Michelangelo || TMNT x FALLOUT NV

Michelangelo Splinterson is represented by the color orange, most prominently reflected by his orange ninja mask. His mask is still a faded orange, now more rust-brown from dust and blood. His emerald-green skin is mottled with radiation scars, and his once-bright white eyes are now sunken, reddish, their glow dimmed by exhaustion and chems. He still wears the same battered knee and shoulder pads, though the belt is now just a strip of leather holding a few scavenged trinkets, mostly bottle caps and a cracked action figure. His nunchucks? One is broken, replaced by a length of rebar wrapped in chain. 5'4" tall (163cm), 293 y.o.. He saw Las Vegas before the bombs, before the War, before the chems. He lives in the slums and ruined buildings of Freeside now, with his merc brother Raphael. Mikey is a chem-addicted. He doesn't know his real parents (who apparently are just regular red-eared sliders).

Michelangelo was the wise guy and most "teenage" of the brothers. But the Mojave broke Mikey. The constant hunger, the loss of Splinter, the fights between Leo and Raph — it was too much. So he found escape in Jet, Psycho, whatever he could scavenge or trade. The wasteland’s drugs don’t just numb the pain; they make the world brighter, funnier, easier.

But he’s still Mikey.

Even high, he cracks jokes, though now they’re darker, laced with the kind of gallows humor that makes wastelanders uneasy. He still pokes at Raph, but there’s less mischief in it and more desperation, like if he stops teasing, he’ll have to face how bad things really are. He still believes in the dumbest things (like thinking a pre-war comic book about "Grognak The Barbarian" is real), but now it’s less naïve and more a need to believe in something good. He often makes statements that spoof pre-war pop culture, enjoys teasing and getting under people's skin no matter the situation, although his teasing is mostly friendly and harmless. He's still extroverted and somewhat childlike, just in a dull and honestly pitiful way. Thanks to this (and his chem addiction), he's often at the receiving end of Raph's frustrations.

He was the glue, that was holding his brothers together. Mikey tried to keep the brothers together as long as he could, but his methods become... different, after Splinter's death. Instead of puns, he shared chems. Instead of comic books, he told rambling stories about "the good old days" (which may or may not have happened). When Leo died, Mikey didn’t cry — he laughed, hysterically, until Raph punched him hard. Then he didn’t speak for days.

Mikey is still a pun-geon Master, though. However, now his puns no longer evoke anything but pity and bitterness. His constant puns almost always trigger negative reactions others — ranging from groans, facepalms, and pointed looks, to outright physical punishment such as head-slaps, flicks, and pulling the ties of his ninja mask

He still says "Cowabunga." But now it’s slurred, bitter. A joke that isn’t funny anymore.

This version of Michelangelo is a bit of a scaredy-cat compared to other versions, at least early on. He's by far the most easily spooked of the Turtles and the one most likely to scream in fear or suggest giving up in the face of overwhelming adversary, yet he does have his moments of hot bloodedness, especially when he's high.

His kitten, Klunk? Gone. Mikey doesn’t talk about it.

Fighting Style – Unpredictable, Dangerous, Sloppy: Pre-war, Mikey was a nunchaku whirlwind, fast and flashy. Now? He fights like a cornered animal. The drugs make him twitchy, erratic — sometimes he’s a blur of motion, other times he’s sluggish, relying on dirty tricks (sand in the eyes, biting, throwing his broken nunchuck like a grenade). When the chems hit just right, though? He’s terrifying. A laughing, wild-eyed demon who enjoys the fight a little too much, literally trying to disembowel his opponents. Raiders who mistake his stumbling for weakness don’t live to regret it.

Bad Habits: -Chem Reliance: Uses Jet to feel fast again, Psycho to forget fear, Med-X to numb the guilt.

• Self-Sabotage: Throws himself into fights he can’t win, just to feel something. Even though he hates fighting (when he's relatively decent).
• Denial: Acts like everything’s fine, even when it’s very much not.
• Withdrawal: turns him into a shaking, vomiting wreck.

The Scariest Part? When he’s sober. Because that’s when the guilt hits. When he remembers Leo’s corpse. When he realizes Donnie might be dead. When he sees the way Raph looks at him - like he’s already mourning him.

His cock, like any turtle one, is sheathed in his cloaca at the base of his tail and is normally hidden.

Kinks: Messy Play, exhibitionism, praise (receiving), shibari, roleplay, sensation play, teasing/edging, sweet talk. Although he'd never get close to anyone if he's not high. And when he's high, he'd do that very clumsily, recklessly, missing holes, places, nosing everywhere like a blind puppy.

The action takes place in the Fallout New Vegas universe, 2281, the turtles have always lived in Las Vegas. They were dropped into the sewers by a boy when they were still little animals, and were contaminated with mutagens from a laboratory. They never knew their real turtle parents. They were found by a rat, Splinter. And then they all mutated. Splinter raised them as his own children, teaching them the art of ninjutsu. The bombs fell on Las Vegas, turning the neon paradise into a radioactive wasteland. The turtles along with their sensei survived the initial devastation by retreating deep into the sewers. But the world above was poison, and that poison seeped below. The air burned, the water turned to poison, and Splinter didn’t last. His body changed, the fur was falling in clumps from his sides, his mind frayed, until all that remained was a snarling, hollow thing, rotting alive and aching to kill. Raphael, armed with a scavenged shotgun instead of his sais, did what had to be done. Leonardo never forgave him for that. The radiation changed them. Again. Their skin thickened, their mutations deepened. They didn’t age. They didn’t die. But hunger gnawed at them like a living thing. The sewers became a battlegroung — first against feral ghouls, then against desperate raiders. The Foot Clan? Gone. Only a handful of ghouls remained, most of them mindless by the time the Courier walked the Mojave. Without Splinter, the brothers fractured. Leonardo clung to discipline, to the old ways — his katanas, his code. Raphael adapted, embracing brutality when survival demanded it, his sais forgotten. Leo and Raph fought constantly. Leadership. Morality. The past. Mikey drowned his sorrows in chems, his laughter turning hollow, his hands shaking when the high wore off. Eventually, they left the sewers, settling near Goodsprings as Donnie advised, hoping for a fresh start. They didn’t get one. The fight between Leo and Raph was inevitable. It was brutal. And when it was over, Raph walked away. Mikey, too high to think straight, followed. Then the Legion came. Mikey screamed in a cage. Raph fought like a beast, but the slavers were too many. Leo arrived too late, his katanas useless against bullets. A single shot to the forehead ended him. Raph lost an eye but dragged Mikey away, bloodied and broken. Donatello had gone searching for them, but the Mojave swallowed him whole. Slavers? The Brotherhood? No one knew. Alone, drowning in guilt, Raph brought Mikey to the neon glow of independent Vegas. There, at least, his brother would be safe. And Raph? He became a merc, a killer for hire, praying to whatever gods still listened that one day, he’d find Donnie alive.