiro protested. "What—what if I accidentally wander off and get myself into trouble?"

She rolled up her sleeves and brushed her hair out of her face. "Then I guess that sucks for you. C'mon, I've got some of the best seats in the house."

"Gogo? Why are we going towards the scary looking gang members?" Hiro hissed as she led him towards the group surrounding the mob boss. "Shouldn't we stay back there? Where I'm less likely to get knifed?"

"I need to speak with the boss. Don't worry, we're not going to get stabbed trying to talk to her," Gogo added at Hiro's dubious glare. "It'd be a bit weird for us to get attacked for talking to an 'escort' instead of the 'boss' over there, don't you think?"

She was right—no one came to stop them, and the woman spotted them before they were even fifty paces away and came to meet them before they reached forty. "Gogo!" The girl's voice was friendly, lighthearted, and unassuming—the man she was supposedly escorting appeared not to have noticed that she had left his side. "Thought I saw you floating around here. It's good you're here, the competition's about to start."

"Of course, Boss. You ask, I'll be there." Gogo nodded over her shoulder. "This is Hiro. You remember the Foxtail match back last April?"

"You're Babyface?" the woman burst out laughing. "I should have guessed."

"Babyface?" Hiro glared at Gogo indignantly.

"Street name you earned, kiddo," the boss told him, smirking at him. "You've got a reputation for appearing cute and innocent despite being a cocky little shit. Some of my business partners weren't too happy with how their underlings' bots came out of the fight."

Hiro flushed and chuckled nervously. "W-well, I mean—it's not my fault they weren't as good as they thought they were. I just have beginner's luck on my side."

"Yeah, not to mention a bot made of magnetic servos and the IQ level of a prodigial genius, as well as an older brother to help you out when you run into trouble." The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. "I'm surprised you don't recognize me from all the matches I attended. I was sure I'd made a lasting impression on you after West Alley."

Hiro gasped. "You're Foxface! The, the one with—"

"The electromagnetic snake bot with the prehensile body," she finished. "You're pretty good at bot-fighting, kid."

"So are you," Hiro told her incredulously. "You're the only one who's ever beat me. Everyone who's ever fought you always said it was an honor to let you crush their robots."

"Years of practice, kid." She shook his hand. "Andaiye Williams, head of the Western Lotus Clan and organizer of this gig."

"Hiro Hamada," he stammered. "Uh, college student and ex-bot-fighter."

"Ex? Oh, your brother probably convinced you to quit, huh?" Hiro's cheeks burned. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Bet he showed you the Nerd Lab at SFIT and introduced you to Professor Callaghan."

"Y-yeah."

She nodded sagely. "Your brother talks about you a lot. Mostly bragging, but some of it worrying. Glad you enrolled."

"I—" Hiro swallowed. "I didn't realize. He—brags about me? What does he—uh, what does he say about me?"

"Typical brother stuff. 'My brother Hiro's so smart, he really should be in college', 'as I was saying to Hiro the other day', 'I wonder if Hiro would like this' … I'm sure it must be tiring."

"What?" Hiro blinked distractedly. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, it gets annoying sometimes. Pretty … annoying." He trailed off slowly, eyes growing distant.

Andaiye regarded Hiro, one eyebrow quirked and eyes narrowed slightly. "Yep. Anyways, it's nice to meet you, Hiro."

"Mmhm."

"I'm glad Gogo brought you."

"Mmhm."

"Right, right. I eat cotton balls in my spare time."

"Mmhm."

Andaiye smirked at Gogo. "You were right, Gogo. I've never seen a brother complex this bad. I mean, I knew it was bad just because, uh, I've met Tadashi, but I didn't realize you weren't kidding when you said it was mutual."

"You wouldn't believe the trouble I had to go through trying to keep his brother from tagging along," Gogo grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Anyways, I need someone to keep an eye on him. As I'm sure you're aware, Boss, this little shithead isn't exactly the most obedient or innocent little kid around. If you've got a free thug roaming around …"

"Oh, don't worry, Gogo." Andaiye's gaze flicked up and down Hiro. "I'm sure he'll be wonderful company. I can watch him."

Gogo looked doubtful, but shrugged. "Whatever you say, Boss. Hiro, stay here or I'm telling your idiot brother you ran off and I ended up having to search for you for hours. Oh, and by the way"—Gogo knelt and pulled a small butterfly knife out of her boot, tossing it at Hiro—"in case things get nasty and I'm not there right away."

(It was a brand-new blade and she'd bought it just for him, but he didn't need to know that.)

Gogo adjusted her helmet and pushed up the sleeves to her leather jacket, rolling her shoulders and arching her back.

The course was simple: make it to the bottom of the building and then be the first back up. The only rule was that there were no rules (surprise, surprise), although there was a strong suggestion to not harm any of the crowds watching the race on all the floors, which included doing anything that could create severe structural damage and kill everyone in the building. Killing the other contestants was also discouraged, as body trails were difficult to cover, particularly in large numbers. (Regardless, cameras were posted all throughout the garage just to make sure no stray bodies were left to rot.)

Honestly, of all the things Gogo was most worried about, it would be the small-for-his-age teenager prancing about excitedly next to a (thankfully amused) mob boss. He was going to fall over the side of the concrete wall if he wasn't more careful.

