FF: Hey guys, long time no see! Okay- here's what's happening:

1. My attempts to revise my earlier story (the one this is a rewrite of?) I've given up. It's still there, but I figured it's best to rewrite it entirely. So far it's working splendidly.

2. should you have read the Unrewritten story, a lot of things are going to be different. A. LOT. Plot points, events, dialogue, etc. be prepared. ALSO- I don't quite like waiting for action, so, you'll only have a little bit of boring stuff to read before it gets exciting :D

3. I can't find a good spot to put this in so, CHARACTER INFO (basically heights for everyone): Leo- 6 ft, Raph-5ft 11, Donny- 6ft 5, Mikey-5ft 10, Liza-5ft 7, Lyska- 5ft 9. All good? Good.

4. NO SET UNIVERSE- leaning toward 2k3, but not totally

FF: that's about all I can think of that i need to say. I am still working on the sequel, it's coming, but I want to get this done first since it provides better characterization and emotional content. Please enjoy, and tell me what'cha think. :)

CHAPTER ONE

Liza Michaels was not having a very good day.

It had started off lonely, her father still on a business trip and her mother already at work as per usual, and turned exhausting as she went to school via the bus and fought her way through the crowded hallways to her classes.

After a full day of struggling to concentrate and navigate the minefield that is highschool, she trudged home, once more braving the bus, to find herself still alone.

The brunette sighed, used to it but still feeling that flicker of disappointment. She dropped her bag off on the floor by the couch and walked to the kitchen, shaking her head at herself. Flicking on the light, she noticed a note left on the kitchen counter and her already low mood sunk further.

She suppressed another sigh as she picked up the slip of paper. At least the note meant her mom had been home at some point.

It was simple, saying that her mother had to work late, she was so sorry, there was some leftovers in the fridge if Liza would like, and if she could please do the laundry that'd be great, love you!

Liza groaned faintly, annoyed by the chore even as she tried to comfort herself. Hey, at least it isn't the dishes, right?

Throwing the washer room a tired glance, the brunette left the note and turned back towards the main room. The laundry could wait a while- she had homework to do.

To her everlasting gratitude, it wasn't very much or too hard- read 40 pages and complete the accompanying worksheet for english, and then complete problems 1-10 for math- though it did leave her rather drained about an hour and a half later.

So she took a 'quick'- read: another hour or two- break to rest and relax via surfing the internet and checking out some youtube videos. Then she headed into the kitchen to reluctantly make herself some reheated spaghetti, (she preferred fresh made, but didn't want to waste food.)

As she carried her bowl to the main room, her eyes flickered to the note again, reminding her of the chore that needed to be done. With a sigh, she mentally promised to do the laundry when her meal was finished.

Twenty minutes later, her bowl and fork were in the sink to be washed and she was emptying the laundry bag into the washer. She poured in the correct amount of detergent and clicked the machine's top shut, spinning the dial to the correct setting.

She'd just pressed the start button, the washer humming to life under her fingertip, when a loud THUD erupted from outside her back door. She jolted back from the sound instinctively, her heart abruptly kickstarting and her arm flying up to deflect a blow.

There was a snarl and then muffled shouting of indistinct words followed by a sharp shing that sounded like the movies when a sword had been unsheathed.

She staggered, her panicked jump unbalancing her and smacking her against a wall. Without any leverage, she fell and crashed to the ground with a gasp, suddenly terrified whoever was out there would hear her.

For a second, it seemed like her fear was justified- something smashed against the back door, the glass splintering with wide cracks as she flinched violently, her breathing far too fast to be safe.

But then whatever had done that shoved off from the severely dented outer door with a roar, and several voices rose in rage and terror as harsh and ferocious sounds signified a battle outside her door.

Overwhelmed with panicked terror, Liza practically forgot how to breathe, her heart barely beating in sharp, painful bursts. She had no idea how long she lay there, pressed against the wall listening to the violent blows and screams outside and feverishly praying that she wouldn't be murdered tonight, please no, please!

