The Story Thus Far...

Phase 1: Origin
Book 1: Casey Jones
Book 2: Raphael

And now, enjoy: Book 3: TMNT: Origins

Despite being the eldest of his brothers, Leonardo had never been the tallest. For a while, when they were very little, Michelangelo had dominated the trio in height. Soon after, Leonardo and the older of his younger brothers, Donatello, had caught up, and for a while they had shared a blissful era of height equality. Of course, nothing gold can stay, and soon, Donatello and Leonardo began to grow, leaving their baby brother Mikey in the dust. At first, they were neck and neck, but Donny soon proved the victor, and gained just a few inches on Leo, much to his dismay. Donatello proved the tallest of the brothers, and Leo was reminded of this every time his eyes wandered past the section of brick where their father had marked their height as they grew.

So it was that today, as Leo was laying down his mat next to his brothers' for their daily meditation, that he felt a little pang of jealousy. As the three of them sat down, cross-legged, their master must have sensed this minor disturbance in the boys mind. The old rat, whose tawny fur was matted with age, and whose black eyes were wise and compassionate, raised a bushy white eyebrow slightly, stroking at the thick, grey fur that grew from his chin.

"Is something the matter, my son?" Splinter asked, his eyes sparkling in Leonardo's direction. The turtle turned his head to either side of him, looking first at Mikey and then Donny. Then, he pointed to himself.

"With me, Sensei?" The turtle asked. His father nodded slowly, and Leo shook his head. "Nothing, Sensei. Why do you ask?" Splinter waved a gnarled hand gently.

"Nothing truly important," he said. "Always remember, my sons. The slightest ripple in your mind can cause a meditation to quickly change from helpful to harmful. If you are not sound of mind, and heart, then you may end up exhausting yourself, or else find yourself in a state of darkness. A clouded mind…?" He let the last bit hang in the air, awaiting a response.

"Is a ninja's greatest enemy," his three students said in unison. Splinter smiled. It was a lesson he had been teaching his three sons since they had first begun their training in the ancient ninja arts. Before a ninja could master his body, and the combat that came along with it, he must first be sure that his heart was strong, and his mind was clear. This was a lesson he truly believed in, and one that he was glad his pupils remembered.

The old rat drew a long, slender stick from inside of his tattered red robes, and lit one end on the candle that burned quietly beside his resting place. Splinter practised meditation quite often, and it suited him to have a place of comfort to do so in. He knelt upon a mat, worked from straw and cloth and bearing the symbol of a spiralling dragon in the center. Surrounding him were rows and rows of candles, some infused with incense, others simply for light. The room in which he and his four sons sat was unlit, aside from the one candle that burned before Splinter, but soon orange light began to flicker on the walls as he passed the long stick over each candle, lighting them.

Once the candles were burning, Splinter doused the flame on his stick with a taught flick of his wrist, and after letting it smoke for a few seconds, returned it to his pockets. The scent of smoke and wax began to fill the room, which was decorated with tapestries and other decorations Splinter had scavenged from the dumpsters and sewers of New York City. Anything that would make the place seem more like a traditional dojo he kept, and anything else went to his sons, to decorate the rest of their home.

Despite Splinter's best efforts to create a zen atmosphere, the room was spartan and grimy. The red brick walls oozed with the refuse of the sewers that surrounded them, and the candle scent just barely masked the horrible smells that came with it. It could not be ignored that they lived in a sewer, but they made do as well as they could.

Once the candles had burned long enough to fill the room with a hazy, dream-like aroma, Splinter brought his hands to form a diamond in the center of his chest, and nodded for his students to mirror him as he did a few more hand signs. As usual, they followed his actions. For Leonardo, the meditation ritual was calming and natural, like he was born to do it. Donatello had struggled at first, because of how fast his mind worked. Splinter had taught him to slow his thoughts, and to only focus on the here and now. It helped, somewhat, and Donatello coped by focusing deliberately on each step of the exercise, ignoring all other things and performing with zealous accuracy.

Michelangelo was a different story altogether. The youngest of his three brothers, he had difficulty sitting still for long periods of time, let alone doing so in almost utter silence. Every few seconds he would shift his weight, or scratch his cheek. The more he attempted to focus inward, the more he found that outside forces distracted him. As his senses heightened from the stimulating candles and the stillness of the room, instead of relaxation, Mikey found anxiety. He could hear the slightest drip of water from a leaky pipe, the faintest hiss of steam. He squeezed his eyes closed, and focused on his breathing like his master had always told him to do, which led to him breathing loudly. Splinter opened one eye, placing it upon his youngest son.

"Michelangelo," he said in a centered tone. The young turtle opened one eye, and then the other, sitting up a little straighter.

"Yes, Master Splinter?" He asked, nervous that he had done something wrong. More often than not it was he who was criticized for his inability to remain still while meditating. It made Mikey feel stupid. It wasn't his fault; he really did try his hardest.

