Matthew looked at the neon lights as they beckoned him and his small schoolbag to enter their doors. Pulling his backback onto his shoulders, Matthew made his way towards the front door and reached for the golden handle. Pushing the door open, he took his first few steps inside a world where he would finally be accepted for who he actually was and, though he was twelve, this meant everything to him. His sneakers were poorly tied and his khaki shorts were ironed along with his striped polo. As he made his away throughout the room, he realized he was unnoticed, more than likely because of his height, but he drank the enviorment. Here he could tell people of his achievements. Here he could tell people of his multiple murders. Here, Matthew could be who he was. Matthew could be Matthew.

Michelangelo's old bones creaked as he peered sideways at the child who entered the bar.

"I don't suppose you're old enough to be in here, but if ye be a villaine then ye be welcome." The archaic speech still came to him from time to time. It wasn't like this was his time period. People these days didnt appreciate art - they found marble statues with nakedness on it to be crude and humorous. Michelangelo could be humorous, but humor was entirely subjective. He might find it funny to hear people begging to not be petrified, but those on the receiving end of the bargain probably found very little to laugh at.

Just what exactly did a little boy do to become a villain?