"And after Leo kills us, Splinter will triple kill us. And I can totally see Donnie taking a leak on our graves..."

"Quit sniveling or I'm going to kill you before god, Leo or Splinter ever get a chance."

Snivel.

"OW! Waphie...? I think I'm dead. We should go home."

"Ugh, why did I bring It along?"

"Splinter says you have to quit objectifying me if we want to be able to work as a kick-ass ninja team someday."

"Master did not say kick-ass and shut-up, I need help lifting the manhole."

A moment of grunting, squeals, and obscenities...

"Shhh! C'mon, get up."

One am-ish in the dark New York City alley welcomed teenie bopping pre-ninjas Michelangelo and Raphael with a crisp fall breeze heavily laden with the scent of trash and nearby human scum. The brothers looked at each other and witnessed a mirrored expression of fear and remorse, before slinking pseudo-silently into the shadows and quietly exhaling their first, disappointing breath of independence in thirteen years. Five young hooligans conversed in obnoxiously loud hushed tones, while a still younger hooligan whimpered against the edge of the alley wall he was futilely trying to sink into.

"He's my brother and he has Purple Dragon in his blood! We ain't doing nothing to him!"

"Yeah? That little shit looks like a narc to me, and if you twos got all this blood in common I guess that makes you a narc too, huh, Louis?"

"Just back the fuck off. We're going home."

"Like fuck you are! I'm going to jail because of that douche-bag, and I'm going to make sure nobody ever makes the mistake of associatin' with either of youse again," Hooligan Speaker No. 1 threatened as he pulled out Switchy, his switch-blade knife and material evidence of Hooligan Speaker No. 1's failure to show up for his creative writing elective all semester. Soon to-be Ex. PD Senior (Louis) backed away, coming to a protective stance over his little brother, Narc Face. Mute Hooligans No.s 2, 3, and 4 flanked No.1 and advanced, blades and blunt objects drawn.

Meanwhile, in the shadows, Mikey prayed and Raphael got to his feet. Head full of human horror stories, Raphael never planned on taking his little bro top side unarmed. The single sai he gripped as he pulled Mike to his feet had come from the wrack of real weapons on the Off-Limits to All Young Turtles Shelf.

"We've been trained for this. Calm down and get your bokken out. We're about to save those idiots."

Obviously, none of the involved hooligans expected to be attacked by mutants that night, which was helpful in their speedy dispersal. Suddenly, instead of two puny Narcensons, a raging four foot turtle with a fancy fork faced Hooligan No. 1, who proceeded to scream like a girl and fall on his ass, before getting his alternative cheeks pummeled by righteous Raphael freedom fists. Raph quit referring to his fists as "freedom fists" several months later when Donatello overheard a conversation between Liberty Lefty, Righteous Righty, and Raphael one morning. Raph's dignity would live to rue the day, but it would never be the same.

Jumping back up to rest on Hooligan No. 1's stomach, Raph ducked a hockey stick and slashed Mute Hooligan No. 3 across the chest. Ex. PD Senior (Louis), recovering somewhat, began trying to pull his brother, Narc Face Narcenson off the ground and out of the alley.

Mike growled and kicked Mute Hooligan No. 3 in the groin, before the whole lot of scum managed to flee the nightmarish scene, leaving the two brave turtles panting adrenaline, pride, and still more fear in their wake.

"We did it..." Raphael whispered in awe, glancing down at a freshly bloody sai, glinting a morbid pink reflection of the nearest street-light.

"We have to get out of here," a now openly hysterical Mike whispered back, looking everywhere but at the bloody sai. Raph tore his gaze away from the sai and to his scared little bro. Then he looked at the empty alley, at the meager debris his first adversaries had left behind, and then at the pale night sky he had longed to see for so long. The sky was a disconcerting shade of sulfur and bruised purple, very unlike the inky, star studded lie television and naivety had led him to dream of. Of course, light pollution and blah blah Donnie talking....

He took Mike's hand and led him two steps back to the still open manhole before tripping over young Narc Face's back-pack.

"Uuhh..."

"Maybe there's food in there," a hopeful Mikey, slung the bag over his back and helped his bro up. Raph wiped the rest of the tears of his brother's face, and hurried them both back to the underground--where they belonged.

In the atrium before the secret entrance to the turtle lair, Raphael stopped Michelangelo, and turned on their flashlight.

"Let's open it here. Alright? Maybe there's cash...and we can get a pizza before sneaking back in, huh?" Raph doubted that the ragged Narc Face kept sufficient funds in his school bag, or that the two turtles had the heart to venture above ground again long enough to con a pie joint, but he knew that if he didn't get Mikey to quit breathing like an asthmatic moon pug, the both of them were going to get busted big time.

1 Pre-Algebra textbook.

1 half-eaten pack of Twinkies.

47 cents.

1 Pocket knife.

2 handfuls of crumpled loose-leaf.

1 black BIC lighter

1 report card as follows:

James Roper (Narc Face Narcenson's real name?)

C+ English

A Pre-Algebra

B- Biology

D Civics

F Home Ec.

A- Art

3 pieces of melted Double-mint gum

1 glass blown pipe.

2 copies of one nondescript key.

4 green M&Ms

1 partially filled Composition notebook--doodles and homework inside.

1 cellophane-wrapped dub of marijuana.

9 paper clips, plain. (4 intact, 5 straightened)

Raph removed the green, the pipe, the lighter, and the pocket knife. Mikey removed the untouched Twinkie and two of the green M&Ms and closed the bag.

"What are you going to do with that stuff Raph?" Mike voiced the question bouncing through his brother's brain. A plethora of PSAs and Splinter's warnings had taught Raph what was supposed to be done with this green leafy substance and glass pipe. Apparently, most normal teenagers smoked it, became lazy and screwed The Man in the process. Raph was all for screwing The Man, and curious about the attraction of "getting high." Allegedly, it was awesome. Why else would one neglect their dog, or lose the faith of younger siblings, or let down adult role models by smoking marijuana?

Yes, PSAs miserably failed Raph, Mike, and a majority of the nation's youth that year. Raph wanted to be normal, and he wanted his brother to quit crying and be happy. From what he'd heard, marijuana could take care of both.

"Come on Mike, let's go to The Grate. This won't take long."