"I have been training you for fourteen long years," Splinter continued. Michelangelo gulped, sensing a scolding in his near future. Donatello peaked an eye open, obviously enticed by the promise of another lesson for his younger brother. Leonardo remained still as stone, poised in a perfect stance, his breath even. Donatello stole only a single glance at his older brother, and rolled his open eye before returning his gaze to Mikey as Splinter spoke again. "And, after all of this time, I believe I have reached a conclusion." Mikey nodded, staring at his crossed legs and bracing himself.

"Meditation may not be for you," the old rat finished.

"I know, I'm sorry, Sensei. Next time, I-" Mikey paused part way through the apology he had recited more times than he could remember. He looked up at Splinter. "Wait… What?"

"It is clear to me that your mind is not meant for meditation," the Master said, with a kind smile. He leaned forward, placing a wrinkly hand on his son's shoulder. Mikey looked at his father, confused, and the old rat continued. "For some, meditation is the key to clearing one's mind. For others… Well, not so much." He gave his pupil's shoulder a gentle squeeze. Donny was watching with both eyes open, now.

"But, Sensei, you said that the only way we can be true ninja is if we have sound thoughts, and control over our minds," he chimed in. Splinter's single ear flicked, and he cast his middle son a sideways glance.

"Indeed it is," he said, with some iron in his voice. Donny's eyes widened. "So, I would recommend that you return to your hand signs." Donny quickly closed his eyes, but not before seeing the slightest hint of a smirk playing across Leo's face. Disgruntled, Donny elbowed his older brother as he did his first hand sign. After a while, though, his anger subsided and his jealousy was replaced with peace as his mind cleared. He understood that Michelangelo was a different case, and there was reason for him to be given an alternative. Wow, he thought, this meditation stuff really does work.

"So, Sensei," Mikey said, still confused. "If I can't meditate, how will I ever become a true ninja?"

"There are many paths in life, my son. The mountain pass is simple for the sure footed goat, but the sea is not one he can traverse. Likewise, you cannot expect a fish to climb a mountain," Splinter said. Mikey blinked, his confusion only growing.

"Am I… the fish?" The young turtle mused. "No, wait, I'm the goat… Right?" Splinter gave a small, comforting laugh that set Mikey's mind a bit at ease.

"In either case, meditation is not your path," the old rat said. Mikey nodded in agreement. "Then tell me, Michelangelo. If meditation does not clear your mind… What does?"

"And this one is called a kickflip," Mikey said enthusiastically, maneuvering his feet so that the skateboard beneath them spun a full circle length-wise. He stuck the landing, and coasted around the room for a while. The main area of their home was a large expanse of concrete, the center of which was covered by a large blue rug. A few beaten up loveseats and a sofa lived in one corner of the room, all facing a small television. On the opposite end of the room, next to the entrance to Splinter's meditation room, was a metal table that was once probably on somebody's patio, but now served as the family's dinner table. It was surrounded by mismatched chairs, and next to it hummed a refrigerator that was barely alive.

The fridge and television had fallen under Donatello's jurisdiction after a disastrous attempt Splinter once made to fix the latter. Splinter, who was never good with technology, had singed his fur in several places, and given up on the whole affair. Mikey had been desperate, wailing for several hours about how miserable his life would be without cartoons, and soon Donny had grown tired of his brother's complaining. He dug out the manual for the T.V. and, within a matter of minutes, had easily determined the problem and resolved it. It had been unplugged. Since then, everyone entrusted the matters of anything technological to the middle brother. Donny was glad to do it, and soon found himself fascinated with the bits and pieces of how machines worked. In the time he wasn't training or goofing around with his brothers, he would tinker with bits of things that Splinter would occasionally bring back when he went scavenging.

"You are sure that your mind is clear, Michelangelo?" Splinter asked, leaning gently on the smoothed wood staff he used for walking. He watched his son do a few more circles around the room, not entirely ready to place his faith in the strange toy. In response to his question, Mikey pulled off another trick, and slowed to a stop in front of Splinter. The young turtle kicked up his board and tucked it under his arm.

"Totally, Sensei," he said, a large smile covering his face. Mikey really loved skateboarding; it helped to take his mind off of things. It gave him a simple task to put all of his effort into. Splinter realized that, in these ways, it was very similar to meditation. The old rat nodded, stroking his chin fur a few more times before humming quietly.

"Very well," he said, turning and walking slowly back into his meditation room. "That will be all for your training today, my sons. Enjoy the rest of the day off."

As their father disappeared beyond the ragged curtain that blocked his meditation room from the main chamber, Donny went into another side room: a medium sized area that he had been renovating as a sort of workshop. A makeshift bench and a few tools sat in the center of the room, and littered across a small wooden table were odds and ends that Donny and Splinter had found on their rare scavenging trips through the sewers.

