Nana korobi, ya oki.
Fall down seven times, get up eight.
1: Fifteen Years Ago
Yoshi-san, your face!
I'm all right, it's just a bruise.
It was him again, wasn't it.
He came at me this time. I defended myself, that's all.
A man like that has no honor, Yoshi-san. He's going to do something terrible someday. I know it.
You worry too much, beloved. I can handle Oroku Saki.
Let's leave this place. Go to America like you've wanted.
So soon after the baby? Tang Shen-
She's strong. So am I. Please, before he makes monsters of you both...
Hamato Yoshi came out of sleep and hastily muffled a pained cry. It turned into a muffled sob that nonetheless echoed brokenly in the abandoned subway tunnel he had bedded down in. Eighth night in a row- memories bubbling up from happier times still too fresh to think about.
He sat up in the pile of rags that served as a bed and ran a clawed hand down his face- his muzzle- and strained entirely-too-keen ears upward. It was relatively quiet above, which meant it was still probably in the small hours before dawn, and Yoshi had to fight back a wave of utter exhaustion. He was constantly hungry these days, and now the nightmares robbed him of sleep.
At least he seemed to have found a place so deep and forgotten that Manhattan's population of vagrants and homeless no longer haplessly stumbled upon a man-sized rat monster in the dark. He could only imagine the sorts of stories now circulating in hushed I'm-Not-Crazy-But tones on the surface above.
A rustle drew him out of what promised to be another long pity-wallow. A plaintive chirp pulled him to his feet and over to the rusted doorless bulk of a refrigerator laying on its back to form an impromptu bassinet lined with layers of old newspaper for a nest. He knelt at its side and peered in, squinting in the underground gloom.
Another pair of eyes stared back at him. The eyes' little owner whimpered quietly, and Yoshi reached in and let the tiny creature cling to his hand; he knew by now that if he didn't calm the one, the other three would awaken and sleep would be completely out of the question, nightmares or no. All four were huddled together in one end of the fridge, with the wakeful one on its back on top of the pile.
Hmm, that was probably the source of the little one's discomfort. No turtle liked to be on its back. Yoshi carefully turned it over and settled it back down in the nest with its fellows. He tried to withdraw, hoping that now that he'd solved the problem, the turtle would go back to sleep and Yoshi could then attempt to do the same.
The turtle's grip on his hand, however, was strangely strong.
Yoshi bent closer.
The turtle had hands. Thumbs, even. Two stubby fingers and a sturdy opposable thumb to each hand, to be exact, doing their best to keep Yoshi from leaving. And those eyes, wide and curious, studying him with a directness he'd never seen any reptile display. A quick check of the other three revealed that they, too, had developed hands. Their limbs looked a little longer, at that.
Of course, in barely a month's time, they'd gone from the size of silver dollars to as big around in the shell as large dinner plates, so he really shouldn't have been that surprised. The same glowing, burning substance that had given him a pelt and a tail had also bathed his new pets. Who knew what it had done to them?
With an inexplicable tightness in his chest, Yoshi reached his free hand in and gently stroked the turtle's smooth, round head. Its eyes closed and it murmured contentedly, sleepily nuzzling a cheek against the hand it still held captive.
In moments the little one was asleep again. Yoshi reclaimed his hand and sat bewildered beside the fridge.
He'd considered leaving the turtles behind somewhere, back in those first few days of confusion and horror at his transformation. Trying to scrounge for food and look for hiding places while caring for four tiny reptiles seemed absurd even in his shock, but he hadn't been able to convince himself to abandon them. He'd always prided himself on taking his responsibilities seriously, but really- he'd just turned into a giant rat-man abomination, surely nobody could fault him for worrying more about himself than a bowlful of pet-shop green turtles.
Yet almost immediately after being doused with the glowing ooze, his pets had begun to act in ways that were distinctly un-turtle. They followed him with the desperate determination of puppies not wanting to be left behind by a mother dog. They whimpered and cheeped piteously if he were out of sight for longer than a moment.
In spite of the strangeness, or perhaps because of it, Yoshi gladly let his pets be a distraction. In the disastrous, bizarre turn his life had taken, he was painfully aware that he needed to keep hold of any reason to carry on, lest he fall into a potentially suicidal mood. For now, at least, that reason could be the care and mystery of his turtle charges.
He wondered what Tang Shen would have thought of it all.
Oh. Oh, that had been a mistake.
Yoshi's throat knotted up and he battered back the urge to scream uselessly into the empty tunnel. He'd only just begun to come to terms with their deaths- kind Tang Shen and Miwa, beautiful baby Miwa. He'd lost everything. His family, his home, his new life in America, even his humanity.
Yoshi stumbled back to his bed of rags and buried his face, clenching handfuls of shabby cloth so tightly his knuckles cracked and his claws bit through and into his palms.
Oroku Saki had a great deal to answer for.
Yoshi supposed vengeance was an acceptable reason to live too.