Leonardo
(Y/N)'s POV
"Bye, y'all have a good night!" I called out to the couple as they walked out of the shop with their drinks. I watched from the counter as they waved goodbye and made their way down the busy streets of New York.
Letting out a sigh of exhaustion, I checked the time on my phone. It was about 10 PM, which means I had about 30 minutes to get everything ready for tomorrow's morning shift and get the hell out of here. I circled around the counter and undid the knot of my apron as I walked to the entrance, reaching out my hand to lock the door when five burly men came barging in. Almost immediately upon entering, the shop started to smell of alcohol and cigarettes.
"I'm sorry," I said in a polite yet stern tone. They looked down at me as if I were gum stuck at the bottom of their shoes. "I'm afraid we're closed."
One of the men chuckled lowly. "I ain't see no lock on that door."
I furrowed my brows and tried to remain as professional as possible. "I was actually just about to lock the door before you all came in. If you want something to eat or drink, I'm afraid that's going to have to wait until tomorrow morning when we open at 8 AM."
The biggest one that stood at the head of the group, who I assumed was the leader, laughed and smirked. "How cute. She actually thinks we're here for their services." I then watched as he pulled out a gun from his back pocket and aimed it at my head, the expression on his face now dark and serious. "Give us all the money you got. And make it quick."
I raised my hands up and backed my way towards the counter, never taking my eyes off the gun. I opened the cash register and started taking out every bill and every coin in sight, putting it in a bag as I went. Being the small shop that we were, my boss made it clear to customers that we can't accept any bills over $20.00, so the amount of money in the bag seemed extremely low. Panicking, I quickly dumped the money from the tip jar into the bag before pushing it towards the men who stood on the other side of the counter.
The man swiped the back from the counter and looked inside, still holding the gun up to my head. "That's it? Yo, don't play with me here! I said give me all the money!" He moved closer towards me, the barrel of the gun now pressed against my forehead.
"I-I-I did! W-We clean out the register every few days b-but always leave a few bills inside for change.. We don't accept bills over $20."
The man growled before one of the men behind him spoke up. "Hey, remember how she thought we were here for her customer service? How about she gives us some of her service, if y'know what I mean?"
I watched the men as they all seemed to agree with the idea, tears springing to my eyes as I begged for my life. "N-No! Please! I-I don't-"
Ding!
We all turned simultaneously towards the front door and watched as a man dressed in a tan trench coat with the collar up, black boots, and a hat that covered the top of his hanging head walked casually into the shop.
"Hey, beat it before you get a bullet through your skull! We're closed!" The gang leader barked.
"Oh, I didn't see a lock on that door."
The lights the turned off, enveloping the entire room in darkness.
"Hey! What the- AH!"
The sound of metal swinging, furniture flying, bodies dropping, and glass breaking filled the air as I ducked behind the counter for safety. Silence followed after a moment, and heavy footsteps made their way to the counter.
"You can come out now." A soft voice said. My savior.
I slowly crept out from my hiding spot and tried to look at the person standing before me. His body covered the moonlight from my view - either accidentally or for a reason - which caused a much darker shadow to be casted over his entire being.
"I believe this belongs to you." The sound of a coins hitting a counter rang in front of me, and I realized he was giving me back the money the men were trying to steal. I quickly retrieved the bag and held it in my hands.
"Thank you," I said. "I was so scared when they were going to hurt me." I guess my voice cracked and gave away the fact I was about to cry from the horrifying though, because the man shushed me softly to calm me.
"You're safe now. No need to fret." I then heard some shuffling and saw the cloaked figure make his way to the door.
"W-Wait!" I quickly made my way around the counter, accidentally tripping over one of the gang member's unconscious body. When I regained my balance and looked back up, he was gone.
Sirens blared in the distance as the lights suddenly flickered back on, revealing the gang members strewn about the shop in unconscious heaps on the floor.
I never even got his name.
. . .
Raphael
(Y/N)'s POV
Being a local street performer has always been a side job for me. From 9 AM to 5 PM, I'm a secretary at Winters Corp, an office owned at the center of New York by Max Winters. The rest of my time is spent doing something I love: creating music. Sometimes I'll get lucky and actually book a gig at a bar or wedding, but I usually try to get back home before the evening crowd emerges from the shadows.
Unfortunately, I wasn't so lucky tonight. My ride never showed, which left me to wander the streets of New York at around 11:30 PM. Alone. It wasn't all so bad though. It was maybe a fifteen minute walk from the bar to my apartment, and at least I got paid a good amount of money for such a small show. I adjusted the guitar strap on my shoulder and patted the money in my pocket.
The streets were emptying out now, and all that would be left were dim streetlights and the occasional stray animal digging inside an alley trash can at this side of town. It was always quiet here.
"Hey, pretty lady." A man slurred as he stood up from his seat on the porch steps and stumbled towards me. I took a step back and tried my best to walk around him, keeping my head low to avoid any sort of eye contact.
