I won't even bother to explain this. If you know me as a friend you are shaking your head but have been expecting this to come for quite some time. If you don't know me, well, I guess this still isn't as left field as Hunger or Mutamon! so you have no idea how to take this. In either case, don't worry about it. Seriously. I know what I'm doing but this story won't be updated regularly like my other stories because it is not on a schedule like them. I'm doing this out of the… some sort of hole in my heart that spews plot bunnies. I forget what it's called. In any case, enjoy

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and the Foot © Mirage Studios
story © Turtlefreak121

In Cold Blood
Chapter One: Missions

January 3, 1933

"Can you see it?"

The shroud of fog broke apart like the unveiling of the stage before a performance. In the gray morning light, the torrent winds of the Atlantic beating across his frigid physique, Yoshi Hamato could indeed see the beacon which all the fellow travelers in front had been gasping and gapping about.

There, splitting through two massive clouds of air, stood a copper pillar with arm stretched upward as if to take the very clouds from the heavens.

A smile curved upon the man's face and he clutched to his luggage, a single case which contained his every possession, and the cage of his pet, a small rat. He had never seen such a beautiful sight before in all of his life.

"Hai! I see it!" he exclaimed. Gently, he lifted up his small carrier and grinned at the small rat within. The pet crinkled its nose at him. "Do you see it, little one?" The rat looked, seeming toward the massive landmark. "It is the Liberty Statue."

"Statue of Liberty," a familiar voice corrected him from his side. There was a grunt. "And you have a rat, Yoshi. It's not going to see anything that isn't cheese."

Smiling, Yoshi turned. He could not help but sense that there was still a bit of awe in his dear friend as well. As tough as he may have acted, Yoshi's friend surely had to be bubbling with the same excitement.

"Come now, Saki!" Yoshi laughed. "We are in America – America! The streets are gold and the waters are as sweet as honey. We shall be living rich as the emperor! You must be happy with this."

Saki Oroku's stoic frown broke and he looked to his hopeful friend. "You suppose these things are true?"

Yoshi grinned. "I know them, friend." When his friend seemed undeterred by his faith, Hamato reached over before clasping his shoulder, shaking him firmly like in the meeting of two brothers who had parted for a long time. "We are in America, Saki!"

Smirking, Saki nodded before grabbing Yoshi's shoulder as well. "We are, my friend."

"Things will be better from this time on, you'll see."

The immigration barge tugged itself into the bay of a small island on which many small, brick buildings stood in the midst of a flurry of people of every race, age, and monetary stature. Saki and Yoshi prepared themselves as friends and Japanese brothers to exit the barge, not looking back like the small, caged rat to see that once more Lady Liberty was hidden behind a deceiving Atlantic shroud.

March 24, 1957

Carlos Mancini took great pleasure in shooting up the smalltime grocery store. The Brida family, German immigrants, had been warned by Fredo "The Weasel" Carzone that in these harsh times it would have been wise for them to pay the Baciloni family for protection. They honestly believed that their small income and loyalty to the O'Neil fraction of Manhattan would keep them safe.

Elizabeth Brida screamed something awful as the clips of the Tommy riddled her floor, their corresponding bullets demolishing the canned foods of the top shelves over her head. Carlos laughed.

At last, Brida fell to the floor herself, ducking under her cashier counter and screaming, screaming to Mancini for mercy his heart surely had to have. Her arms covered her head and she screamed and screamed and screamed until the firing of the Tommy gun, though ringing in her ears, was no longer there.

"That was your warning, you filthy whore," Mancini said as his gun rested over his shoulder and his hand guided a toothpick to the corner of his dastardly smile. "You know what to do to prevent this from happening again, maybe at a time when your husband and your kids are back from their afternoon stroll."

And with that, Mancini turned and left, calmly exiting onto the streets where a long cardboard box, like that for a window pane, rested against a fire hydrant. With no worry, Carlos Mancini slipped the gun into the box and began routinely down the road.

The only abnormality in his routine came as he passed an alley where four predators laid in wait.

They had been watching Mancini for quite some time.

A firm hand suddenly grabbed the ridge of Mancini's silk suit collar. He was completely caught off guard, his feet ripped from beneath him as the alley monster threw him back into the darkness of the alley itself.

