I have fun writing these things, since I switch my writing styles and stuff. I did more research on this than I should have.
The year: 2199
We're all pieces in a puzzle, my therapist would say. Many would disagree with this statement, but sometimes you have to agree. I have to agree with him, though he's pretty much a cuckoo. Why do I have to do that?
Because I AM a puzzle piece
1% of the population is a Tetrite, an actual piece to the puzzle. We are originally from the planet Solvia, home of the Commodore. The Commodore is why we were all born. We were made for one living purpose.
As a boy, we were forced in hard labor to always fit in, to help out others. If you didn't fit in, you weren't liked. For some reason, I just did. They consider me a "rare" talent. Possibly because I am a vertical piece.
See, these people ca-
"Stop it right there!" A voice yells behind me. A man wearing a black wind breaker and brown hair runs up. He is tall, but with a slight hunch. Crows feet are on his eyes.
"We can't afford this on our budget! You are taking space from the tank fight, the airplane fight over the desert, Dinobots, and the destruction of New York City!" He screams in my ear. I push him off, but he gets closer. Close to the fact that his breath is tickling my ear hairs.
"But, you need to stick to the original story to make a good story." I reply.
"No! Look, you are making Earth antagonists. What I'm going to do is rewrite the script. Have you guys randomly appear, have extreme fights with no plot, and the villains homegrown terrorists." The guy continues his argument.
"You can't do tha-"
"Yes I can! I am Michael Bay! How dare you disobey me!" Michael cuts me off. A stick of dynamite explodes right behind him, but he is unaffected. Mike skips away, and comes back with an awkward guy with glasses.
"Rewrite the script," He tells the man, "and make it distant from the original story for explosion purposes. Direct it, too!"
"Look, I'm leaving. You can't take my story. Go ruin something else." I tell them. The man with glasses backs off, but Michael smirks.
"Liebesman can find a better story, anyways. Make Mangobum or whatever his name is right it." Mike directs him. Liebesman disappears, comes back with a guy with nice hair, and they present it to Bay. Bay glances at a page for a second, then throws a fist in the air.
"Yes! I am going to produce this!" Michael screams. He exits off, and comes back with a megaphone. He collapses to his knees, crying, then comes back off. Takes a deep breath, and puts his mouth up to the mike.
"Casting call! Casting call! We need a cast!" All of a sudden, 100 scripts appear in his hand. He starts jumping around and hands me one. In black letters, the script said:
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles CASTING CALL