I am April O'Neil.

These words have become my mantra. I repeat them to calm my thoughts, to calm my body. I hope that Master Splinter would be proud of my discipline, if he were here.

I know I'll need every bit of calm, every scrap of discipline, to survive this place with mind and body intact.

Looking around myself is like being in a hall of mirrors – reflections, perfect and imperfect, at every turn. The Kraang must have made dozens of clones. Hundreds. This tank is barely large enough for all of us. Every moment, I am brushed and bumped by a sea of imitation Aprils so that even with my eyes closed, I can never forget where I am.

I am April O'Neil.

I tried to escape when I first woke up here. I hammered on the clear walls of the tank until my arms were sore and bloody, the glassy material smeared with my blood but otherwise unmarked. I climbed onto the shoulders of the duller clones, who stood there impassively as I tried to reach the hatch at the top of the tank. It was no good; the hatch was far too high up, and I toppled to the ground again and again until my whole body was a bruise.

Then I spoke to the brighter clones. "If we work together, we can escape!" I told them. "If I can get to that hatch, I'll find the turtles and we'll come back for all of you!"

Their response was always the same: "No, I'll find the turtles!" the clone would say. "I'm the real April!"

It was almost enough for me to doubt myself. I started testing the clones. "What are the turtles' names?" I asked. "Who is Casey? What is a tessen? What is the sine of 30 degrees?"

Some of them could answer a question or two, but each had only a smattering of my memories. Eventually, each clone was unable to answer, reduced to pleading, "I'm the real April!"

I am April O'Neil.

I don't ask these questions when I can see the Kraang outside, though. I'm sure I'm only alive because they think I'm yet another clone. Periodically – not as often as the feedings – they open the hatch and call my name. They always take the clones who respond most quickly, most eagerly, most pathetically. Some kind of metal band is dropped on the clones, they go limp, and they rise toward the hatch.

I don't think those who are taken ever come back, but how can I know for sure? I find most of the clones indistinguishable, though the ones with physical deformities are easier to identify. There are Aprils missing hands, some missing arms, one with a gaping mouth in her neck. I've been here long enough now that the sight of them doesn't make me vomit any more, and the Kraang robots have erased most traces of it. Despite their efforts, the floor of the tank is filthy with vomit, piss, and blood.

How long can I remember who I am in this place? How long until I'm as mindless as these poor clones, just another helpless animal in a twisted Kraang zoo?

I am April O'Neil.

Suddenly, things change. I hear a commotion in the distance, shouting and weapons firing. Please let it be the turtles, I hope. Please let it be Donnie...

A loud cry sounds in the distance, echoed by a tearing, shattering sound from our cage. Impossibly, miraculously, the walls split and fall away, lying shattered on the ground. I run for the nearest exit, the legions of clones mindlessly following me. A bare foot treads on my heel, and the floor comes up and hits me hard. Another bare foot jabs into my back. I huddle, trying to curl into a ball, and soon the rush of clones pass. I struggle to rise and pain knifes through me. It's worse than being beaten by Karai, worse than anything I've felt. Somehow I get my hands underneath myself and slowly push myself to my feet.

I follow the rush of clones into one room, then another, a round, gleaming space dominated by a tank of Kraang mutagen – but I only have eyes for the sight of green across the room. Donnie, Leo, Mikey, Raph – all four of them are here to save me! And then I realize... one of the imposters is with them.

Some of my clones are on the platform, pushing toward the turtles, still mindlessly insisting that they are the real April O'Neil.

I am April O'Neil. Only I am April O'Neil.

I rush forward, pushing my way past the clones. The turtles drop from the platform to the floor of the room, but they are overwhelmed by the rush of bodies and voices. The imposter pushes the other clones aside, declaring, "Don't listen to them! I'm the real April!"

Her voice doesn't even sound right. Why can't the turtles see that? I have to get her away from them. I grab her arm and pull. Several of the brighter clones follow suit, and soon the imposter is lost in the press of identical Aprils. I step forward to say, "No! I'm the real April!"

But a chorus of clone voices echo my words. I rack my brain for the right words to prove that I'm not one of the clones, that I'm the one they want. I can't think – so much sound and movement, and I'm still feeling the impact with the floor. I just need to think of a moment that only the real April would remember. Of so many moments we've shared, which is the most special? It comes to me, and I start to call out to Donnie.

Sound erupts from behind me, and I turn to see the imposter standing alone, fallen clones around her. I have only a moment to think – She has the tessen? How is that even possible? – before she brings it down on me. Every cell in my body cries out in agony and I feel myself falling. One last thought – Please let there be enough of me in you. Please don't hurt them. Please don't hurt Donnie... – and I am gone.