Well this is the story of Gizmo and where he might have gotten interested in tech and his colourful language. I decided to look up some stuff, but there wasn't much. The information I did get was from D.C. so some detail comes from that. It's from the recent comic of the Teen Titans and how they developed the character Gizmo. How Gizmo is probable the offspring of the oringinal Gizmo(I forget his real name) So I took that premise, but in my story, the father was never a criminal, just alittle off his nut. ButI think I might write about that later. Everything else is from me. Completely fictitious :). Actually, I encourage anyone to read the Teen Titans comic, especially those who are Beast Boy/Raven fans. There are some touching moments. So I don't own Teen Titans or DC comics.
His foot fell upon a weak step. Snap! The rotten wood finally had given way, and the boy crashed through the steps. He muttered under his breath, and then pulled himself up. He sighed as he walked through the door-less frame that led him into the mudroom. He kicked off his sneakers, and dropped his backpack to the ground. As he walked into the kitchen, he heard the TV blaring from the living room. Leaning against a wall that had most of its paper peeling off, he listened to the different ads and sale pitches floating from the chattering box. For a moment, reality felt very far a way. He closed his eyes and then opened them again. Happening to glance at the countered, he saw his reflection in the toaster. He rubbed his head andsuddenly, everything was very close once more; he had agreed to it and still did not have any regrets. Grabbing a pudding pack from the fridge, he headed up his room.

Ascending the wall were pictures of his family. Some of the pictures were slightly tilted and dust covered most of them. At the landing, he turned to the left to where his room was. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an old key. He undid the lock and the door swung open. The room was filled with different types of computers stacked on top of one another. It was a technological jungle. Wires snaking along the scratched up wooden floors. Monitors giving off glassy stares. The plethora of hard drives buzzing like careless mosquitoes.

The boy plopped himself in front of the screens, spinning slightly in the chair. He typed in a pass code his eyes lighting up ever so slightly. The monitor greeted him with an array of blueprints. He leaned forward completely absorb. His eyes frantically scanned the screen, trying to absorb as much as he possible could. The tension and anxiety the boy exuded would be unbearable for most to watch. But he had seen this information all before. He no longer studied the endless equations, measurements, and materials. Instead, he searched for something that could never be found on the many hard drives that cluttered the room in chaos. A relationship that one could never have with inanimate objects. Or, so one would think.

Many of the boy's memories related back to the doorway. When he was much younger, he stood hours against the oak frame watching his father steadily amalgamate himself into the computers. His father always said that computers were the way humans were supposed to be. Practical, reliable. Unfortunately, the main hard drive had had some bugs in it when people came into being, so humans were not like this. His father, the inventor, a no-nonsense man could not wrap his mind around this concept. If he had had the right tools, all could have been easily fixed. However, he could not mend the intangible with rewiring and an upgrade.

Things had gone wrong with the relationship the man had with the boy's mother. Thus, his father had clung to the software more than ever. They became his obedient family, and the boy's mother and he had become obsolete. Nevertheless, the boy did not leave his father's side. Continually, he stood outside the room, analyzing each movement his father made. At night, the glow from the computers became his nightlight, and the humming from the hard drive his lullaby, as he would nestle in front of the door with a ragged blanket and a pillow that had once been white.

However, the man could never have stayed content with merely reading off equations and finding the mandatory materials. His father wanted to create. And that's when the incident had occurred. It was late at night when the boy felt his father nudge him awake. When he looked up into his father's eyes, they seemed to glow witha hauntingdementia. It was as if his father had become possessed. With mechanical movements, his father had scooped him up, telling him he was going to participate in the man's greatest experiment yet. The boy's eyes had enlarged by the thought of an experiment. Once his father's phase of inventing had started, they had lost many kitchen appliances, and the yard held reminisces of the failed projects, wielding the evidence with the scorch marks left in the lawn. Yet, even with all this prior knowledge, he did not protest his father. He allowed the man to carry his limp body down the stairs and out into the chilly night towards his father's shed where most of the man's creations took place. It had stood tall in the moonlight, looming over both of them, appearing ominous, warning the boy to run away, or scream loudly for his mother. Instead, he permitted the man to carry him inside, letting the doorway swallow them both. But he didn't care, he was with his dad.

The rest of the events of that evening remained a blur, but the results were blatantly evident. His mother left after she saw what his father had done to him. Telling the man he didn't care for his family, only for his computers. She tried to get the boy to come with her, but he refused. As much as she protested, he did not go with her. He had clung to the doorframe as she tried to pry him away. She fell to the floor and wept beside him, telling him how much she loved him. But the boy only clung harder, raising the dirty blanket to his face as his mother sobbed. His father had sat at the computers. Whether or not his dad heard the commotion was not important. The boy had been allowed to stay. Unfortunately, it didn't matter now.

