hi people, sorry this took freaking forever

—HIRO—

I put my head down on my desk, sighing. I've printed out all the new suits and everything, but I can't think of any upgrades to make for them. Maybe it's because I have a concussion—I can't really think straight. Or see straight, if I stand up too fast. I'm just glad I escaped with only the head trauma and a few bruises.

My hand drifts to the bump on my head, and I wince as my fingers brush the tender skin. The swelling is starting to go down, but the goose egg is still sore. Honestly, though, I'm lucky I didn't break my skull—or any other bones. That was a massive explosion, one that I was blessed to survive. So many people died. I owe it to them to give our suits enough upgrades to defeat Obake.

I study my gauntlets thoughtfully, wondering what I could add to them. I've already got the magnets and sonic waves, as well as the magnetic ropes, but what else…

Then a thought comes to me—what about an electromagnetic pulse? That would have the potential to decommission Obake's tech, and if I made an EMP big enough, maybe I could even take out the rest of his robots in one shot. That would be super cool.

I pull my gauntlets toward me and start tinkering, rolling around the garage and grabbing everything I need. This is gonna be a spectacular upgrade—if I can think of things like this for everyone else's suits, we'll take down Obake in no time.

My creative outlet tapped, I roll over to my computer and start typing away, trying to figure out how to get my gauntlets to shoot an EMP. I've already got magnets on them, so if I could just give them a current…

The next couple of hours fly by as I work on my gauntlets, adding electroreceptors to the palms and fingers. When I've put those in, I test the new upgrade by aiming at the wall of the garage and pressing the button on the edge of the gauntlet.

My computer, my 3D printer, and my phone all sputter out as the pulse passes through the room. Triumphant, I reboot all the tech, letting it start back up, and then add little LED lights to my gauntlets so I can see the EMP bursting from them. It's a really cool effect, honestly. And I can turn the lights off, too, so Obake will never see it coming. I'll just have to EMP block our suits so it doesn't short-circuit them too.

I run the suits through the 3D printer, covering them with electromagnetic shielding (it's a real scientific concept, look it up) and cautiously test my EMP blasters on my comm link to make sure it won't stop working. It seems to be okay—this'll work really well against Obake, I can feel it.

Megan, of course, drags herself downstairs to ask for spectacular upgrades of her own. Her request is something I never would've expected.

"You want a graphene sword," I repeat, looking into Megan's beaming face. My head is starting to hurt, and a request for something like this isn't gonna help. I'll have to take Advil soon.

"Yeah!" she says enthusiastically, nodding. "It'd be super cool—I bet I could learn to fence, and—I don't know, it'd just be insanely awesome! A graphene sword would be epic, right?"

"Meg, I don't have any graphene!" I exclaim, putting a hand to my forehead and pushing my hair off it, wincing as my hand brushes against my goose egg. "It'd take me forever to make it—I don't even know how! Maybe if I had time to research, but I've never worked with graphene before, we'd have to—"

"Ask Momakase," Megan finishes. "I'm sure she'd have some tips on how to get graphene. And she thinks you're cool—I'm sure she'd be able to get you some. Please, Hiro? It'd mean a lot."

I look into Megan's wide, earnest chocolate eyes. "Okay. But she's gotta teach you how to fence. Or Wasabi—they've both got training. Watching The Princess Bride doesn't count. And Meg, please promise me you won't go fencing until your arm is better—"

"Can't do that," Meg says shortly. "We've gotta get Obake out of here, Hiro! As soon as physically possible! Tadashi fixed my arm—it's fine, seriously! I'll be okay, I promise!"

I sigh and flop back into my chair. "I know. I just—I don't want you to get hurt."

To my surprise, Megan takes my hand. I try and fail to keep my face from flaming red as she whispers, "I promise, Hiro. You don't have to worry about me. All I want is to help you stop Obake—I don't care if I get hurt."

"But I do," I protest. "And that's not even the worst that could happen—what if Obake killed you, Meg? I couldn't live with myself!"

"He won't kill me," Megan says firmly.

There's no arguing with her. "Okay, Meg. But don't do anything stupid!"

"No promises!" she exclaims before running back upstairs.

I sigh and get up, following Megan more slowly. I can't believe she can run—her injuries are a lot worse than mine, and I'm still so sore I can barely move without wincing. Everything has started to heal, but it'll be a couple of weeks before I'm back to full strength.

As I limp out of the garage, I find Momakase sparring with Wasabi, evidently training for battle with Obake. As soon as the ninja pins Wasabi, I say, rather timidly, "Momakase?"

"Yes, Hiro?" she replies, stepping off Wasabi and allowing him to sit up.

"I was just wondering if you had some extra graphene," I mumble. "Meg wants it for her suit, and I don't have any. Do you know where I could find some? It'd mean a lot to her."

"I've unfortunately been forced to buy it off the black market," Momakase informs me. "However, you are in luck—I do happen to have a few spare sheets. They are with my bed upstairs—I will retrieve them for you."