No, there wasn't any reason to be nervous about the competition; at least, not this time around. Most of them were newbies, anyways—none of their motorcycles had any special adjustments besides speed. The few that did belonged to bikers she knew had nothing on her racing skill.

Not the money, the favors, or even the glory mattered today. She was winning for Hiro, and nothing was going to get in her way.

"Racers at your ready," the starter called, raising her pistol into the air. Gogo hunched over, keeping her frame pressed close to her bike, and tightened her grip on the motorcycle handles, a low hum vibrating throughout the body as it bled bright yellow lines across its surface.

There was a pause, lasting only a second, and the world slowed down as she squeezed the handle. Gogo shot forward, motorcycle growling quietly, shapes in her peripheral falling behind. The first ramp to the next floor came into view, and she zoomed towards it, ready to fly down the tunnel, hand reaching into her pocket—

And swerved at the last minute, coasting along the wall as the other riders shot past, motorcycle slowing in speed just enough for her to rip out the wires in the lightbox as she shot beside the elevator. With a resounding crash and a slowing whir, accompanied by loud screams, the entire building went black. Gogo grinned beneath her helmet, and flickered her fingers, letting her bike light up bright yellow. She shot towards the nearest hole, and as the crowd parted, dodging and flinging themselves out of her way, Gogo caught sight of the other racers, appearing around the corner where the last floor's ramp led down. She plunged her bike head-first into the hole, ignoring as the throngs of people screamed and scurried after her bike or away before it, landing with a hard, bumpy screech two floors down.

She turned hard, drifting for a moment before shooting forward again and plunging into the nearest hole after, making it three holes down, then four, then three again, barely making it to safety on the ground beside each orifice, landing with resounding crashes and heavy jolting. Eight. Thirteen. Fifteen. Eighteen.

Twenty. Gogo landed hard on the bottom floor with a resounding echo, swerving to avoid hitting a panicked man covered in muscles and tattoos, and shot around the lot in a broad, sweeping curve, shooting up a ramp to the right that led the way back up.

She squeezed the handles hard, and bright colors blossomed across the smooth black surface of her motorcycle—eighteen—spiraling outwards from the handles in glowing waves, nearly blinding; a perfect warning to keep both other racers and the audience out of her way—sixteen—as she soared through each level—fourteen—to ground level of the parking building.

The other racers appeared in front of her without warning, a clump of brightly coloured vehicles swarming about, battling for the head. Gogo roared out a warning, and with several gasps, curses, and terrified bellowing noises, she shot straight through the mob as they swerved desperately, parting like the Red Sea, nearly flinging themselves out of the way. Thirteen.

Ten. She could hear the other racers scrambling to catch up, engines revving in the distance. She paid them no mind—seven—her win was inveitable. Five. She could just imagine the look of shock and excitement on Hiro's face … Three.

Two.

One.

Gogo let out an exhilarated whoop as she broke onto the first floor, meeting stunned, scattered applause, and the sound of someone shouting uproariously as she soared through the finish line and screeched to a stop fifteen feet away.

The moment she rose from her bike and tugged off her helmet, a small body rammed face-first into her front, and she laughed as she steadied herself, wrapping her arms around an excitedly babbling Hiro.

"That … was … amazing," Hiro gasped, practically flinging himself about in excitement. "How—I don't even know how to describe it, that was—you didn't even—"

"Stop to take a breath, nerd, you're more worked up than I am." Gogo ruffled his hair fondly. "Told you I'd win, hands down."

"I didn't think you'd win like that," he yelped, wringing his hands about and flinging the contents of his bag of popcorn everywhere. "That was a trip!"

Someone tapped on her shoulder, and she found herself dragged up by the shirt to meet the snarl of the vicious, heavily scarred, pocked face of Boss's dummy.

"Hey, Anderson. Er, sorry, Boss. Grip's a little stronger than usual. You been working out?"

"That was dangerously stupid and altogether priceless," he murmured, the dark, sinister scowl on his face utterly incongruent with the amusement in his voice.

Gogo winced in pain. "Couldn't be a bit more gentle? Boss?"

"And risk it that anyone finds out about your little deal? You probably could have died, you know."

The crowds had gone nearly silent, whispering nervously at the sight of the biggest crime boss in the West growling into the ear of a clearly uncomfortable Asian woman not even two thirds his size. "And therein lies the fun, Boss. I won, didn't I? I get my reward."

The dummy's eyes flickered to Hiro, who was still chattering excitedly and flailing around. "You mean the ten thousand, of course."

"Only ten? With that performance, I'd say I deserve at least a million. I'm done here, right, Boss?"

"Go to a sushi bar and get drunk on sake if you want. Though I wouldn't recommend it, knowing this kid's brother. Your time is eighteen minutes and forty-two seconds, by the way."

"Good. That's five minutes better than last time."

Anderson released Gogo, backing away and shaking his head. He eyed Hiro. "And besides, you won a lot more than just ten grand, didn't you?"

Gogo cast a glance at Hiro, who was dancing about and gesturing madly, apparently unaware that Gogo had not listened to a single word he had said for the past few minutes, and found she couldn't agree more.