Hello, you! I wrote this story a long while ago, and it was just hangin' in the desktop, so I figured, what the hay-I'll post the damn thing! So, yeah. I'm not really thinking about a sequel, though I do have a couple ideas zooming through my empty head, and don't think I'll be able to finish one anyway, so enjoy the (presently) one-shot!

Astro Boy

Toby's stomach growled for umpteenth time since he woke this morning.

The robot-boy had taken a long nap-two days locked in a deep sleep. When he woke, Toby felt as though someone had poured sand into his throat and that if he didn't find something to eat quickly, his stomach was going to eat itself. So, the teenager went off in an epic adventure for food. He hasn't found squat. Luckily, the gloves he had used in his accidental flying were able to be remvoed, but he didn't exactly have anywhere to put them. So, dejectedly, because there was no way he could fly without them, he decided to carry them, in case he needed a quick get-a-away.

Irritated, Toby kicked an empty soup can (he checked) and winced when he was brutally reminded that his wounds from the fight and the fall from a floating city had not healed completely. The can shot clean through a heap of disregarded robot parts. "What does a guy have to do to get food around here?" Toby yelled, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "Well," he mumbled to himself, "at least I found some clothes." He was currently wearing a plain, long-sleeved shirt to cover his arms not only from the cold, but also to shield the blisters from the elements and prying eyes. It most likely used to be white, but was wore down and covered in so much filth it now appeared as a disgusting brown. He also found a perfectly intact pair of jeans that were most likely a navy blue. Or used to be navy blue. When he found them, he used the fabric from the pants to bind his upper arm wound, mostly to stench the blood flow, because the sleeve kept his wound covered from people's sight. Of course, this entire place is probably abandoned, since he found no trace of human activity anywhere.

The shoes, thank God almighty, were no trouble finding, since the boots his Dad- Dr. Tenma gave him had not been burnt to ashes like the rest of his clothes.

Something to his left moved, its un-oiled gears creaking.

Toby froze mid-step, straining his advanced ears. The sound came again, closer this time. He dropped his foot and tensed, expecting another needy robot to pop out and grab at him. However, instead of a humanoid, ultra-desperate robot, a dog appeared. Mind you, it was still a robot, crudely made at that, but it definitely resembled a dog.

Its main body was made from a trashcan, and Toby spied the word "Trashcan" etched onto its surface. Its legs looked like they were just slapped on haphazardly, with wheels attached to the front legs, it's ears pinned to the side of its cylinder body. The top of the trashcan opened and shut with a bark, like a lid. "Help!" it barked and Toby's new ears understood the robot's speech perfectly.

Toby dropped his guard immediately, and rushed to the trashcan-dog. "What is it, boy?" he asked it, brow creased in worry.

"Sirs and Ma'ams in well!" it whimpered. "Can't get out! Help! Help!" Trashcan wheeled away, Toby stumbling behind it. "Were walking, Sirs and Ma'ams, but hole come and Sirs and Ma'ams fell," it continued, "Help!" Is Tommy in the well, too? the robot-boy thought to himself, but since the other machine probably did not know Lassie, he kept it to himself.

By the time the two arrived, Toby was aching and wheezing, his shoulder wound had reopened and was bleeding through the cloth binding around it. Luckily, most of the scratches had healed completely in the time he was sleeping, but the really horrible burns, (like on his entire front) were still there- red and blistery.

Toby almost fell into the gaping hole; it was surrounded by piles of garbage and fit nice and snug. No one would notice it until they were right over it.

Tentatively, the robot-boy hobbled forward, looking over the edge. It looked bottomless, even with his new eyes; he couldn't see the bottom!

"Uh," Toby turned back to Trashcan. "They fell here, righ-ah!" Trashcan slammed its tin body in Toby's chest and he was vaulted backwards, into the hole that could be very well bottomless- although, really, he couldn't think over the heart-stopping pain of his burn wounds. And thus, was rather helpless as he tumbled head over heels down a gigantic frickin' hole who-knows-how long.

Never talk to strangers, his father once warned. Oh, how right he was.

For half a second, though it felt like minutes, the poor boy was held in midair, as if gravity wasn't entirely sure what to do with this young man whom had fallen oh, so literally into its massive grip. And then, gravity decided to be a douche and drop him. Toby couldn't scream, air was lodged in his throat, uncomfortable, but he was too panicked to really do anything about it. He dropped like a stone, head over heels, brain buzzing with pain and terror, but no ideas on how to get out of this mess.

And then, he stopped.

Okay, really, he was enveloped in a thick, dark blanket almost as soon as he dropped, then stopped, which was actually plummeting face-first into some kind of metal, judging by the metallic sound of nose against iron. Before the rest of his body followed his nose's example, which miraculously did not smash into his brain, he readied himself for the overwhelming pain that would come in only milliseconds. But still, he could not help but let out a harsh, short scream from the force of it.

