Brotherhood

Chapter 3

Hello There! What's poppin' peoples? Here's the next installment of Brotherhood.

Thank you for the reviews, i really appreciate them!

Let's get it.

"Hey kid! Two orders of pepperoni and sausage pies comin' up!" A middle aged man by the name of Antonio yelled out to the kitchen. He was the owner of the famous pizza shop named after him. His best…and only employee was whipping out pizzas like it was his birthright. Before could Antonio could even say anything else, the two pizzas were already on the serving tray.

"Jesus kid, you're too fast for your own good. Thanks!" As Antonio walked over to serve the family of customers, he gave them a thousand-watt smile. This was the reason why he lived, to make people happy.

"Antonio, thank you so much. Didn't say you only have one worker? If so, why can't we meet him. He seems amazing the way he cranks out theses pies!" The father of the family was in a very good mood which seemed to spark this question.

"Eh, he ain't really a people person, you know?" Antonio scratched the back of his head nervously.

"Come on, can we at least say hi?" The father pressed once again.

Antonio bowed his head once again. He sighed and scratched his arm anxiously. Maybe it would go smoothly for once?

"Hey kid, come here for a sec!"

The employee revealed himself to be a 5'6 young man with messy shoulder length blonde hair, freckles, and eyes with the brightest shade turquoise ever. His work apron was covered in flour and dried tomato sauce. His face made him seem extremely child-like even though he was nineteen. He had bags under his eyes and his skin was pale. But something was off about him, the vivid shine of his eyes was dull and empty. His face was completely blank and void of expression.

"Hello, young man. I just want to thank you for your excellent customer service. What is your name?"

The employee pointed to his nametag…which was blank.

"There's nothing there, young man."

The employee's fingers began to twitch and his head began to shake. Antonio sighed in concern. "Look kid, it's ok. Just head home for today, alright?"

The young man grabbed his stuff and bolted outta there as quickly as possible.

"Look sir. The kid's had a very rough time these past two years. Had an accident on the beach that traumatized him ever since. He doesn't really talk much."

"Oh my, I'm so sorry I had no idea." The man' voice was instantly saddened.

"It's OK, you didn't know."

The young man sat on a rooftop near his house. He was trying to quell the storm inside his soul as tears poured down his face. He rubbed the horizontal scar across his neck, reminding him of his affliction. A lot of things were going great until he was asked about his name. He did that piece last night and narrowly escaped the sight of that Dragon with the red hair and brown skin. He doesn't like the color red. It reminds him, too much of what happened two years ago.

When a shark tore his vocal cords and damn near brought him to death's doorstep. You see, he wasn't entirely mute…. just ninety-five percent.

Here's the thing about his name, he doesn't remember it. As a matter of fact, he doesn't remember who he is period. All he can remember are turtles in a fishbowl and this feeling that he should be happy…but he isn't.

The only things that make him happy are skateboarding and doing his graffiti. But even then, he still feels like he's been missing something from his life.

All he could do was put on his headphones (which blasted out several different mixes of Daft Punk, the Jet Set Radio/JSRF/Ollie King soundtrack, and Chill Hop) to block out all traumatic thoughts. He looked to his phone to see he got a text reminding of his appointment today.

You see, he had a therapist to help cope with his issues.

He hopped of the roof and coasted down the street on his board, wiping his eyes along the way. His baggy green hoodie, baggy tan cargo shorts and black Chuck Taylor's felt heavy on him as he breathed away the pain.

"Greetings, have we figured out a name yet?" The young blonde therapist asked him a simple question. She went by the name of Renet Tilley.

He didn't give her a response because he couldn't, he was mute. But that wasn't the only reason why he was just staring at her.

She was simply gorgeous. Her bright hazel eyes behind thick light blue glasses, and her adorable button nose, and her cute smile. Her long and vivid blonde hair was almost yellow like his was. He always wondered why she was around the same age as him. Like how a could a therapist be so young, but he didn't really care honestly. The room was very vibrant actually, he thought about spraying it with graffiti, but maybe she wouldn't be too fond of that.

She took her ruler and prodded his forehead gently.

He snapped out of his trance only to realize she had been talking this whole time.

"Have you figured out a name to call yourself?" Her voice was gentle just like she was.

He shook his head slowly; he actually hadn't figured out what to call himself. He was born without a name, his parents left him in his adoptive uncle's care because they cared about their careers more than their own son.

So his uncle, William Lockland, otherwise affectionately known as Leatherhead by his nephew and friends, told him to give himself a name. It was because he was his own person now.

For the life of him, he couldn't think of a name.

