The plaza outside the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology Convention glowed with neon banners and floating projectors that radiated swirling schematics into the evening air. Its annual Tech Convention was already in full swing students, inventors, researchers, and curious spectators flooded through the massive entrance arch, buzzing with anticipation.
For many, this event meant a chance to enter the university itself, provided their inventions impressed the board.
For others, it was a celebration of creativity, an opportunity to showcase new ideas simply because they could.
Into this buzzing atmosphere walked three boys, each distinct, yet unmistakably out of place among the polished scientific crowd and a robot dog trotting beside them with metallic enthusiasm.
Jimmy Neutron walked at the front, adjusting the straps of his bulging backpack as his eyes scanned the campus architecture with a mix of curiosity and critique. Behind him, Sheen Estevez practically vibrated with excitement, comparing every passing gadget to something he'd seen in Ultra Lord comics. Carl Wheezer clutched a folded map to his chest, already looking overwhelmed.
Sheen leaned toward Jimmy, whispering loud enough for half the line to hear. "Jimmy… JIMMY… this place is like a museum of science fiction and nobody told me?!"
Jimmy sighed. "Sheen, it's literally a technology convention. That's the entire—"
"I know!" Sheen threw both hands up. "I'm just saying! Look at that guy! He's wearing goggles! Goggles, Jimmy! That means he's either smart… or dangerous… or BOTH."
Carl tugged Jimmy's sleeve nervously. "Are you sure we should even be here? I mean, I thought this was a school thing. For… you know…" He swallowed. "Smart people."
Jimmy blinked. "Carl, I am a smart person."
"Oh!" Carl perked up. "Right. I keep forgetting because you look normal from the back."
Sheen nodded sagely. "Yeah, dude, if you want people to know you're a genius, you need a cape. Or sunglasses indoors. Or a spooky laugh."
Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not doing any of that."
"So why aren't you entering?" Sheen pressed. "I mean, this is like… the Olympics for nerds! Not joining feels like… betrayal."
Goddard barked in agreement, projecting a hologram of a gold medal for comedic emphasis.
"I already submitted a research paper to SFIT's board last month. I don't want to overwhelm them. Besides, I'm here to observe potential inventions. Data gathering."
Carl blinked. "Overwhelm them with what?"
Jimmy shrugged lightly. "Genius."
Sheen threw an arm around Jimmy's shoulder. "See? That's what I love about you, Jimmy, zero humility! Absolutely none!"
Carl tilted his head. "But you watched a guy robot-duel a vending machine outside the campus. That wasn't observing."
"That was… curiosity," Jimmy muttered.
Carl mouthed the word as if it were suspicious. "Curi… osity."
"It's called supporting innovation, Carl," Jimmy said. "Besides, someone else might show something impressive. Maybe."
Sheen leaned in dramatically. "Translation: he wants to see if anyone is worthy of the Jimmy Neutron Challenge!"
Jimmy rolled his eyes, but didn't deny it.
They stepped into the main hall and immediately, all three froze.
Holograms floated between booths, drone swarms painted shapes in the air, exoskeletons flexed under neon lighting. Students argued over equations while professors watched with amused pride.
It was paradise.
So much so that Jimmy didn't notice the girl in front of him until he bumped her shoulder.
WHAM.
His notebook flew. Their pencil skittered across the tiles. Both fell back.
Sheen gasped dramatically. "A COLLISION OF BRAINS!"
Jimmy scrambled to stand up and reached for the girl. "I—I'm so sorry, I didn't see where I was—"
The girl he'd bumped into sat up with a sigh, brushing graphite dust off her sleeve. Her dark bangs framed a pair of sharp, tired eyes, the kind that spent more time reading schematics than social cues.
Lisa Loud.
She eyed Jimmy's hand for a moment before taking it.
"No worries," she said flatly, brushing her skirt. "I was calculating polymer tension ratios. Interruption was statistically inevitable."
She snatched up her notebook, flipped through the pages to make sure they weren't damaged.
Then, without another word, she walked off, jotting notes again as if nothing happened.
Sheen watched her leave.
"Dude… she didn't even blink."
Jimmy ignored him, but he couldn't hide the flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
But before he could think on it further, voices rose behind him.
A group approached, six students from the university itself.
They passed Jimmy's group, too absorbed in their own conversation to notice them.
Tadashi nudged Hiro beside him. "How're you holding up? Big day."
Hiro forced a smirk. "Relax. I'm an ex–bot fighter. Nothing here scares me."
"Yep," Go Go said dryly. "He's terrified."
Honey Lemon bent down a bit, peering at Hiro with soft concern.
"Oh no, look at him. He's all tense again—"
"I'm not tense."
Go Go raised an eyebrow.
"You're sweating."
"No, I'm—"
Wasabi stepped forward, waving a tiny pack of supplies. "Need anything? Breath mint? Cooling wipe? Fresh underpants?"
Go Go gave Wasabi a deadpan stare. "Underpants? You need serious help."
Wasabi lifted a finger.
"Hey, I come prepared."
Fred flung an arm into the air dramatically. "I haven't done laundry in half a year! A single pair lasts four days. Front, back, inside-out, then front again!"
Tadashi groaned and laughed at the same time. "That is both disgusting and awesome."
"Don't encourage him," Go Go shot.
Fred simply beamed. "It's called recycling."
A chime echoed over the speakers.
"Next presenter: Hiro Hamada."