"Hey, bitch! I'm talking to ya here!" He yanked at my guitar strap only to have it rip in his hands, my guitar clanging to the floor.
I then felt him grab my wrist and yank me towards him. I tried my best to cause a scene, shoving him and screaming as loud as I could. I kicked and punched anywhere and everywhere, but he still wouldn't let go. I then felt his fist collide with my cheek, and I fell to the ground from the force of the blow. The taste of blood filled my mouth, my vision now a blur. He was on top of me now and holding my arms down, and all I could do was scream even louder and try to pry my way free.
I suddenly heard a yelp and his weight get lifted off of me. With regained vision now, I watched as a large man in a black metal suit throw my attacker against a nearby wall.
The NightWatcher.
"Man, picking on an innocent woman now? I guess some people just never learn." The man taunted. He then started to beat up the man despite his pleas for forgiveness. By the end of the brutal beat down, the man was bloody, bruised, and unconscious. Almost as if he were a present, the infamous vigilante tied the guy up in chains to leave him for the police that were soon to come. He then turned to me and helped me up.
I thanked him as he helped me up, dusting myself off in the process. I then watched as he knelt down and grabbed my guitar from the ground along with a small plastic object beside it. My guitar pick.
I took both objects from him, stuffing the guitar pick in my pocket for safekeeping.
"I don't know if there's any way I could repay you." I said. I then got an idea and pulled out some bills from the money I had made from my gig at the bar.
He shook his head. "My job's to protect people. There's no need for it."
"It's the least I could do. I'm sure saving lives like you do doesn't pay the bills." I insisted, holding out the money for him to take.
He then gently pushed my hand away. "Really. It ain't anything you need to do."
I pouted and lowered my hand a bit. "Does my rescuer at least have a name so I could thank him properly?"
"Uh.. Let's just classify that as private information, alright?"
The sound of police sirens filled the air, coming closer and closer with every second that passed. He turned towards the direction in which the noise was coming from, and that's when I took my chance to swiftly place the money in his pocket. He then turned to me and nodded his head as a form of goodbye, running in the opposite direction of the police.
Just as he vanished, the police rounded the corner and surrounded my attacker and I. I was then left to answer any questions the police had for me with this mystery of a man clouding my mind.
. . .
Donatello
Donatello's POV
"Sir- Uh.. Sir! Sir.."
Today felt more aggravating than usual.
"Did you turn the computer on? Have you plugged it in? Yeah, that would help."
All day it seemed like everyone was trying to annoy me on purpose.
"No, I'm not playing hard to get! I'm telling you, sir. It's not that kind of phone line!"
I tried to be as polite as possible, but sometimes I just couldn't handle how idiotic some people could be.
"Oh, I'm not your enemy. I'm just Donnie, your friendly IT Tech Support, here to help you twenty-four hours a day, sir. Uh! I'm sorry, ma'am. Hehe..."
After hours of constant aggravation from customers, I decided to take a break before my brain decided to explode. A common pastime of mine had always been exploring the science side of Reddit. Seeing and talking with people who were deemed as intelligent if not interested in science and technology as much as I was made me feel right at home. I logged into my account and started to explore, soon finding a question that asked why some side effects in medication are so common. I opened the thread and started to read.
A response read:
"When determining side effects for drugs, pharmaceutical companies do a study in which half the people get the drug and half the people get a placebo. If there's a significant difference in the different side effects reported in each group, the company must list that as a side effect, either as a requirement to the FDA or to consumers to avoid lawsuits. Maybe one person suffered nausea, maybe one person just ate bad sushi, and these effects may or may not have been caused by the drug, but the company lists them regardless."
I then proceeded to respond with the following:
"Not placebos though. In a (double blinded, where neither the doctor or the pharna company knows who gets what) clinical trial, the patients either get the drug to be tested or the existing treatment.
Say you have a new cancer drug. The control group now gets the standard treatment and aren't left to die from placebo."
I hit the 'Submit' button, and almost five minutes later did I get a response to my comment.
It said:
"In this case, if the standard treatment has certain known side effects, does that mean that the group must show a statistically significant decrease in occurrences of that effect vs. the control group to not have the original treatment's side effects listed as its side effects?"
I got started on typing my response to this person's question and wrote:
"That depends on the goal of the trial. It could be a new med that is much more effective but might have more side effects, or just as good but with less side effects. What also happens a lot is that trials are done for existing medication that is being used for something new/different."
Suddenly, a small numerical icon popped up on my private inbox. I clicked on the small box and saw that it was a message from the person I had been replying to. The person introduced themselves as (Y/N) and had actually wanted to ask me more questions about what was discussed on the forum. She hoped I didn't mind her being a bother to which I responded with the gratitude of answering any questions she had in mind.
Her questions were actually rather bizarre and really had no correlation between any of them. They would jump from "Is there any relationship between Vitamin D deficiency or getting adequate levels of sunlight and ADD/ADHD, depression, or other neurological disorders?" to "What would a bubble do in zero gravity/space?" Some questions even left me guessing.