It seemed like forever before there was loud footsteps from several people running unsteadily away. A barking laugh echoed after them, and a tired sounding voice shouted something. Then, a mutter and a quiet thud.

Silence.

The brunette plastered to the wall stared wide-eyed at the back door, scarcely breathing. Then, a few moments later, a shuddering gasp pulled air into her lungs and she let out a terrified keening- the kind where someone was just barely clinging to control but was slipping off the edge into hysteria.

It took several deep gulps of air and several moments of tightly clutching her chest over her heart to allow her to calm enough to think it through.

There was a fight outside her house.

The back door was damaged, but held.

The people seemed to have left.

No one got inside.

She was okay.

She nearly stopped breathing again after another line of thought clicked.

Should she call the police? What if that one person didn't leave? What if they were still out there? Was she in danger? What was that thud? How could she explain the door to her mother?

…

HER MOTHER!

Scrambling now, she struggled to her feet- call her mother! Yes! Her mother would know what to do!- relief bursting in her chest. She'd barely taken a step before a sound registered.

She froze, her mind speeding out of control as she fought to think it through calmly.

It wasn't a footstep. It wasn't a shout or anything like that. It wasn't...aggressive. It was…

She forced herself to take a step closer to the damaged door, her heart in her throat as she concentrated on being as soundless as possible and angled her head to hear better.

...moaning? Why would- was someone hurt out there?

Liza stiffened, a sick feeling coiling around the dread and fear in her stomach.

Someone was hurt. Possibly bad. They needed help out there.

Her body trembled as her mind fought with itself.

One part wanted to run to the deepest most secure place in the house and call her mother and police and maybe an ambulance, it was far too dangerous to go outside, and just hide and cry and pray nothing else happened.

The other part demanded to know if the other person was alright and how dare you consider leaving them there, wouldn't you want help if you were in their place? Besides, why would danger be out there if that person was left behind? There were no other voices or noises heard, was there?

The brunette keened quietly again and shook her head violently before running up to the kitchen.

She'd compromise.

That was how she found herself inching towards the back door with a broom clutched painfully tight in her trembling hands and a bike helmet strapped over her head, (she was grateful she'd found her nice black one instead of her mother's bright white one.)

Terrified but struggling to stay calm, she delicately nudged the window's curtain aside and peeked outside.

Her backyard, her tiny patch of grass and tall chain link fence with flower bushes lining it to try and make up for all the concrete surrounding her, was ripped and scuffed with clods of dirt and grass tossed about haphazardly and deep gouges running through the dirt.

Liza would've turned and gone back to plan A- hiding and calling the police and her mother- if a burst of anger hadn't simmered to life inside her.

How dare they. How DARE they! One of the very few painless reminders of her country home with rolling hills and sweet smelling plants and trees- and they'd damaged it! They'd scarred it!

Taking a deep breath and using that anger as support, Liza flicked on the back light and pulled open the inner door. Seeing as that got no response from the outside, she took in another shaky breath and reached for the outer door.

The dented metal groaned as she pushed against it, pressing the handle down and clicking the button in as far as it could go before freezing at the first loud groan. When nothing happened, she shifted her grip on the broom and shoved her shoulder against the door, pushing hard.

It finally popped open, the metal curving out of place now and making it impossible to shut, almost making her fall before she righted herself. She jolted up, broom poised to strike just in case, as her heart hammered inside her chest.

Nothing.

Swallowing hard she tiptoed out, hesitant to leave the door but pressing onwards nonetheless. She widened her eyes as she spotted...something…. Lying just beyond the light's reach.

The brunette shivered, warring with the impulse to just run back inside and forget this madness and go to where it was safe.

She stepped forward and haltingly inched her way over.

"H-hello...?" She tried to call out, but all the happened was a hoarse whisper that barely made any sound at all. She took a breath and tried again. "Hello? Someone...? Are- are you o...kay…?"