She ascends the stairs and comes back down after a few minutes, carrying two paper-thin sheets of gray graphene. I thank her profusely and then retreat into the garage, wanting to fashion Megan's sword as fast as possible.

I feed a sheet of graphene into the 3D printer and then calibrate the design, instructing the printer to make a sword—sharp, two feet long, and glowing red. I calibrate the hilt out of simple carbon fiber, making sure to reinforce it so it won't break and crafting the length of it based on Meg's grip. This is gonna be a pretty cool weapon.

At the last minute, I engrave Megan's initials just above the hilt—M. A. I. C. Megan Amelia Isabela Cruz. I want this sword to be hers, and I want it to be perfect.

It takes the printer about half an hour to calibrate the sword, and when it's finally done, I carefully lift the weapon out of the printer. Setting it on the table, I run my fingers over the sword, admiring the glossy sheen and the shining edges. When I turn it sideways, I can't see anything but the hilt—it really is only one atom thick.

I wrap the hilt of the sword in thick black fabric, supergluing it in place for a more comfortable grip. When the sword itself is done, I craft a sheath for it—slightly longer and wider than the blade, so it can be pulled out easily.

Then, finally, the weapon is finished. I call Megan downstairs and present to her the sword, sheathed in its long black scabbard.

"You have to be really careful taking it out," I instruct. "It's really sharp—you've seen what Momakase's graphene blades can do. This works the same way—don't get your fingers too close to the sharp edge. I wouldn't want you to have no fingers before fighting Obake."

Megan laughs. "Okay, Hiro. I won't slice off any body parts."

She slowly pulls the sword from its sheath, and her eyes widen, the red glow of the sword glinting in their caramel depths. When she wields the weapon, it looks like a sword of pure light, a beacon in the darkness.

"This is awesome," Megan breathes, running her fingers up and down the blade. "Wow, Hiro—thank you. I've never seen anything like it—how'd you make it?"

"Just with my 3D printer," I shrug. "It's not that hard. All I have to do is calibrate the design and feed the graphene in—it's not like it needs a lot of skill."

"But I could never do something like this," Megan tells me. "Seriously, Hiro, it's awesome. Thanks a lot. Are you gonna make a suit next?"

"Why not," I sigh, flopping down in my chair and dragging a hand through my already tangled hair. "I'll need a scan of you for the sizing, just stand over there—"

I scan Megan and pull out my scissors and fabric, cutting out the pattern for the underlayer of the suit. Yeah, I can sew. No, it's not a girly thing. It's come in handy a heck of a lot of times.

Meg hangs around for a few hours and then goes upstairs for lunch, but I keep working, polishing black shoulder pads and pouring red casting resin into molds. In the jumpsuit, I include a pocket large enough for a notebook, with a pen holder right next to it, so Megan can keep up with her journalism. She should have some opportunity to do the things she loves, even in this destroyed city.

When the suit is finally finished—it's minimalistic, mostly black with a few red accents—I lean back in my chair, exhausted, my head still aching a little. I probably shouldn't be working so hard, not when I still have a concussion. But hey, the goose egg is going down and my ribs are feeling a lot better, so I don't see why Tadashi's so worried. I think I'll be okay.

Still, I decide to take Advil, hoping it'll help relieve my headache. All this work is really aggravating it. I grab a glass of water from the kitchen and knock back two capsules, then flop back into my chair.

For whatever reason, the garage is starting to get all blurry. Maybe I should've slept more last night, or not looked a screen for hours, or not gotten a concussion in the first place. Whatever it is, I'm tired, and I really need to go to sleep.

I curl up in my chair and promptly pass out, exhausted, thankfully dreaming of nothing but food and robots.

—TADASHI—

I sit on my bed, staring out the window at the rain now pouring down over San Fransokyo. I wonder if Obake is out there, if he's plotting our demise.

What am I thinking? Of course he's plotting our demise—he's afraid we'll fight him for the city. Big Hero 6 is the only thing that poses a threat to Obake, and he'll stop at nothing to get all of them, especially Hiro, out of the way. All six vigilantes are in grave danger.

And here I am, worrying about my burn scars. Worrying about how I look while my friends fight for our city.

No, thoughts of my appearance haven't entirely consumed me, but I've been paying more attention to it than I'd like. Now that I can see again, I've grasped the full extent of my burns, and in my opinion, they look awful—patches of bright red against my pale skin, slightly puckered and rough to the touch.

I run a hand over my cheek, brushing my fingers across the scar tissue. It's getting better, it really is, but I'm still self-conscious about it. I know I should be grateful to be alive, and I am, but I just…I can't get over how I look now. I'm afraid that my friends are scared of me, that Hiro is scared of me, that the whole world is afraid I'm some kind of monster. I don't want to be a monster—I want to be myself. I want to be Tadashi Hamada, the model student, the all-around athlete, the handsome young man.

But all of that is gone now.

