A/N: Hey, y'all! Please leave your thoughts in the comments and let me know if you have any suggestions or advice! That'd be great! I should be updating soon. This fanfic is mostly based upon the 2012 Ninja Turtles, but there are a couple things from the other versions I'll be using in here. I'll tell y'all what's what before each chapter.
Chapter One
Scarlett's P.O.V.
All throughout the streets of the wide and vast New York, I kept hearing Gabby's voice in the back of my head, yelling at me for never coming back into the apartment after night. We'd only been in New York for half a week, and I just couldn't resist the calling every night to come and explore the depths of the metropolis. Moving from Georgia to New York over the summer wasn't exactly what Gabby and I'd had in mind before we both went off to college. We knew that we wanted to be together over the summer, but weren't really sure what to spend it doing. I remember having a conversation over the both of us hiking the Appalachian Trail, but we decided it would take longer than the entire summer to do that. I then spoke to her about going to New York. She'd never been, and I'd only gone once on a week long school field trip in the seventh grade.
We planned the trip to New York months and months before we even graduated high school. That's just how excited we both were. I'm going to miss her so much when I go to a separate college, as we've been best friends ever since we were born.
Although I've been dreaming of this trip since forever, and although we've been best friends for all eternity, she can still get on my nerves sometimes with her bickering about how I never stay inside and are always wanting to go outside. I can't help it; I just love to explore nature, and being outside in New York (at night) gives me an energy and a vivacity that I can find nowhere else.
While staring up at the larger-than-life buildings in front of me, I heard distant voices somewhere in the alleyway behind me. The medial of the city that holds all those glittering buildings wasn't far off, but just because they were there, didn't mean that abandoned alleyways weren't close by... or what I thought was abandoned.
Before I could scream, before I could yelp, before I could even breathe, a movement so swift caught me off guard and pulled me downward. A clammy, sweaty hand was grabbing onto my leg and hauling me back into the alleyway.
My arms flailed around aimlessly, attempting to attack whatever was preventing me from standing. I felt stuck, glued together in a thousand microscopic pieces that somehow ended up making my body. My heart felt as though it were being torn apart by wild dogs in the night, blood spewing and veins popping from the fear scorching throughout my body.
Hot breath was floating down my back, causing shivers to appear, when a voice as gruff as wood in the winter whispered, "Looks like we've caught ourselves a good one tonight. She'll do."
My mind fixated on the dark, pupil-less, soul-consuming eyes that were traveling all the way across my body. Once I saw him, once I felt the clammy hands that had pulled me down bring me back up to stand, I knew exactly what was going to happen.
Suddenly, my body trembled with rage at the thought of my life ending this way. No! This is what happens to trashy girls who have no future. This is what happens to girls who don't have a home. I was too good for these men; I didn't belong to them. I wanted to bite them and tear their heads off, but the man behind me was holding me so tightly that I couldn't.
"Looky here."
"What?" asked the man I was struggling to get away from.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a Georgia Peach for tonight," and with that, he traced the outline of Georgia (my home state) that was etched into my Southern Belle Designers shirt. "Ain't from around here, hon? You must be lost, not being from the big city. Don't worry, we'll show you around."
He laughed a gruesome smoker's cough, the smell of cigarettes making its way down into my lungs. His friend laughed as well.
Once he found out that I was from Georgia, I became so enraged I could barely see straight. "I'll rip you apart!" I yelled without thinking, soon beginning to fight my way out of the man's grasp.
"Yep! I knew this one was a fighter! She's strong for such a pretty one, but I'm stronger."
"Listen! She even has that country accent! Why don't you serve us up some good, down-home cooking tonight?"
He laughed once again and I saw him pull out a shiny blade from his pocket.
"I don't know, Levi," said the one holding me, "she might be one you wanna save for later."
"Alright. You can serve us some of that country-cooking later." He then lowered the knife and put his wrinkly hand up to my face. I saw his devilish features: wide-set eyes, the grin of a Cheshire cat, and yellowish-tan skin that would make anyone holler. His meaty fingers were making their way down onto my cheek, which was too much for me, so I made my jaws clamp down on them.
With a move I'd learned about in middle school from a defensive program, I slid my foot down the man's leg who was holding me and dug deep so that he could feel the shooting pain he deserved. I'd never been taught how to fight, but I was glad that I was strong and active enough to put up at least a bit of a quarrel.
I saw both men clamping down to where I had hurt them, and a sense of pride surged through me. A glimmer then caught my eye. It was the knife one of them was about to use on me, and it was in plain sight, lying on the concrete. I knelt down to pick it up and soon pointed it at the two of them.
I felt so strong and powerful, but at the same time, I was horrified and blood still curdling. "Maybe another time I'll serve y'all some down-home cooking. But right now, it's best if you both run, before I. Serve. You. Now get!" I yelled with such ferocity and passion that it scared the both of them out of the alleyway.
"If the novel has a theme it is that of survival. What makes some people come through catastrophes and others, apparently just as able, strong and brave go under? It happens in every upheaval. Some people survive; others don't. What qualities are in those who fight their way through triumphantly that are lacking in those that go under? I only know that survivors used to call that quality 'gumption.' So I wrote about people who had gumption and people who didn't."
~ Margaret Mitchell, author of Gone With the Wind ~ (1936)