Tink! Tink!

The boy blinked. His thoughts had been interrupted. While he had been lost in thought, it had begun to rain outside. Disastrously, when it rained, the house leaked. He watched as the water drip squarely on top of one of the monitors. He gritted his teeth every so slightly.

He walked down the stairs, passing by the titled frames holding moments from disappearing in to the past. For all he cared, they never existed. He walked over to the backside of a couch that sat perfected aligned with a TV. Its rabbit ears were bent in opposite directions, but merely in vain for the picture remained in haze.

"Grandpa, it's raining."

The elderly man gave a snort. The boy cleared his throat.

"Grandpa, it's raining in the house. It's dripping on the computers, and I don't want them to short circuit and…"

The man waved lazily from the cigarette burned couch.

"Boy, I'm tired of hearing 'bout this useless crud-ware. If it's so great, shouldn't it be able to move itself? Shoot boy, go play out in the rain like a normal kid. Just like your father. Wasting your skunking time on freak'n useless crud."

The boy had backed up to the fading wallpaper. His grandfather repeatedly put down his son-in-law. And on this particular day, the boy didn't want to hear it. His father had not wasted time. He had seen much of what was on the computers. His father's ideas were brilliant. Whether or not anyone realized it, his father had indirectly taught him so much. The boy continued to back up in defeat, not wanting to listen to the old man's tirade. In the process, he knocked over the fan that had been blowing on the old man. He heard his grandfather sniff and mutter, "worthless piece-o-junk."

Then, the grandfather proceeded to prop himself up on the molding couch and stare the boy straight in the eyes. The boy knew he wouldn't be able to escape. The man licked his lips slightly, as if he was relishing his own words about to be spoken.

"Jesus boy, why don't you just fix it yourself. Just like your old dad, eh? He was good at that wasn't he?" His grandfather smiled crookedly at the boy. He couldn't look at his grandfather. And his grandfather knew it, too. The old man's horse voice continued.

"Honestly, you rassa-frassin cludgeheads just think you can walk around like freak'n kings of the world. Ya'll just a bunch of scum buckets. You hear me? Worthless sacks of nose hairs. You listening ya piece of snot? Think you can solve the world's problems with a wild invention? Don't know why my daughter married that pit-sniffing moron, and look what happened. Blowed himself up king hell high most likely. Why I'm willing to bet that he's de…"

However, the boy had long since tuned the man's incessant rambling out. He saw the faded wallpaper and the fuzzy TV. The water droplets that leaked in from the ceiling crashed inside his head. He could still feel the wood that scratched his skin as he crashed through the stairs. The mumbling from his grandfather circled his head as his hand found its way to his pocket. Gripping the key tightly, he left the room to leave his grandfather with the man's hypotheses.

Sweat dripped down the boy's face. It was late as he pasted the last bit of paper on the wall. His hands smoothed down the yellow paper that had light blue flowers scattered in a fortuitous fashion. He thought to himself, as he pressed down on it once more, maybe his mother would have liked it. He stepped down from the latter. Now that he had put up the last of the paper, he was going to make a door for the entryway. It was still raining too hard for him to go up on to the roof, but soon or later, he would tackle the shingles. Most likely, that would happen later in the morning, when the rain wouldlikely let up.

He passed through the living room, the TV still blaring. He could hear the soft snoring of his grandpa who had fallen asleep on the couch. The fan still lay on the ground, the blades whipping around and around. It made the dust dance on the ground in small circles. He would get a broom later, since they didn't have a vacum. Or better yet, he could build one. There was still his father's shed that hadn't been opened in while. There was bound to be some materials he could use.The grandfather gave a snort and turned over on his side. It snapped the boy out of thought, forcing his legs to walk out of the room towards the front door. There was still a lot of work to do.

The measurements were all correct. He drilled into the frame so he could screw in the hinges for the new door he had made. He had seen a blueprint on his father's computer on how to do it: on how to do most everything he had done into the early hours of the day. His digital wristwatch read four thirty. He continued his drilling. As he made the last hole, his grandfather padded in to the room, scratching his scraggly chin.

"What in crud's name ya doing ya no good piece of sludge?

The boy didn't take his eyes off what he was working on.

"Didn't cha hear me? Stinking no good scuz-for-brains, you pay attention to me right now or I will…"

"Why don't you go back to your couch, ya worthless sack of scum."

His grandfather gawked at the boy. He held up his hand and opened his mouth, only to discover there was no retort that came to mind. His grandson still leaned over whatever the boy was working on. Obviously, the boy was finished with the man. The grandfather gave the boy one last glare, muttering something about 'useless gizmos' and turned, shuffling off, leaving the boy to his work.