"Christ!" Mancini roared as he fell back against the brick of the alley and landed upon the chilled concrete. The darkness shrouded him and he felt panicked. He did not operate well in the dark; none of Baciloni's men did other than his consigliere. This was why in the late Fifties, even while the Federal Bureau of Investigation was closing in on the operations of crime bosses, Baciloni operated like it was still 1934.

He looked about only to find that four formless shadows surrounded him, engulfed him.

"Yeah, you need Christ," one laughed in a throaty, malicious voice. His golden brown eyes lit from the darkness like embers, flaring in the whites of his eyes, prepared for what was to come. "But you've been a bad boy, Carlos. I don't think He'll come."

"Who the hell are you?" Mancini questioned before moving fast to grab the barrel of his gun within the box.

"No," another voice spoke up, rather indifferent before smacking the box from his hands, sliding it to a shorter shadow whose blue gray eyes glittered in anxiety as it came to him. "I don't believe that would be smart at all. What do you think, Leo?"

The fourth shadow, standing somewhat behind the other three, simply stared from the shrouding darkness. He did not approach Mancini with vicious jubilance like the other two or back away in total indifference like the speaker. He simply stared.

"Well, that's the order," the deep, giddy voice stated before clasping a thick, three fingered hand on the short one's shoulder. "Here you go, Mikey. Time to be a big boy."

"What the hell are you?" Mancini questioned before looking to them. "Some kinda boogey mans?"

The little one fumbled to pull the barrel the rest of the way out of the package, earning a grunt of irritation from the indifferent shadow. He was not interested in aiding his brother like gruff shadow, instead he coiled back to the one they called Leo.

Those heartless eyes that came from "Leo" stared down at the mobster with complete unreadable aggression. Fear trembled throughout Mancini's body, not because of the immediate threat of the shadows with his gun, but of what thoughts could lay behind those dark eyes.

"Mike, you never done this before?" the dark voiced shadow laughed again. "Come on!"

The Tommy gun at last slipped and a sudden brashness came to Carlos Mancini's body and the urge to scramble, to get away ran through him. He would not allow this to be his last stand, in some filthy alley way with some juvenile, shadow bound freaks being his undertakers.

"Go to Hell!" Mancini roared before reaching into his vest, his bout of dumbness fading from him, and unveiling the revolver secreted.

"No, you," a hissing voice retorted before, quicker than Mancini could blink, the fearsome back shadow was upon him, revealing its green, hard body covered in some sort of armor like he had never seen before.

He aimed to blast but two hands had already grabbed his head over his ears and jerked his head sharply to the left, ending his life quicker than anyone could have come to imagine.

Leo dropped the body, leaving it propped against the brick wall. His rigid structure read like a book, declaring his long, hard life while, at the same time, telling nothing about what was on the inside of the creature.

"Leo!" the growling shadow snapped as he stepped forward. His fiery eyes settled upon his brother. "That was supposed to be Michelangelo's first kill."

The leader dropped and began patting the stiff's body, finding the wallet in an inside pocket of his jacket. "It was necessary, Raphael," he said coldly. "Michael, you can help us prop the body but next time. If you ever want to show us you can do it then you'll have to move faster next time."

The younger brother rubbed his neck, frowning at the announcement. "O-okay, Leo," he muttered, sincerely shook up by the quickness of the death.

"Are we taking his clothes?" the lanky, formal brother questioned as he kneeled beside Leo. "Mike might be able to wear these."

"Yes," Leo responded before looking to him. "Tell me, Don, was this a Baciloni or an O'Neil soldier?"

"Mancini, Italian," Donatello nodded as he reached over and picked up the chestnut brown fedora that had dropped off of Mancini's head. "Here, Mike," he called back to Michelangelo before dusting the hat off. "You've finally got a hat, like a true hitman."

Mike's face grew into a large grin and he reached to take the hat when Leo's hand flew up, blocking the two from reaching each other.

"What now, Leo?" Raphael snapped, taking up Mike's side as usual.

"He has to earn it still," Leo reminded them as he stood up, pocketing the wallet while Donatello routinely removed the silk suit from the stiff. "I killed Mancini. Mike has to do something to earn the goods."

"Perfect size, Mike," Don said as he folded the clothes over his arms. "Absolutely perfect, don't you all think?"

