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It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when Hiro didn’t rely on substance to escape the harsh realities of the world, and he was more than guilty of using. He felt guilty too, but the ever growing need for the drugs that filled his bloodstream and gave him the never ending high, was more than enough to convince him that **this**, was the only way he’d ever forget. The only way, he’d ever forget Tadashi’s death.
It was untimely, that was for sure. Burning buildings were a rare occurrence to come by, but for him to recklessly run in just so he could, in Tadashi’s own twisted sense of heroism, rescue Professor Callaghan from the fires, left him alone. Afraid. Depressed. Angry. Oh, so angry! Like a raging fire, a timed bomb ready to explode at any moment. There was only one way to avoid that. To avoid lashing out at everyone he held dear as well as sincerely cared for him. Using. He wasn’t proud of it, but it helped.
As Hiro looked up at from where he lay, he didn’t really know where he was. It was the second time this week, he’d awaken to unfamiliar surroundings. The ground was cold, and he lay in a puddle, his hoodie wet and his hair dishevelled. Opening his eyes, was a battle of its own. They refused to do so, and only after another half hour of gruelling headaches (more like migraines) and a terrible feeling in his guts, that he saw that he was in a tunnel. Laying right in the middle, of where cars would come speeding down. With a slow drawl, and in zombie-like fashion, Hiro staggered to the side where he’d be safe, and recollected himself.
He remembered, then, that he passed out after shooting up the previous night. Money, was never hard to come by. His inventions were great for one thing. Bot fights, and he always one. As such, he always had money for more, and more, and he never stopped. He never ever stopped. No, he needed the drugs, he needed the needles. He needed the high that would overtake whatever depressed and down feeling that he was experiencing at that very moment and replace it with something else. Something bright, something else, than sadness and sorrow. He didn’t want to remember his face. he didn’t want to remember how he died. Most of all, Hiro did **not** want to think how his elder brother would think of his habits now. He didn’t need the self pity. he just needed the high.
Hiro fished around in his pocket, hoping that his phone was still there, and it was. Taking it out, Hiro unlocked the screen and was greeted with over twenty messages. Seventy per cent of which, was from a very, worried and paranoid Aunt Cass. He ignored that. He’ll reply her in a moment. The other thirty? They were from the gang. Wasabi left three extremely fatherlike voice messages which Hiro groaned at. He didn’t need a lecture right now. Honey Lemon’s was full of apologies. He didn’t get why she did that, but she did. Fred’s, was nothing more but pitiful attempts at inviting Hiro to a comic book store. He didn’t need comics, he needed money. He blew it all last night, spending it on pot. And it wasn’t the kind you cooked food in. That was for sure. GoGo had one simple message that he swiped open to read. It read, “Get your ass back home.” Hiro ignored it as well.
Checking online, Hiro noted that there was another fight tonight. He’d win that too, and he’d get more money for drugs. It was a never-ending cycle that Hiro wished would end, but he knew it never would. He was hooked, nothing can stop that now, nothing **could**. He was too deep, too lost in despair. He brushed the thoughts aside from his mind. Instead, he walked off, still staggering ever so slightly, and made his way back home. Aunt Cass would probably still be sleeping, she’d never realised he was out. It was four in the morning.
The walk back, was daunting. Not only because of the hindrance that the drugs provided so generously, but of the endless stream of thoughts. Thoughts, of Tadashi being disappointed in him. It was then followed, (unwarrantably if he might add), by images that flashed before his eyes. Of the explosion, of the burning building. Of Tadashi running in, of his hat, his **favourite** hat fluttering out with a breeze that was icy cold, that made Hiro’s hair stand on his neck, even though there was a raging hot fire just in front of him. The frosty, icy cold realisation, that Tadashi was gone. He closed his eyes as a tear rolled down from his cheek onto the ground. He rubbed his eye, frustratedly, with the back of his sleeve. He didn’t need to think about this right now.
Creeping quietly into the house, Hiro snuck into his bed room, greeted by the loud sound of the air filter whirring and sputtering. Ever since Hiro started using, an air filter was necessary. He didn’t need his room smelling like pot. He also didn’t need Aunt Cass walking into the room in her usual cleaning spree and smell the terrible, choky, and smoky smell. A simple explanation that this was to get rid of the foul smell from one of his ‘inventions’ was good enough for her. He was thankful he didn’t question him. At least, he had that. He’d sleep it off for now.
An alarm woke him up at eleven in the morning. Groggily slamming a hand into the alarm clock on his side table, Hiro sat up. Shielding his eyes from the overly, and spotlight-like sun that shone into the room. Aunt Cass didn’t wake him up, of course. She was more than wary now. Weary too. She didn’t want to disturb him, she knew how much he was grieving. Perhaps, all he needed was time.
It was one in the morning when Hiro snuck out of the house again. Hastily grabbing his bot, (a tiny little black figure that could have been easily mistaken for a toy for its yellow smiley face) and hoodie before leaving. San Fransokyo was notorious for its underground bot fighting. The police had no power there, that was for sure. The fights held across the city were to abundant, too many for the cops to quell. That’s why he chose this particular ‘recreational activity’ to make his money. He wouldn’t get caught if he was smart enough. He was, of course.