In the midst of our discussion, I decided to ask a question of my own.
"If you don't mind me asking, why do you have so many scientific questions?"
This question might have caught her off guard, considering how long it took her to respond.
"My parents were both science majors in college, but I've always struggled with understanding the overall subject," She typed. "I always feel like I disappoint them by not being as smart as they are, so I try to learn as best I can."
Her response pained my heart just the tiniest bit. I then started to type back to her.
"Well, I'm sure them seeing you try is good enough for them. In addition, they will love you regardless if you followed in their footsteps or not. They're your parents after all."
She replied almost immediately.
"Yeah, you're right. Oh, I don't think I ever asked for your name."
"Donnie." I typed.
A minute later, her text appeared on my screen.
"Well, Donnie. Thank you so much for the help and your kind words... Do you think we could talk tomorrow again?"
My heart skipped a beat while reading the last sentence. She wants to... talk to me? I then responded back quickly.
"Sure. I wouldn't mind."
I watched the three dots dance around in the speech bubble before her reply popped up.
"Awesome! Well, thanks again! Talk to you tomorrow then. :)"
And with that, she left.
. . .
Michelangelo
(Y/N)'s POV
"Happy birthday from Cowabunga Carl!" I heard the poor fella dressed in a turtle costume cheer before he was swallowed up by the mob of tiny children. They beat him senselessly with their foam nunchucks, screaming and laughing as they did so. Mixed within that laughter was the man's cries for help and mercy. I tried reasoning with the kids, but kids will be kids. I'll be sure to pay him a bit extra for all this.
I then heard the doorbell ring. "Pizza's here!" I called out to the children. They immediately dispersed and ran through the door and into the living room. Angie, my baby sister's best friend, then froze and slowly made her way back to the costumed man on the floor.
"Balloon animal?" He offered, raising a weak hand up that held a deflated balloon. She then kicked him between the legs and walked away in triumph.
"Ohhhh... Duuuude.." He said in a voice almost two octaves higher than his normal one.
Taking this chance while the children were gone and couldn't do anymore damage, I knelt beside the man. "I'm sorry about them. Are you alright?"
He groaned as he looked up at me through his mask. "Wow.. Am I dead? Are you an angel?"
I blushed a bit and laughed awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. "N-No, you're not dead nor am I an angel. But I could get you an ice pack for.. you know.. the beating."
"That would be great, dudette- I mean ma'am." He stood and followed me as I led him through a small hallway that led to my kitchen. He sat at the table with his mask still on his head as I dug around my freezer for an ice pack. I then returned to his side and handed it to him as I sat down as well.
After a polite thank you that was followed by a moment of silence, I decided to speak up. "You can take off your costume if you'd like. The children aren't around, and I'm sure it must be uncomfortable wearing that thing for such a long period of time."
He seemed to freeze at my words. "Y-Yeah, but I'd prefer to keep it on."
"May I ask why?"
"I'm ugly- I mean.." He said almost immediately. "I'm not ugly! I-I just got something on my face. A-A.. uh.. A pimple! Yeah, a pimple! Right in the middle of my forehead! Disgusting!"
I giggled at his response. "Alright, whatever you say. Since we're talking one on one now, I'm (Y/N) by the way. And you are?"
"Michelangelo, but you can call me Mikey for short." He said, a broad smile evident in his voice.
"Oh, like the Renaissance artist?" I asked intrigued.
He nodded his big turtle head at me. "Yeah, exactly! My brothers and I were all named after Renaissance artists: Raphael, Leonardo, Donatello, and me!"
How interesting.
Suddenly, the watch on his wrist started to beep.
"Oh, I gotta head out, dudette. Got another gig, y'know?" He stood up from his seat and handed me back the ice pack.
I nodded in understanding before running to my purse on the counter, pulling out some cash for his services as well as a little extra for the mistreatment. I handed the money to him with a smile while placing the ice pack on the table for now. "I hope that covers everything." I said.
He counted the money quickly and pulled out the extra bills I had given him. "I think you added these by mistake."
I shook my head with a smile, pushing his hand towards him. "Consider it a tip."
He stared at me through his mask for a moment before stuffing the money in his belt. "Sweet! Thanks!"
We both walked out of the kitchen, and I watched him in silence as he waved goodbye to all the children.
"Haha! Cowabunga, dudes!" He called out to them all. I opened the door for him and let him exit.
"Later, Ms. (Y/N)," he said. "Hope to see you around."
I smiled and nodded. "You too!" I then closed the door behind him with that smile never seeming to fade the slightest bit for the rest of the day.
____
And there you have it! The first chapter to my first ever "Boyfriend Scenarios" story is complete! I hope you guys liked it, and if you did, please leave a vote, a comment, and share it with your friends! I'm so happy with how this chapter turned out, and I hope to write more soon! Bye!