"You like art, am I correct?" The young man responded with a slow nod.

"Are you familiar with the legendary statue of David?"

His eyes lit up when he heard that name. He grabbed his board from the side of the couch and showed the bottom of it. It was littered with a ton of stickers and custom graffiti. It almost resembled a classroom desk.

He pointed to one particular sticker which read 'Michelangelo'.

"That's right. He was the creator of said statue. Seeing as you enjoy and are clearly gifted in art, would you like me to refer to you as that?" She smiled and tilted her head slightly. "Michelangelo seems a bit long. How's about we just call you Mikey for short?"

The mute young man nodded as he smiled softly. Then he got an idea, it showed because his finger was lifted up in thought.

"Before you ask Mikey, no I haven't read Air Gear or played Jet Set Radio." She took off her glasses to wipe them with her tie (yes, she wears a tie). She had this whole sexy librarian meets geeky chick thing going on. He liked it, a lot actually. Her body was really something to behold, soft and curvy in all the right places. In short, she took care of herself.

He took out his speaker from his backpack and played a favorite song of his. He got up and stuck out a hand.

"Mikey, how will this help your therapy?" She titled her head inquisitively. He was persistent in his actions.

"I've got two left feet here. I dance like a penguin waddles." Her face grew warm at the thought of dancing.

Michelangelo obviously didn't care as he pulled her up from her seat and pulled her close to him. They danced through the session elegantly and clumsily on her part. She never had a patient as interesting and enigmatic as Michelangelo. He was kind and positive despite the terrors of life he had faced. Speaking of those said terrors, his psych profile was extremely interesting. He suffered from memory loss and having no idea of who he was…or at least who he was supposed to be. He dreamed of turtles and the beach and a talking rat.

As the two sat back down, He had a buzzing his chest, he wasn't supposed to feel this way for his therapist. It was totally wrong, right? But back to the therapy session.

One person keeps appearing in his head, it doesn't necessarily bother him, it's just weird. It was about the guy who almost saw him last night.

He couldn't describe to her what he looked like, so he drew him.

He was a little taller than him and he was strong and he had bronze skin. He had a face of irritation constantly. The most striking things about him were his piercings, his vermilion dreadlocks, his acid green eyes, and most importantly his Purple Dragon tattoo spiraling down his arm.

"So, this is the guy who almost caught you?" She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The picture was extremely vivid even though it was a sketch.

He nodded slowly, his fingers twitched slightly. He hated the color red, it reminded him of the major blood loss he experienced that day. For some reason, something in his head clicked about said individual person he was drawing, so he made up an acronym from the most important things about him. He had red hair, he looked angry and pessimistic, and he seemed to have a lot of hatred in his heart.

The acronym made up the name R.A.P.H.

"Are you afraid of him because of his bright red hair or the fact that he is affiliated with the Purple Dragons?"

For some reason, he had no idea.

"It's ok. I understand. Is it because you feel like you've met him before? But, based on these recent sessions, you've never met this guy before. Do you think he could be a part of your lost memories?"

Michelangelo nodded but he still felt lost inside. He is in fact a free spirit yet the tides always try to pull him back. He was about to speak when a wheezing sound came out, and he bowed his head in self-loathing. She noticed this and put a comforting hand on his cheek.

"Mikey, about your affliction, it doesn't make you useless. You're a great person and you have so much talent and energy inside you. There will never be another Michelangelo like you. Besides, actions speak louder than words. If no one else will be here for you, I'll be." A bright, gleaming smile was adorned upon her face.

He gave her a tight hug and left the office with his things in hand.

Now that he had a name to call himself, you would think he had done enough soul searching, you couldn't be more wrong in that aspect.

Even he had a name, he couldn't tell anyone. As he sat on the subway, he couldn't help but have this sinking hole in his heart, he wanted to fill it up with paint.

Speaking of the subway, he was responsible for a good majority of the graffiti that littered the train cars. He went by the name Triforce. Which had something to do with another green wearing mute character.

His yellow spray-paint cans were his life, it was all he had.

He received a text from his uncle.

'Are you okay, when are you coming home nephew?'

'I'm cool, I should be home soon. And its Mikey now, Uncle Leatherhead.'

Mikey took out his art book, like his skateboard, its cover was also littered with stickers. It all the pictures of his pieces and concept sketches of ones he had been working on.

"Hey kid, what's in the bag?" He looked up to see a Purple Dragon talking to him, and he didn't look like the polite type.

Oh no.

Ain't that something? What's gonna happen to our favorite prankster? Find out next time on Brotherhood!

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I'm out, peace!