Entering the run down building through the run down door of a run down and dodgy alley, Hiro was greeted by the sounds of cheers and smells of alcohol. There was a fight going on, and he squeezed in through the crowd that gathered around the ring, and studied his opponent. The man who he’d assume he’d probably have to face as he seemed more experienced, and his bot much more advance and deadly than the woman who was trying to pit her bot that couldn’t do much more but to swerve around in circles as it avoided the buzzing saw of the man’s bot, had a smug grin on his face. He wasn’t phased. Hiro would teach him a lesson. He’d wipe that smug grin off his face, and then use the money for the drugs. He just needed the battle to be over.
Five minutes later, Hiro’s wish came true. The bot that belonged to the man had sliced through the metal arm that was attached to the already falling apart bot that the woman possessed. Picking up the bot that needed more repair than Hiro’s emotions, the woman ran out of the club, slamming the door shut as she did. Hiro walked into the ring, and sat down defiantly.
“Is this a joke?” The man had japed, laughing. He wouldn’t be a minute or so later. “Get outta the ring kid. This is for grownups.” He continued.
“One fight. If I lose, you get my money anyway.” Hiro replied the man.
“Look kid, you’re kidding yourself if you-“ The man stopped mid-sentence as Hiro produced a rather thick wad of cash tied with a rubber band. “You got yourself a deal kid.” He said as he signalled the bouncer to guard the doors just in case Hiro tried to escape with the money if he lost. He didn’t.
The fight started sooner than he thought it would. The man’s bot was designed to look like a silver samurai, its main means of offence its buzzing saw and silver, katana blade. It was tiny but deadly, and it would cut through his bot’s shell easily if he didn’t dodge it properly. Giving the man a grin, Hiro effortlessly controlled his bot to detach, and knocked the katana out of the samurai’s hand and formed back quick enough for the man was slow to react and knocked it to the ground. Three seconds later, the head, arms, legs, and pretty much every other part of the bot was removed effortlessly. The man, angered at first, sighed.
“Well played kid.” He congratulated him, in his own manner of speech. Getting up from where he sat, Hiro grabbed the cash that was pooled on the tray and made his way to the door where he was stopped by the two bouncers. Their size looming over him like two giants.
“Let him go boys!” The man shouted from across the club, waving a hand in the air. The two giants moved to the side, letting Hiro make his way out of the club.
The cool, night air was the first thing Hiro noticed when he stepped outside. The other, was that he had all the money the needed to buy more pot. That lightened up his moods as he made his way to the San Fransokyo bridge. It was far away, but there was always a dealer there. There always was one. He was sure of it.
A man in a rather worn out, old, and dirty (probably soiled) blanket beckoned Hiro over when he first arrived, pointing to the blanket where underneath, he assumed the man hid his stock.
“How can I help you?” The man spoke in a rather hoarse voice.
“You’re a dealer, aren’t you?” Hiro asked impatiently.
“Sure am. Wanna see what I have under this blanket?” The man asked, pointing again.
“Show me what you got.” Hiro rushed.
Lifting the blanket up, something caught Hiro’s eyes. Something he was hoping he’d never see if he was smart enough. For, just this once, he wasn’t. A police badge was nestled on his belt, right next to a pistol he was sure belonged to the officer.
“Don’t try to leave.” The officer commanded before Hiro could move away. “Do you have anyone I can call? Seeing that you look like a juvenile, I’d say you have some sort of a guardian? Parent?” The officer said as he walked in front of Hiro, looking down at him from where he stood.
Hiro, simply nodded. Producing his wallet from his pocket, he handed it over to the officer. “Hiro Hamada?” The officer asked, writing it down on a notepad.
“Yes.”
“And your guardian. Her name is Cass Hamada?” He asked again.
“Yes.” Hiro reiterated, deadpanned.
“I’m calling her now.”
——
“I can’t believe this!” Aunt Cass had angrily reprimanded Hiro who was sitting down defeated on the sofa.
“Aunt Cass, I can-“ Hiro tried to speak but Aunt Cass cut him off.
“No, you can’t explain your way out of this! You were escorted home by a **police man** Hiro! For buying drugs?” She was shouting now, evidently agitated. “Why Hiro? Have you been using? For how long?” She threw a barrage of questions onto him. He replied every single one of them, feeling extremely guilty.
“Go to your room.” She said, now sighing sadly.
“Aunt Cass…” Hiro tried to defend himself.
“Go, **up** to your **room**, Hiro!” She yelled.
The next few weeks, were harsh. Aunt Cass made sure he went through his rehabilitation at home, under her care. He was frustrated. Without the drugs, without the pot, all he could think of was his brother. And his face, and his eyes. The way he died, just that. Only that. Always that. Even when he was finally over the need for the drugs, he was still angry. On one particular afternoon, he took it out on his bed, accidentally kicking the leg of the bed. Yelling out in pain, screaming out “ow!”, as he did. He was greeted by a voice. “Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion. On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”
Hiro smiled.