The Beginning

My father had always been a reasonable man to me. After mom had died, he'd done what he could to support my sister and me. He'd been able to send her off of to a private preparatory school—one that would mentally mold her from a 10 year old to a 35 year old within only eight years. He didn't have enough money to ship us both, but I insisted that it was for the best that he send her.

Then, it was just us—or so my father wanted me to believe.

"Rhian," my father said one afternoon, two years after my little sister had been sent off. "Go get the laundry in the hamper and take it down to the basement."

I got up silently from the couch, setting my book down and leaving to do as he asked.

Living in the bad part of New York City hadn't been part of our original plan, but it was pretty much mandatory for our budget. We'd spent all we had to sending Lucy out into the world, but were still left with needing to send me to a normal school. As I went to the cheap, uncaring school and dad went to his boring, unimpressive job each day, it seemed that we were all but doomed to lead mundane lives for the rest of our years.

Living in the ghetto, however, I learned quickly that the world was not always as it'd seemed. And nor was it as boring or uncaring as the media tried to tell me.

"Hello, Splinter," I called to the giant rat when I reached the basement. He came out from his hiding place behind one of the broken walls.

"Hello, Rhian-san." He said back, bowing. My father had thought for the longest time that I didn't know about his indebted servant, and for many years I had no idea that one was living in our basement. Splinter was supposed to stay hidden from sight so that me nor anyone else would encounter him. However, after hearing many strange noises in the night, I crept downstairs at the age of seven to see this rat-man practicing skillful ninjutsu while we all slept. I had been afraid, at first, but after getting to know him a little, I found that he was rather friendly. When I continued to visit the creature, he'd offer to tell me stories about his past in Japan and how he'd gotten to New York City, though I could sense that some details were left out. Nonetheless, I came to love him like he was one of the family.

"How are you today?" I asked Splinter, placing the dirty laundry hamper on the washer.

"I'm well." He sat down on the dirt floor across from me. "What of yourself, Rhian-san?"

"Oh, just enjoying what's left of my summer before heading back to that hellhole of a school." I frowned at the dirty clothes as I piled them one by one into the yellowed machine.

"Education is a weapon that can do more for the world than a steady hand or a bloodied sword," he recited.

I gave a small chuckle. "I feel like I've read that online somewhere before."

He shook his head slightly. "If you go to your school, you'll have all of the tools you need to lead a happy and healthy life."

"The world is more about tools and health, Splinter." I threw some t-shirts into the wash. "I want to learn, but I don't feel like school will properly prepare me for life. Do you know what they teach at Luce's private school?" He sat silently, his round black pupils blinking only once. "Well, neither do I, really, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm sure they're teaching her things that will prepare her for anything life tries to throw her way. I mean, I highly doubt that life will try to screw her over by taking everything she loves and throw it six feet under where you can't reach it." I sighed, reminding myself that I wasn't jealous of Lucy; I was proud and still believed that she was the best candidate of us both to go to the fancy academy. "When you're fourteen, Splinter, the end of school seems too far to see the benefits that may or may not come from attending classes. Who's to say I wouldn't be better off just getting a job now instead of wasting my time learning simple math and grammar?"

Splinter crossed his legs, patting the spot in front of him. "Come."

I did as he said, leaving what laundry was left on the machine. I sat before, folding my legs to match his.

"Close your eyes, and clear your mind," he told me. "Take a deep breath, in and out. Then take another one. Yes, that's it. Keep doing so."

The relaxation technique was familiar to me. Whenever my father gave Splinter a rather tedious or frustrating task, he would do this for himself before and after tackling it.

"Now, how do you feel?" The rat asked.

"I feel…tired."

"Are you focused?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Then let your mind clear and focus on the blood pulsing through your body, on the air entering and leaving your lungs. Focus on the clearing of your thoughts, and your path will become clear."

I did as he said, but never knew what my "path" was. Still, I'd always thank him for the session and go back to the life upstairs.

—

"Rhian," my father huffed, taking a quick swig from a glass bottle he held. "Get the laundry. You forgot to change it yesterday. Again."

"Yes, sir," I said, putting my book down on the couch once more. I hurried downstairs and at the bottom, called out softly, "Splinter."

I heard a few odd and rambunctious noises respond from behind his broken wall. A cloth was set over it today and it took Splinter a little too long to come out from behind it. His usually calm countenance seemed to be shaken and he didn't meet my eyes.

"Hello, Rhian-san," he tried to say calmly. I put down the basket and gave him a curious look.

"What're you hiding in there, Splinter?" I asked him. He wouldn't answer; though he was physically a rat, he would never try to tell me a dirty lie. I slowly approached the wall. He held up a hand to stop me, but wore a defeated expression.

"Rhian-san…" He said weakly. I gently slipped past him and pulled back the curtain.

What was behind it shocked me; four young turtles were walking on two feet each, and they all turned to look at me.

"Who's she, father?" One of them asked in perfect English. I started to scream, but Splinter's hand was over my mouth before a single sound could escape.

—

"So, they're your sons?"