"What do I have to do?" Michelangelo asked as he wrung his hands nervously.

Done with speaking, returning to his dark, brooding silence, Leonardo glanced to Raphael, ordering him to teach their young brother what to do. Raphael obliged with a nod and grabbed Mike's hands, guiding him to point the gun straight for Mancini's head.

"Two shots to the head, make it look like a regular skirmish, kapeesh?" Raph said as he looked to Mike. "Real simple."

Quietly, Don and Leo removed themselves from the range of fire.

Mike stared before aiming the barrel and closing his eyes. "Saint Michael… Saint Michael…" he whispered before firing.

The gun roared, shaking his hands, but Raph held firm, keeping him from falling backward under the might of the gun. He let out a cry of surprise that did not end until the gun finished firing.

As it stopped, women screamed across the streets, unaware what the threat was against: them or their families. Cars sped off, not wishing to see or hear, and those who had begun to gather on the streets to look upon the Brida grocery store took off, scattering like roaches caught in the dark.

No one knew for sure if the violence was over beside the four brothers, standing side by side and looking upon their deed in silence.

Raphael leaned over, his rippling muscles catching the incoming sunlight that peeked through the crevices of the alley. He was big, strong – certainly not anyone that people outside of the family wanted to deal with. His green skin, paled by lack of light, seemed to burn at the naked touch of the sun.

"Good one, Mikey," he laughed. "I said put a bullet in his brain, not his face."

Blushing at the gapping mess of the man's former face, Mike shied back into the darkness, his eyes still glittering with excitement, though.

"It's good enough," Don assured the younger brother before looking to the stone faced shadow. "Don't you think, Leonardo? It'll help explain to whoever finds him why his neck is broken."

Leo simply shifted his eyes downward to look upon the corpse. He nodded at long last before folding his arms over his armored chest. His scowl grew. "One of Baciloni's men…" he muttered again.

"Do you think that Big Toni has noticed us yet?" Mike questioned as he looked to them. "Isn't this the fourth guy we've killed this month? Well, that you've killed."

"Yes," Don nodded before fiddling with his wrist, as if to adjust a sleeve of cuff that was not there. "Big Toni and Saki should have noticed by now that someone has been laying out hits on their men, especially since we got Mancini now. He was a little higher up. Close to one of the underbosses if I recall correctly."

"Won't they come looking for us then?" Michelangelo questioned, his heart racing and his baby blues widening at the thought.

"No," Raphael snorted before standing back up and wiping some of the spray off of his shoulders nonchalantly. "He's gonna shove this on ol' Auggie. Think, Michael. No one knows about us."

"Yet."

The younger two brothers turned and stared at their leader. He was seemingly not paying them any mind as he routinely discarded a match used to light his favorite Marlboro and looked off toward the street where people ran once more toward the Brida grocery store, certain it was once again the epicenter of arousal.

"What do you mean yet, Leo?" Raphael questioned in a growl, his eyes narrowing as he realized that once more he had been left out of the loop. He looked to Donatello who simply ducked his head, knowing his brother's fuse had been ignited once more by being left out of the loop. "What's up? What the hell did you all decide."

"Nothing without father's consent," Leo said lowly before staring at them. "Now, if you two are quite done with your gapping, let's get back home so we can discuss our next move."

Knowing better than to question Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo begrudgingly followed as their oldest brother tossed his cigarette on Carlos Mancini and headed toward the back of the alley, Donatello not far behind. They made their way to a manhole cover and, like a door to a new world, entered into their true home.

…

"Eh, Leo mighta taken your bit of glory, Mike, but you'll get used to that," Raphael assured his fresh faced, fifteen year old brother before shoving a bottle into his arms. "In any case, you're part of the gang for real now! Take a swig."

Michael looked down to the bottle and then to Raph, his eye ridges raised. "What is this? Your vodka?"

"Hell no!" Raph retorted before grabbing some glasses. "This is sake, lil' man. You're still not grown into your shell and you want vodka – what's the matter with you?"

"So we're stealing Dad's?" he questioned with his face scrunching up at the very thought.

"Oh, come off it, Mike!" Raphael scolded before pulling the bottle back out of his brother's arms and pouring into the chipped glasses. "I made this myself, thank you very much."