I mentally slap myself. Of course it's gone—I wouldn't be able to have my old life back even if I didn't have burn scars. San Fransokyo has been destroyed, and Obake is on a rampage, wanting to chase Big Hero 6 down and kill them. How can I possibly drown in my own despair any longer? My friends need me, and I can still be everything I was for them before the fire—a medic, a listening ear, a kind friend. The scars will never diminish my worth, and I really should have learned that by now.

Taking a deep breath, I pull my first aid kit out from under my bed and start reorganizing it. If we're attacked or someone gets injured, I need to know exactly where all my supplies are. Bacitracin goes in the small pocket at the top of the kit, band-aids in the back compartment. The CPR seal, which I've never used and hope not to need, is kept just above the band-aids, and tongue depressors go next to them. Then there's the finger splints, the thermal blankets, the safety pins. I have a massive first aid kit, the kind paramedics have. It's a little disorganized from our mad dash out of the city—I took the kit with me to treat anyone we found injured, but we didn't see anyone who needed it on the way back. I'm glad I have so many supplies now, though—it's really helpful, since almost everyone is injured and all the stores where I could get medical supplies have most likely been destroyed.

As I work, I glance over at Hiro, who is still passed out in his bed, his dark hair spread over the pillow. I carried him up from the garage last night, and he's obviously exhausted from working on upgrades. Poor kid is pushing himself too hard—Hiro's gonna get burned out if he doesn't pace himself. It doesn't help that he's still recovering from his concussion. The injury can't be helping with his concentration—or balance. In the past few days, I've had to stop Hiro from falling down the stairs twice.

It's been a while since I found out, but I still can't believe Hiro is the leader of Big Hero 6. It's hard to believe that this short, skinny boy genius could ever be a vigilante, and a good one at that. But I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me—Hiro has the most brilliant mind of our generation. It was either vigilante or criminal mastermind.

Once I finish organizing my first aid kit, I find myself with nothing to do, and I flop back down on my bed, staring out at the rain. I really like the rain—it makes the whole city look so clean, especially after all the destruction.

Suddenly, I hear soft footsteps coming up the stairs, and I turn to see Honey standing behind me, her face open and smiling. My girlfriend sits down on the bed next to me, clasping my hand in hers. "How've you been, Dashi? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

I put an arm around her and lean over to plant a kiss on Honey's cheek. "Fine, I guess. Just…maybe I'm selfish, but I've been thinking about my burns a lot lately."

"Why?" Honey asks, putting a hand on my scarred cheek.

"I guess I'm just afraid that people don't see me the same way they used to," I mumble. "I'm scared that people see some kind of monster when they look at me."

"Oh, Tadashi," Honey whispers. "I could never see you as a monster. You're the most incredible man I've ever known, and no matter what your scars look like, I'll never stop loving you."

She turns my head toward her, her hand still on my cheek, and gently brushes her lips against mine, her touch soft and loving. Smiling, trying to hold back tears of gratitude, I relax into the kiss, pulling Honey close to my chest.

"You're the best girlfriend I could ever ask for," I murmur against Honey's lips. "Thank you for believing in me."

Honey leans her head on my shoulder, scooting a little closer to me. "I'm sorry I haven't been here for you, Tadashi. The past few weeks have just been so crazy. And I didn't think it was safe for any of us to come back—Obake might have gone after you and Cass if he knew you knew we were Big Hero 6. It was hard leaving you behind, Dashi, but none of us wanted you to get hurt, especially so soon after the fire."

I squeeze Honey's hand gently. "I get it. I don't blame you guys—I probably would've done the same thing. I'm just glad you're all back now."

Honey smiles. "Yes, I'm happy we're all safe, even with…" She swallows, a shadow passing over her face. "With the circumstances. I can't believe Obake managed to get away with his plan, Tadashi. I feel like we've let the city down."

Putting a hand on Honey's cheek, I whisper, "You did everything you could, babe. It wasn't your fault you couldn't predict Obake's plan—no one could've done that. We'll find a way to stop him, I promise."

"Hiro will find a way to stop him, you mean," Honey murmurs. "I feel like none of us do anything to stop supervillains—we just ask Hiro to come up with something, and he does, but I feel like we should help him more. He shouldn't have to do everything all by himself."

"We can find a way to help," I promise Honey, looking into her eyes. "Maybe you can help get Hiro materials for suits or scout out Obake's base. You've done a lot for San Fransokyo, Honey. You just haven't realized it yet."

I pull my girlfriend against my chest, stroking her hair, and we stay like that for several minutes, listening to the pattering of the rain. But suddenly, footsteps pound up the stairs, and Fred bursts into the room, panting, his eyes wild.

"What's wrong, Freddie?" Honey gasps, standing up. I follow, going over to Fred and putting my hands on his shaking shoulders, trying to calm him down.

Fred catches his breath, terror sparking in his gaze, and his news causes the same feeling to ignite in my chest.

"You guys—Heathcliff's been kidnapped."