A glimpse into (my interpretation of) Brad Tudabone’s childhood
Brad had grown up meeting all manner of people in Ninjago’s criminal underbelly. He’d chatted with fences, ran products to dealers, chopped cars with street racers, shared a cigarette with street workers, trained with assassins, broke bread with terrorists, brewed moonshine with bootleggers, and played cards with gang enforcers. He, regrettably, could tell someone’s childhood economic class based on the slight lit of their voice and the slang that they used (because some criminals were just desperate people and some were apathetic in their greed for another million. Most fell somewhere inbetween).
That is to say, Brad knew the streets like the back of his hand. His time as a street rat only strengthened this. He knew the pulse of the city and could traverse her arteries even when bleeding out and practically blind (long story). He stayed up to date on the ever-changing, lesser-known boarders of gang territories. Who was in prison and who was out. The good cops and the dirty ones. It was as natural as breathing to him.
When they say “it takes a village” Brad didn’t think this was what they meant. But Brad was raised more by the shadows of Ninjago City than his own parents. He’s been a forager, a getaway driver, a runner, a gang member, a thief, a Prince of Crime (one of less than a handful). The list goes on (and on and on). He’s worn many hats, carried out many deplorable things for the sake of his parents’ approval. His own survival. He’s not proud of it, but had learned to make up for what he committed in his misspent youth. To make peace with it.
