Raphael mutters a curse as he chomps down another bite of pizza. He's pissed. He's always pissed, and it makes him even more upset. He doesn't want to be the angry one all the time. But it's his label. It's him.

He gazes out from the rooftop he's perched on, watching the night sky. There's no stars, a normal for New York City. Too much pollution has ruined the view. But the lights are just as pretty. From here, he can even spot his favorite pizza place. A few back-alley bar fights. He can even see the golden gate bridge and the constant flow of traffic there.

"Stupid brothers," the mutant grumbles.