"Great job, Trashcan," a boy said, sounding no older than twelve from the sound of his voice.

The mechanism holding Toby aloft shifted. It swung upward and Toby, still enclosed and too hurt to move in the blanket, moved with it. The force of the push had him held snug against the cold machine beneath him. Wounds flaring, he grit his teeth, determined not to scream again, especially not in the company of strangers. The boy was thrown in midair, again, and when he hit the ground, he rolled and bounced so roughly that he knew he would be bleeding from re-opened wounds.

"Quick!" said another person, a woman, though at what age, Toby could not care less about. "Get the restraints on 'em!" she ordered.

Toby could do nothing but writhe quietly on the ground, trying to bottle up the pain. Small pairs of hands, that of children's, held him steady, smarting the half-healed burns and causing him to hiss. Another pair had his legs, hurting them too and only making him lash out harder.

When the cloth was pulled from his head, the people around him immediately stopped. "It's a kid!" yelled a girl to his right, looking looking at most tem years old. The boy next to her had the same plain brown eyes and shaggy hair. To his left, another girl and yet another boy. The eldest was by far the girl with cropped black hair, a streak of purple dye hanging in her eyes. Next to her was a boy with black hair, or rather, dark brown hair with matching dark eyes. All four had looks of utter confusion.

Thinking quickly, Toby realized that the children did not know he really was a robot. "Uh, yeah," he swallowed, hoping the others would not notice how horrible a liar he was, "I'm-I'm a kid; l-like you."

Dismayed, the children turned their backs on him, the oldest boy, the one with dark brown hair, went straight to the robot dog and set about wrestling a wrench out of its lid-mouth, telling it, "You're supposed to catch robots, not humans, useless garbage eater!"

The youngest children, who Toby concluded were siblings, since they looked so alike, went about the garbage heap around them, picking out various deeply rusted metal parts, evidently dismissing him.

The eldest, the girl with raven hair and a purple streak, peered at him through narrowed icy-blue eyes. "So, non-robot, where are you from?"

"Um," quickly, he chewed over the possibilities of telling this girl the truth. He decided the worst she and her friends could do was simply leave him. "Metro City."

Almost at the same time, everyone turned to look at him. The raven-haired girl widened her eyes. "Oh my gosh!" Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. "Did you here that, guys?" Her voice rose to mimic that of an over-excited schoolgirl. "He's from Metro City and he's talking to me!"

Toby knew that she was acting. There was an unpleasant and sarcastic gleam in her arctic eyes, and she was smiling a sharp smile. But, he asked anyway. "Are you okay?"

She squealed in completely fake excitement, clasping her hands together above her heart. "He talked to me twice!" She twirled. "Omg, this so going in my diary as the best day," abruptly, her act dropped. Her arms fell limply to her sides and she sent the robot-boy a piercing glare, "of my life."

"Okay," Toby said, removing the black fabric from his body, grimacing at stinging scratches, "you don't like Metro City people- I get it." He managed to stand and only wobbled at little, hissing through his teeth when his shoulder throbbed.

"Whoa," said the preteen, the other eldest boy, "What happened to you?"

Toby smiled, though it was probably a little strained. "I kind of fell. A lot." Then slipped into a coma for two days. "No need to worry; it looks a lot worse than it really is."

"Well," the blue-eyed girl said, eying the bloody shoulder, "I'm Cora."

The preteen grinned, showing a mouth of yellowed teeth and a missing canine. "I'm Zane." He thumbed his chest.

"And I'm Widget." The youngest girl smiled at him. No teeth were missing, though they were spaced drastically in the front teeth and chipped a little. Her face was littered with small scratches and covered in freckles.

Her brother elbowed her behind him, placing his hands on his hips and grinning. His teeth looked yellow as well, spaced out, too, but not as much as his sister's. "I'm Sludge. The bigger brother."

Widget pulled him back by the color of cotton shirt. "By ninety seconds," she said with a glare.

As much as he hated to admit it, Toby didn't really have a name. Sure he was still calling himself Toby, but that was only because he didn't know what else to call himself. He wasn't Toby and Dad-Dr. Tenma wasn't his father.

The group was staring at him; he was silent for too long. "Um. My name's," he hesitated frowning, "Toby. But I'm not- I'm mean it's not," he stopped, trying to fight back sudden tears. Weird, he thought to himself, I didn't know robots could cry.

"Dude," said Zane, softly, "it's just a name."

Toby snorted. "Right." He spied something. A simple, torn off bumper sticker; on it was "astro," probably used to spell out "astrology," or something. He decided to take the name. "I'm Astro. Just- just Astro."

-_-Border because stupid isn't letting me use the border I want!-_-

So, yeah. It's not perfect, but watever. R&R, please!

~Phooykazooi