The group instantly straightened.
Honey Lemon squealed. "Okay! Group photo before the nerves kick in!"
She held up her phone. "Everybody say 'Hiro!'"
Everyone shouted, "Hiro!"
The camera flashed.
Fred fist-pumped. "SCIENCE YEAH!"
Hiro took a deep breath, hands tightening around the device hidden behind him.
Tadashi placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Hey. You've got this."
Hiro exhaled.
"Yes. I do."
______
The back lot of the San Fransokyo Tech Convention buzzed with the sounds of machinery, forklifts, and automated loading arms hauling equipment backstage. Crates stamped with warning labels rolled across reinforced floors, while the steel scaffolding of the presentation stage loomed overhead.
A black transport truck pulled into the loading bay, its engine humming with a quiet, precise rhythm. It looked ordinary enough, just another delivery vehicle among many but its cargo was anything but.
The back doors clicked open.
Dexter stepped down first, dressed in a perfectly pressed white shirt beneath a dark vest and blazer, crimson tie neatly fastened. His expression was calm but focused, calculating each factor of the evening with clinical precision.
Floating behind him, contained within a faint red field of light generated from his newly-formed wristwatch, was Metal silent, observing, its single optic blinking with low, curious pulses.
Arcee remained entirely concealed inside the truck's rear compartment, locked beneath a magnetic tarp and security clamps. A precaution. Until the right moment arrived, no one could see her.
Dexter closed the truck doors behind him and scanned his surroundings.
"Arcee, status check," he murmured.
A soft hum reverberated from inside the container.
[Systems nominal. Energy stable.]
Metal drifted beside him, its tone neutral. "Your creation displays efficient power distribution. Incredible"
Dexter didn't respond aloud his eyes were fixed on the stage entrance where crowds were gathering. Cheers rose every few seconds, excitement spilling through the air like static.
The convention was reaching its peak.
A staff worker approached him.
"Mr. Labs? Your booth is still being finalized, but you can wait backstage until you're called."
"Understood."
Dexter walked toward the backstage curtains, Metal following smoothly at shoulder height.
_____
Backstage
The side curtains offered a perfect view of the ongoing presentation.
The lights dimmed. Holographic spotlights shifted. A name appeared across the massive display.
HIRO HAMADA
Dexter's eyebrow lifted slightly.
The hall dimmed as Hiro stepped onto the stage, a small case cradled in his hands. The crowd murmured professors, inventors, students, engineers, eager, curious, waiting.
Hiro took a steady breath, opened the case…
…and held up a tiny, metallic bot between two fingers.
"My name is Hiro Hamada," he announced, voice carrying more confidence than he felt. "And this… is a microbot."
The screen behind him zoomed in on the minuscule object smooth, black, innocuous. A few people in the crowd leaned forward, confused but interested.
"It doesn't look like much," Hiro continued, "but when you put them together…"
He lifted a simple neural-transmitter headband.
"…and give them an idea—"
The crowd murmured louder now.
He slipped the headband on.
Instantly, the microbot in his hand twitched.
"But here's where it gets interesting," Hiro said, unable to hide his growing smile.
Behind him, the doors of the bins Tadashi and the others pushed earlier suddenly burst open.
Thousands. Tens of thousands of microbots poured out like metallic sand flowing upward. They gathered in the air around Hiro, swirling, spiraling, forming shapes: a tower, a bridge, a hand, a twisting helix all responding to the slight turn of Hiro's wrist.
The crowd gasped.
Some stood.
Others pointed in disbelief.
Hiro raised both arms, and the microbots surged upward, weaving together like strands of liquid steel. The structure they formed reached the ceiling, bending and shifting as though alive.
"They're controlled through neural telepathy," Hiro explained, voice steady but breath quick. "They link to the transmitter, and they follow whatever I imagine."
The microbots formed a walkway, and Hiro walked onto it, balancing on the floating, shifting path of metal beads. The audience erupted into shocked applause and cheers.
"They can build," Hiro said as the microbots formed scaffolding.
"They can move objects," he added as the bots lifted one of the bins effortlessly.
"And they can operate in swarms of millions." He paused… then spread his arms wide.
"Whatever you can think of… the microbots can do."
The audience exploded.
Professors stood, shouting, clapping. Investors leaned forward, eyes gleaming. Cameraphones flashed. The entire hall vibrated with excitement.
Backstage, Dexter's eyes narrowed not with jealousy, but with sharp, scientific interest.
A programmable swarm with neural control was fascinating. He already seen it in the movie but seeing it in person was a different thing.
He folded his hands behind his back, expression unreadable.
This expo was proving to be far more interesting than expected.
Dexter returned to the loading bay. With a gesture, his wristwatch pulsed and disengaged Arcee's magnetic restraints.
The truck doors opened.
Light spilled across Arcee's motorcycle form, gleaming with polished alloy and faint red circuitry.
"Arcee," Dexter said softly. "You're up soon."
The red lines along her chassis flickered subtly in acknowledgment.
Metal hovered closer. "Your heart rate has increased. Anticipation?"
Dexter gave it a look.
"Professional readiness," he corrected. Then after a second: "…and perhaps a little excitement."
Metal hummed faintly almost like amusement.
From the stage, the announcer's voice rang out:
"Next presenter: DEXTER LABS, representing DextroTech Industries!"
Dexter breathed once, slow and steady.
"It's time."