Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Disney/Haim Saban

Dustin's POV

My first memory is of mud. I know, it sounds, like, totally random, but, hey, I'm an earth ninja, so it kind of makes sense, doesn't it? Anyway, I remember sitting in this pile of dirt. My mum had put me down to chase after my sister, I think. I'm told I was around six or seven but nobody can really remember that far back. Obviously, she hadn't put me down in the mud. I don't think it was even mud at that point because it wasn't raining or anything but, anyway, at some point, it started raining and the dirt under me turned to mud. And that's my first memory. I'm sitting, with rain soaking every part of me and mud staining the parts the rain couldn't reach, and staring at the mud. I reached out my hand and touched it. I think I'd never seen mud before, or, at the very least, never been this close to it, 'cause I was utterly fascinated. I remember loving the touch of it, the smell – yes, mud does have a smell – and the taste of it. Okay, yeah, maybe not the brightest idea but, hey, I was only six!

Anyway, after that, everything else is pretty much a blur, but I'm told my sister – the…girl – ratted me out and my mum screamed and rushed over to pick me up and spent the next half an hour brushing my teeth. But that's not important. What's important it that my first memory is of mud. I guess that pretty much cemented my calling, huh?

Shane's POV

I'm told my first word was "mama". I'm not sure I totally believe it, though. Because my brother swears it was actually "air". Apparently – and this is all according to him – we were in a room alone, though why my parents would leave a pair of under five year olds in a room alone, I don't know, and we were playing with some random toys littered around the ground when I spoke. He says I pointed to the roof and said in a perfectly clear voice; "air."

He – being the clever little four year old he was – dashed out of the room leaving me, an eighteen month old baby, alone while he legged it to get my parents. It's good to know my brother wasn't always so damn responsible.

Here is where Porter gets vague. From what I can get – from my parents that is – they yelled at him a bit for leaving me alone (though what they were thinking, leaving a four year old to look after a baby, I don't know) before following back to the room where I was happily sucking on an oversized Lego block. And by the way, because I just had to ask them, the Lego block was red. So, anyway, I saw sucking on a Lego block almost the same size as me when they came in. They said they tried to get me to say "air" again, and again, then moved on the 'simpler words', as they put it, such as "mama" and "daddy". Don't ask me why they think two- and three-syllable words are more simpler than one-syllable words. They may be my parents but I don't even pretend to understand them.

So, that was the story of my first word and, I've got to say, I think it speaks for itself, doesn't it?

Tori's POV

I was dropped into the deep end of the swimming pool when I was three years old.

Shocking, right? I thought so too, when I was first told the story. My parents and I were at a pool party and someone had given me to a seven year old to hold. Unfortunately, I was a wriggly child and the seven year old wasn't used to holding babies. And he also happened to be standing near the deep end of the pool. See where this is going, don't you?

Anyway, once I was told the story, I actually remembered the incident. Well, I remembered falling into the water. At first, it was a huge shock because, man, was that water cold. Then, as I got used to its temperature, I realised it wasn't scary. It was comforting, like being in my mum's arms and having my dad tuck me in. It was, dare I be so corny?, like coming home. I moved my arms and legs and found myself moving through the water. I'm not too sure how long I stayed in the pool, but according to my parents, it was long enough for me to dog paddle a width. Considering that I was only three and it was the deep end, that's quite impressive.

So, now I'm the surfer girl and a water ninja. Fits perfectly, doesn't it?

Hunter's POV

My first memory is of burning toast. And it's not some stupid random memory. It's the only memory I have before my birth parents threw me out. Yes, they threw me out at age five and a half. I suppose they were seriously freaked out by the whole toast burning thing. I don't care; they weren't my real parents. The Bradleys were.

I don't remember too much about the burning toast. Mostly, I remember the smell and the sound of crackling electricity. I remember – dimly – reaching up and touching the toaster's cord. And feeling a bolt of electricity run through me, bounce off the soles of my feet and back into the toaster. And then the smell of burning toast.

So yeah, that was my first memory. Shortly afterwards, I found myself outside the local social services office. And people wonder why I'm so broody?

Blake's POV

I've always liked the colour navy, even before I became a navy thunder ranger. Even before I lost my parents and the Bradleys adopted me. It's one of my first memories; playing with a piece of navy cloth. Sounds lame, I know, but we – as in my birth parents – weren't doing too well at that time, so all I had to play with were pieces of junk – not exactly rubbish – that were left lying around our far less than pleasant apartment.

My birth parents tried hard – I know because my mum told me so – to get out of the dump, get a nice, okay, nicer apartment. Unfortunately, that never happened. I was being taken care of a neighbour's daughter. More like, she'd left me in a corner of the room with that navy piece of cloth to play with, but it was the only type of care my parents could afford, even though they were both working.

I remember two strangers with heavy shoes coming into the apartment. Then someone – a man with big hands – picked me up. I think someone said "poor baby" but I'm not too sure. All I know is that they took me out of that apartment complex and that I never returned. And all I had to remind me of it was a navy piece of cloth. For a the next few months, I was the only thing I had that was remotely connected to my parents and I clung to it like it was a lifeline. It was the only thing that could comfort me…until the Bradleys that is.

But I will always keep that piece of navy coloured cloth. It's a link to my past and my birth parents who, by all accounts, were honourable people. I just wish I could have had a chance to know them properly.

Cam's POV

When I was younger, I loved playing with my mum's samurai sabre. It was one of my favourite things in the world; made of shining hand crafter silver with a fine black and white leather hilt, I know, it doesn't sound like the kind of thing you'd let a baby play but my parents knew what they were doing. I was never cut or even lightly injured by it.

I don't know why I found it fascinating. Maybe because it was so different from my dad's – and all the other ninjas' – bokken. Maybe because it was – and you're going to roll your eyes at this – so shiny. But, hey, as a kid, I was supposedly obsessed with shiny things. Most of which turned out to be machinery parts but that's a different story.

I remember one of the last things my mum gave me before she died was a miniature wooden samurai sabre. We were practising with the sabres – okay, my mum was practising and I was playing around – when the stroke hit her. She passed away three months later.

I never touched the wooden sabre again after that and I'd forgotten all about it until I had to retrieve the samurai amulet from the past. Now? It stands in the place of honour on the mantle above my fireplace. And, wrapped around it is the samurai amulet. After all, she gave them both to me.

A/N: I'm not too sure if I should make this more than a one shot. If I do, it will probably continue to have alternating POVs. Please, review and tell me what you think. Yes? No? Thank you and hope you enjoyed the story:)