"You can make sake?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, but I won't teach you that until much later," Raphael shrugged off the thought as he handed Michelangelo his drink. He smirked. "Y'know, I was about thirteen when I had my first glass."

"That explains why you're an alcoholic eight years later," Mike grinned before tracing the edges of his cup with one of his hand's three fingers.

"Shut up and drink, smart ass," Raph said before raising his glass. "To becoming a man!"

"To becoming a man!" Mike agreed before raising his glass in a chime.

As was usual, Donatello and Leonardo were alone with their father, The Master, while their younger brothers celebrated. They could be told some of the contents of the meeting afterward, but not all. That was left for the older to deal with, and their father.

Flipping the page of his accounting book one last time, Donatello rubbed his face and then nodded. He looked up. "Mancini had about forty-two dollars in his wallet, that puts us evenly at one thousand three hundred and we have four suits – given, Raph's is a bit tight."

"He'll have to deal with it," Leonardo stated before staring at his father. Even here, in the sanctity of home his darkened, cold eyes off set by the massive scar beneath his left eye could not help but reek of the unreadable rage within him. "Toni Baciloni won't take this one as lightly as the last three have been. Hell is going to break lose quicker than the fat lady can sing, father."

"Indeed," The Master stated before looking to his oldest sons. "Then you are all prepared for our next move? To do as I have trained you to for these past fifteen years?"

"Yes," Leonardo stated before Donatello could think to agree along with him.

"Very well," the elderly rat sighed, his once rich brown fur speckled with years of little care and age. He crossed his thin, hairless fingers before his face and stared deeply at Donatello and Leonardo. "I have given you all Italian names, taught you the working of the Mafiosi, and reminded you of the cruelties dealt by this time and age, but also the arts of my homeland – all of this I have done for one purpose. Do you recall such a purpose, my sons?"

"Yes," this time both stated.

"Be prepared to seize the time and day then, my sons, for it comes quick," he warned before coming to stand. "I know the way that Toni Baciloni and his consigliere, Saki Oroku, work. They shall strike O'Neil personally in retaliation this very hour. Get your brothers before they have become drunken and hurry to make your move."

The two rose from their seats and nodded to their orders.

"Dress well in the clothes you have obtained and carry with you the cash on hand, keep your wits, your business is your own," The Master read off. His eyes flickered lively. "And do not forget a thing you wish to keep for tonight shall hopefully be the last you spend in these sewer depths with me for quite some time."

…

Like all college freshman, her stride was stiff and punctual, prepared to sprint if the minute hand came any closer to the hour. She could not be late but, at the same time, April O'Neil was not heading toward a class. Her quickstep was not that of an anxious student but of a woman desperately attempting to reach the window pane at the end of the hall so she could take a random turn and lose the bodyguards trailing her.

The window approached closer and closer but the heavy steps of the two men following her only thundered harder and harder in the hall.

Suddenly, she took her left at the window but in doing so she lost the very view of escape she had. The men came even closer, tightening their grip seemingly, suffocating the young red head, making her want to scream.

She turned to them angrily.

"Is this necessary?" she questioned haughtily. "I just want to go to the bathroom!"

"Then go," the hulky one on the left said unmoving. "Your uncle told us to trail you, though, kid. Take it up with him if you have a problem."

"Oh, I have a problem alright," the spirited girl declared before quickly stepping on her heels and entering the bathroom. "I have two big lugs following me to the women's bathroom!"

Fortunately, the brightly lit bathroom was free of her body guards. If it had not been then April would have complained. She sighed and shook her head, attempting to forget her close attachment to the Irish Crime Lord, and began to look in the mirror at her tight bun of vibrant red hair.

She frowned. "April O'Neil," she said with a shake of her head. "You look like a secretary!"

Two thuds came from outside the door and April felt a growl emerge from her throat. "You two are barbarians!" she exclaimed as she stomped toward the door, swinging it open upon arrival. "Don't you know to leave a girl in the lavoratory alone—"

The two lugs fell to the ground at her feet, their heads dented in and profusely flowing of a crimson fluid. She screamed and looked up to see the two Sicilians at her door, guns pointed toward her chest.

"April O'Neil," one spoke up, "Big Toni would like to have a meeting with ya."

A/N: Well, it's at least different, right?

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