Only would something so unjust, so wicked, would be able to come up with such undeserved pain. But with the three brothers separated by continents and years, they still shared the pain.

And one Perfect Storm…

Sinister: it was the only way they could describe it.

The youngest lived in a small flat in a city in the States ripe with crime…which he made his job to fix. Look at the small turtle, and you would wonder "how the hell he could ever beat me" but most people did not wonder about it that far, and find themselves in an alley early morning with a dart in their forearm.

Tonight, as the storm raged, he did not think about the newest heist or invention. He rolled back and forth, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He muttered softly, "No no," over and over. A crack of thunder sounded almost right over top of him when he woke with a start. Only then did he realize the pain his mind was putting over him. It should be impossible for such a burning, throbbing pain to be washing over his legs at the moment…but there it was. He grimaced, trying not to scream by biting his tongue.

Seconds passed, and the pain vanished. He huffed and coughed, trying to catch his breath as he let go of the naive tongue. His hands pat the side night stand for his glasses, which he placed on before looking at his surroundings. Lightning streamed through the window, making him jump back slightly.

Shaking his head, he moved into the wheelchair conveniently beside him.

It had been caused by that damn nightmare, a terror giving him a play-by-play of what happen five years ago…tonight. The act as he moved into the mouth of that Beast, only to have the jaws slam shut, just to save his friends. Was it worth it? Of course. Did he still wish the tragedy never happened? Of course. Usually, he had them only once in awhile, but near every anniversary, he would wake in a cold sweat, shrieking from the pain.

But shrieking was futile anymore if he wanted to keep his wife from knowing. On cue, the white mouse turned, shifting her head from one side to the other, a small ringed hand reached over the sizable lump on her stomach, grabbing for something that was no longer there. In her deep sleep, she gave up trying to find the turtle, and fell slackly over her ever-expanding stomach.

The stomach that contain his children…well as close as they would get to him. With a donor male mouse and a little transplant, he would be able to raise them with the women he loved…without worrying his that would get any of his insane DNA traits…

…such as dreaming of that voice coming to get him…even when it was completely and totally destroyed.

Ominous: it was the only way they could describe it.

The storm moved acrossed the Atlantic, it shifting ever so slightly North to France…namely Paris. Fair away lighting lit up a Paris residence, showing a peaceful fox, dreaming only of the sweetest things, while she cuddled against her partner and boyfriend. He on the other hand, had dreams filled with screaming. Everyone from his parents and Bentley to Murray and Carmelita. In his mind, he grew tiny and naked…to embarrassed and feeble to fight as he hid in his small closet. He heard the monster, taking everything he loved. The owl's screeches of victory and triumphant. The sound of metal on raw flesh.

As his brother from nights ago, he jerked up, breathing heavily. A lighting strike made his ears perked up, and he got out of bed. Only half dressed in a brutal cold winter, he did not seem to notice as he made for the double French doors. As sneaky, as well…a thief, he opened the doors and shut them before his sleeping beauty noticed, and stood on the balcony.

The city he stood over was the place he protected…night and day. This was the city he gave up his brothers for. The brothers that had helped him with everything he asked…and never questioned his motives.

The man clenched onto the railing, and screamed. Hard and long. Yet no one heard as more thunder rocked the sleeping city. Lightning would strike more often getting closer and closer, lighting up the city of lights more and more.

He was soaked to the bone, suffering the mental pain that could cause a hundred men to plead for death. Making it only worse, a lone wondering leaf floated in the air, catching the light of the storm. Upon seeing the flash of light and the shadow of the leaf, he jumped back, pressing his back against the wall. His eyes alight for the shadow of the wings in the dark night…

But that was insane…he knew that it was gone…yet…

Creepy: it was the only way they could describe it.

The storm shifted drastically, hitting a cold front and moving South. It moved all over, hitting countless towns and cities in between. But the storm neared its last stop: The eldest of the three, living in the Sydney Outback. The storm shook the island, scaring everyone to take shelter. Only the one lone Hippo chose not to as he meditated under his tree. Dressed in little clothing, the lean, yet muscled man just sat still as could be, until he started shaking in his meditative state.

Usually, torms were the best time for his concentration, seeing that the noise outside cancelled out the noise inside. Yet, this storm was different. Instead of quieting his thoughts, they focused them on the ones he would have wanted to forget.

The ones of yellow eyes, trying to steal his soul and destroy his brothers.

Unlike the other two, he came out of his meditation howling his head off. Minutes passed before he could settle. His brow was furrowed, unsure of what the dream meant.

The monk stood up, facing the oncoming lightning and thunder. His eyes shown bright pink, as if he wished for the storm to go the other direction…and never come back. But within the storm, he felt his brothers in it…the fear that they shared. He pushed out against the storm with all he built-up emotions…fear, worry, fault…and the storm calmed. His eyes turned into their normal clam brown eyes, and he fell to his knees…wondering…

Of the thing that was surely gone…for those yellow eyes have done more than enough damage to him and his brothers…