"Yes," Splinter went on to explain after he'd calmed me down. We sat in his room behind the wall and I watched the "boys" wrestle each other in what little space there was. "They were affected by the ooze, just as I was. They had no family, so I've been raising them as my own."

"I see…" The story made sense, but at the same time it didn't. How could something like this be possible? "How...long have they been here?"

Splinter met my eyes. "The entire time I've been welcomed into your home."

I put a hand on the back of my neck. "And my father...does he know?"

Splinter shook his head. "There's a sewer system that's reachable from this basement. I've been hiding them there for the most part. However, there are some humans wandering inside lately, so I had no choice but to bring my sons to the surface with me." We sat quietly while the turtles playfully fought, but it wasn't long before one of the came over to me.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"I'm Rhian," I told him, still slightly uncertain. "What's yours?"

"I'm Leonardo! I'm the leader!" He said it so proudly and I couldn't help but smile. The confidence that shined in his large, light amber eyes was alluring (if not also a bit unsettling).

"He reminds me of my little sister," I told Splinter when Leonardo returned to his brothers. I met the rat's eyes again. "Splinter, I've always been respectful of your privacy, but now I want to know: what does my father hold over you enough to make you his slave?"

Splinter was silent for a long time. "Your father found me while I was scrounging for food on the surface. He offered to give me a home for him if I promised to help with any tasks he asked of me…or he'd send me to the authorities."

"So, you've been hiding yours sons so that he won't threaten to send them away." I leaned back, considering that for a moment. My father was a good man, really, but maybe he wasn't as reasonable as he used to be.

Splinter nodded, waiting for my reaction. He'd trusted me up to this point, but I knew that something like this would make or break our bond. After seeing my initial reaction to the turtles, I couldn't fully blame him, either.

"Don't worry," I finally said, "I won't tell a soul about your sons. My father will never find out."

I left shortly after that conversation. Even as I went upstairs, I got fearful that my father would somehow be able to tell from my face that I was helping hide those mutated boys in the basement.

However, when I reached the front room, I discovered that he was fast asleep, his glass bottle three-fourths empty and sitting limply in his fist. I put it back on the highest shelf of the pantry for him and put a blanket over his body. I left the TV on, however, hoping that it would be enough to drown out any possible noises that occurred below. Then, I slowly went to my room to go to bed.

—

It was still unknown why humans were investigating the sewer systems down below, even a few weeks after I'd met Splinter's family. My father worked for the city as a garbage man and even he hadn't heard anything as to why they were sniffing around. I suspected the possibility that someone had caught sight of the boys around the area, but I couldn't be positive.

It wasn't all bad, though; I ended up getting to know each the turtles during the time they were staying with us.

When my father went to work in the mornings, I'd get up early to let them come upstairs and play for awhile. They were all roughly the same age minus perhaps a day or two. I found that they were only two years younger than I was. It was hard at first to tell them the difference between them, but I eventually got their names down based off of voices and minor differences in facial features.

Leonardo, the eldest son, was indeed the leader type. He was the most eager of the four to learn ninjutsu from Splinter, and he was quite the skilled and dedicated student. When his brothers would mess up on a technique, he'd be right at their side telling them exactly what they did wrong (then proceeding to show them the real way to do things). Leo was the first to talk to me in the morning and the last to tell me goodnight when I'd send them back downstairs. Splinter often told me that he sees great potential in Leonardo, and that that's the reason he often has him lead the rest of his brothers.

Raphael was the second son and the most hot-headed. He got mad about the littlest things, even if they were just playing simple games like Hide-and-Seek or Go Fish. Still, he was also the most passionate about his training and seemed to be one of the most affectionate as well; I could hardly get him to leave my side whenever we'd hang out. Splinter said that he was truly a compassionate and protective brother and knew that he'd turn out to be a very powerful warrior in the end.

Donatello was a bit different from the others. Though he was an amazing martial artist, most of his time would be focused on electronics like my stereo or TV. He made the reception on my TV ten times better than it was before and increased my stereo's clarity for both my CD's and the radio. He was very intelligent and persistent, not letting a single thing get in his way until he'd completed whatever task he put his focus on. Splinter often applauded his son's intelligence, but was careful to remind him to keep up on his training as a balanced mind needs a well-balanced body.

The youngest son was Michelangelo, who was my favorite to see on a cloudy or depressing day. He was always chalked full of laughs, making everyone smile even in the gloomiest setting. He was quite skilled, like his brothers, but would much rather spend his time playing the latest video games with me. He was the most reluctant to leave me—or rather, my console—when my father would start to return home. Splinter usually shook his head when we'd start talking about the boy, but it was obvious that he had a very special place in his heart for Michelangelo.

—

I recall a night when my father had worked a long day and came home late, only to fall into a dead sleep as soon as his body hit the couch. I crept downstairs that night to see the boys again, as I'd become more fond of them than any friends I'd ever made at school.

"Rhian!" Michelangelo cheered running up to me. He tugged on my hand to bring me further into Splinter's room. "Come see what I can do!" He lifted a pair of nunchucks from the floor and began twirling them expertly in front of his chest. He seemed pretty good, until he accidentally hit his forehead with one. He yelped on impact.

