Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or associated characters. They remain in part the property of Mirage Studios and Nickelodeon (Viacom). I make no financial gain from this fiction.

Leonardo centric. No-one says you have to like the way your life is going

Them.

It's late. Dark. The air so thick it seems as if I am wading through water. The coarse concrete pounds beneath my feet but I can no longer feel it, only the night's cold wind raw against my skin.

Running. Flailing.

Bursting through, I have reached it now. Home. Safety, sanctuary. The clatter of cold steel against the stone floor as I drop my blades jars my senses, ringing through the silence before melting into the darkness. Slowly with each dragging painfully exhausted step, I pick my way through the trappings of family life.

Hazy steam coils upwards as the shower splutters into life. Placing the palms of my hands against the cool damp tiles to steady myself, I let the hot water run over me. Washing, cleansing, more then my body, my mind, my soul. Images flash forward, each more vivid then the last, displayed in horrific technicolor and clarity.

Bowing my head I watch the crimson water run in rivets from my body, bubbling and frothing at the drain before vanishing into the blackness.

Blood. Dark and thick. Red.

Whose I cannot be certain. It is all the same, no difference from mine, no difference from theirs.

Theirs. Them. Me.

I am a weapon , soul, body and mind. Wound within my very being, each beat of my heart breathing it life. Void of emotion, mechanical. Deadly. Kill or be killed. Your only option.

I exhale. The harsh sound of my breath startles me. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut I tilt my head back, welcoming the soft warm caress of the falling droplets. I let my shoulders drop as the water mingles with my stinging tears, washing them from me.

I have emotions, feelings. Wants and desires. I am someone. Someone's brother, someone's son.

How are we that different?

They are the same, feel the same. Want the same? They are someone's son, brother. Father. Someone.

With each that I cut down a life has ended. Lives are touched, ruined, torn to pieces. Do they grieve for their lost ones? Do they question why?

Kill or be killed.

Nobody said that I had to understand it, no-one said I had to want it. Does anyone want it?

I wring my hands in the water. They're not clean. They will never be clean.