Leonardo, meanwhile, made his way towards the sparring area, the large blue rug. At the moment, the area was occupied by a pair of wooden dummies. The eldest turtle took a deep, calming breath as he approached the first, and then shifted fluidly into a combat stance. After a moment of harnessing his focus and breath, his concentration gave way to a series of rapid palm strikes to the chest of the dummy. The target leaned backwards under the pressure of Leo's attack, and after a few moments Leo paused, breathing sharply. Once he had nearly regained his breath, he shifted back into his stance. He prepared to strike again, and…

"Hey, Leo," his youngest brother's voice slashed through his concentration like a knife through paper. Leo almost physically flinched. He let out his breath in a near-sigh, turning to face Michelangelo. The young turtle was squatting before the fridge, looking at Leo with helpless eyes. Oh boy, here we go. Leo thought. "We're out of pizza," Mikey finished.

Leo shrugged his shoulder once, feeling the stiffness of an incomplete workout starting there. He made his way across the rug to a rack of practise weapons; pieces of wood and fiberglass that Splinter had scrounged and fashioned into makeshift poles and swords. The turtle chose his favorite, a smoothed wooden kitana, and gripped it firmly in two hands. Steadying his breath once more, he shifted his feet into a dueling stance. He lifted his hands, and the sword, into an upwards block. Such a position would defend him from a downward cut.

"Takai!" Leo called the name of his defense as he performed it. He swung the weapon diagonally, arcing from above his right shoulder to below his left knee. "Yoko!"

"Leo," Mikey groaned, his voice somewhat muffled. Leo cast a quick glance in his direction. His youngest brother was now laying on his stomach, his head inside of the refrigerator, keeping the door propped open. "Pizza…"

Leo rolled his eyes, continuing his series of blocks and strikes. The technique he was currently rehearsing would, in theory, be used to defend himself against someone who was using a weapon that was longer than his. Splinter had always taught him that, when facing an enemy, it was important to pay attention to the length of his weapon. The longer reach the opposition has, the slower their attacks will be. Finding an opening and moving in close to strike quickly would be the best course of action. Leo's brother Donatello favored the bo staff, a long wooden pole that put a lot of distance between himself and his opponent. During the times that he would spar with Donny, Leo would always keep in mind Splinter's words, and usually found himself victorious.

"Leo!" Mikey nearly shouted across the room. Leo shouted in frustration, throwing his training sword to the ground and spinning on his heel to face Michelangelo, who now had his feet in the fridge, and was looking at Leo upside down.

"What, Mikey?" Leo snapped. Mikey groaned, holding his stomach.

"We're out of pizza, dude!" He complained.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Leo asked, recapturing his breath, and along with that, his temper. The edge in his voice dissapeared halfway through the phrase, as the brief moment of meditation calmed his mind. Mikey stood up, and the door of the fridge creaked closed quietly behind him. The youngest turtle made his away over to Leo, looking sheepish, and leaned next to his brother's ear..

"Ask Master Splinter to get more," he whispered. Leo snorted back a laugh.

"Why can't you?" He asked, in a normal voice. Mikey shot a worried look towards the entrance to Splinter's room.

"Cuz he like, just went scavenging two days ago. And he's gonna be all like," Mikey altered his posture to resemble the old rat's, and stroked an imaginary tuft of chin fur. When he spoke, his voice as lower, with a poor attempt at mimicking Splinter's accent. "Michelangelo, did I not just return from da surface, and you have already eaten all of the pizza? Fifty flips!"

"Is that really how I sound?" Came a voice from behind them. Mikey froze, his face turning a paler green, and Leonardo placed his hand into his other palm, giving a small head bow to his father. Splinter shook his head, chuckling under his breath. Mikey didn't move an inch, but listened to each clack of Splinter's walking stick on the concrete as the rat made his way to the television area. There was a quiet groan from the old master as he sat slowly into one of the distressed love seats, and after a brief flash of static, the T.V. came to life.

"Uh, no way, Sensei, I was only joking," Mikey said, finally snapping out of it. Leo grinned, patting his younger brother on the shoulder before picking up his practise sword and going back to his drills, making sure to mutter the calls to himself, instead of shout them. Master Splinter could be quite cranky when he was watching his stories.

"What do you think, Donatello?" Splinter called to the far room. "Will Brenda and Jordan finally get back together?"

"No way," Donatello returned, his voice disembodied from inside of his workshop. Of the three of Splinter's students, only Donny had ever expressed any interest in Magic and My Heart, the soap opera that Splinter watched almost religiously. The show revolved around a group of stage magicians who would fall in (and out) of love too frequently for Mikey and Leo to keep up with. Donny and Splinter, however, seemed to eat up the drama like Mikey ate pizza. "After what happened last week? His show was a disaster!"

"Yes, but the heart wants what the heart wants," Splinter countered. When there was no response, the old rat nodded contentedly, and nestled comfortably as the theme song of the show began to play. Mikey turned to Leonardo and put a finger in his mouth, signalling how gross he thought the show was. Leo breathed a half-laugh, and took a sip of water from a bottle. "Oh, and Michelangelo!" Splinter added, as the last notes of the intro died away.

"Uh, yes, Sensei?" Mikey asked hastily, turning to face his father. The old rat looked over his shoulder, a mischievous sparkle in his black eyes.

"Fifty flips. Now."