Her voice trailed off as her eyes, impossibly, got bigger and her grip on the broom slackened.

Before her lay...what looked like a giant turtle!

She shook her head faintly, her mouth open and eyes unable to blink. But...how was….? What...?

A torn red mask was tied around its eyes, a belt around its waist, and knee and elbow pads accompanied cloth wrappings on its wrists and ankles. Lying by its three fingered hands were two weapons- sais, her mind supplied faintly- with red wrappings on their handles, matching the mask's hue.

The broom slipped from her fingers and she snapped out of her stunned trance to scramble to catch it, managing to grab it on the second swipe before it hit the ground. Straightening, she slowly stepped back, eyes glued to the...creature in front of her.

No. No, no, this- this was- she couldn't deal with this, she- this shouldn't even be real- was it real? It couldn't be, it couldn't...could it?

But then her mind registered everything else.

The gouges on its plastron.

The lacerations on its limbs and the slash oozing red blood that slit the skin over the shoulder and collarbone and made a nick in the already grooved plastron.

The bruises and smudged dirt that tainted the dark green skin, and the too much, too quick blood flow that seeped from its side, from the space between the plastron and shell.

Before she knew it she'd taken steps forward and crouched by its side, setting the broom down by her side. She looked around her damaged paradise, seeing not a soul, friendly or otherwise beyond the fence or inside it.

She looked back down to the wounded creature and hesitantly, oh so hesitantly, laid a hand on its shell. It didn't respond.

Her other hand reached down, brushing gently along the long cut over the collarbone. She jerked the hand back when the turtle winced in its sleep, its face scrunching in pain.

She looked around again, a distressed expression on her face, and turned to examine its wounds again. Then, another look to its face, still pinched in hurt.

…..she couldn't leave it here.

Carefully, she tiptoed around it- him, she corrected as she gave a him quick once over with her eyes. She couldn't keep calling the poor thing an 'it', that wasn't right- and slid her hand under his arms. She gathered her legs beneath her and pulled upwards.

Her efforts managed to lift him off the ground a few inches, but only for a few seconds, then she had to quickly but carefully lay him back down with a surprised grunt.

Man, he was heavy.

Must be the shell, she mused, pacing a little as she tried to figure out how to get him inside.

It took four tries and several rest stops to get him to the door- by then, her arms were already burning. But she refused to give up, huffing and puffing in her efforts to drag him into her home, (she accidentally bonked his head on the doorframe when squeezing through,) and into the kitchen.

She winced at the grinding noise of his shell against the linoleum and hurried up to the bathroom to grab some towels. She lay them across the carpeted floor in front of her staircase, just a yard or so away from the kitchen entrance, and tiredly dragged the turtle on top of the fabric.

At least this way he won't get any bloodstains on the carpet, she thought as she raced up the stairs again to grab the medical kit in the bathroom.

It took twenty minutes for her to clean, bandage, and treat all the injuries the turtle had- which included, but weren't limited to, a concussion, gashes, scrapes, cuts, and bruises.

Then she cleaned up the used gauze, wipes, empty disinfectant bottle, and took out the trash to leave no evidence. After, she grabbed the broom and the weapons from outside- she desperately hoped that they did indeed belong to him- and put away the broom while hiding the weapons in case he was a little temperamental when he woke up. Then a quick once over with paper towels on the floors to clean the blood smears and drops.

Finally, slumping against the wall and making sure the creature needed nothing else and was soundly asleep, she staggered up the stairs and grabbed a phone.

She couldn't hold back a sob when her mother picked up, the stress and panic crashing down on her shoulders.

"Mom…"

FF: Poor Liza. Rough day :( I hope she feels better soon... (ARGH I FORGOT TO MENTION- updates on Mondays! I've got 26(?) ish prewritten chapters and I'm still goin' strong! Might run out one day tho and actually have to keep writing)