"Ha ha! That'll teach ya, you show off," snickered Raphael. I gave him a small glare.

"It's not nice to laugh when someone gets hurt," I scolded him, heading over to Michelangelo and inspecting the injury. "It might bruise a bit, but you'll be okay."

"Mikey's always been such a screw-up," Raphael retorted.

"No one's perfect, Raph," Leonardo pointed out. "Not even you!"

"It's logically impossible for someone to be 'perfect'," Donatello muttered, looking up from the inside parts of my old handheld gaming platform.

"I think Rhian's perfect!" Michelangelo said, staring up at me with a smile. I laughed.

"I'm not perfect," I told him, "but thank you anyway." I twirled my auburn hair in my fingertips. I'd dyed it blonde for a time and it still showed on the tips of each strand, but I was letting the natural shade grow back.

"You are pretty cool, though," Leonardo came in. "And you have nice eyes! We don't see anyone with blue eyes like yours."

I touched my cheek, considering how my navy gaze compared to theirs. They all had either brown or amber eyes and Splinter had black ones. I guess it was rather strange to sewer dwellers who hardly saw the light of day.

"Thank you, Leo," I said, "but I think you guys are much cooler. I mean, you're ninjas. I don't think there is anything cooler than that." Their chests puffed up a little from that and, before I knew it, the boys started practicing their sparring to further show off.

"I can't thank you enough for what you've done for us," Splinter said suddenly, coming up behind me. He looked more tired than he had the day before; whatever my father had ordered him to do the other night must've been more difficult than usual.

"It's no problem," I said honestly. "I love your family."

"And they all greatly care for you." Splinter watched with a melancholy expression as the boys roughed around. I asked him what was wrong, to which he replied, "I only worry for the future of my sons."

And with that statement, I went to my bed pondering over the same thing.

—

I awoke around 3:30am to a violent shaking. I grumbled, opened an irritated eye and was shocked to find that it was Michelangelo.

"Rhian!" He said in a rush. "It's your dad!"

All four of the boys were in my room with very conflicted expressions on their faces. Then, we heard a crash downstairs and I jumped out of my bed.

"What's going on?!" I asked as I approached my door.

"Splinter said he didn't want us to fight!" Donny said quickly. "He said that we shouldn't hurt anyone if it's not necessary. He said that since it's your dad, we shouldn't—"

Another sound stopped the boys in their tracks. I ran as fast as I could down the stairs. My father was in the basement, tearing it up with his drunken hands. Splinter lay on the floor, his arm dripping slowly with blood.

"Dad, what are you doing?!" I screamed. He swerved around to me, looking oddly focused for being intoxicated.

"Th-this freak brought in more mutants with him!" He glared at Splinter. "Our home is running rampant with them."

"What did you do to Splinter?!" I leaned towards the rat, but couldn't get around my dad to help him up.

A brief flash of surprise flickered through my father's face, but he say anything about it. He continued to block my path with large, red hands. I looked to the rat.

"Why aren't you fighting back?" I sobbed, unable to stop my tears from falling. Splinter's glazed eyes met mine.

"We will not hurt the innocent," he mumbled, "especially not one who is a father."

"Master?" Michelangelo stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at his dad with a horrified expression. I saw my father's eyes flash when he caught sight of the turtle and watched him reach around his back for a holstered object. I hurried back up the old steps, picking up the boy in my arms and running us back to my room. I refused to glance behind me.

My dad followed us into my room, where I stood protectively in front of the turtles.

"Rhian, get out of my way," he muttered, holding a dangerous object in his shaking fingers. "These things need to be exterminated."

"No! Dad, listen to me…" I held Michelangelo tightly in my arms. "They're just boys! You can't hurt them. I won't let you! Please, just calm down and talk to me…"

He looked at me seriously, appearing like was going to put his weapon down to hear what I had to say.

"Rhian, put the…boy down." He gestured for me to put Michelangelo with the others that cowered on my bed.

I glanced at the shimmering weapon. "No."

"Put him down and we'll talk about this."

I hesitated for a long time, feeling sweat drip into my mouth. It tasted salty and desperate.

"O…Okay, Dad." I sat Michelangelo down on the bed. "Daddy, please, don't do anything rash. They're just kids. I would do anything I could to convince you not to hurt them." He watched silently as I babbled on. "I'd do anything for these boys. I'd take care of them on my own, I'd eat glass for them, I'd fight of hordes of zombies or scientists for them! Please, just...put the gun down and talk to me about this. I'd do anything…."

My father gave me a sad glare. "Creatures like these are against God's plan. I can't allow them to live." He held up the metal object and pointed it at Leonardo. I screamed aloud and, as he pulled the trigger, I ensured my body was in front of the boys. The bullet hit and settled into my stomach, where blood began pouring out of me. My father's expression was that of pale, utter shock. He dropped his gun as I dropped to the floor.

"Father…." I muttered as I began losing consciousness. "I'd…bleed for them."