Chapter 3 – Home is . . .

Inside his apartment, Yoshi stood, staring at his alien reflection in the dirty mirror hanging over the back of his bathroom door. His hands were braced on either side of the frame, shoulders hunched, head lowered, eyes raised. Blood-shot but glittering amber eyes, holding nothing familiar within them, stared back. Every second or so, the skin beneath one eye twitched. Water from where he'd splashed it upon his face streamed down the long white whiskers at the end of his gray muzzle to form fat drips before slipping free to splat onto the ceramic tiles below. The little pattering noises seemed like a rat-tat-tat of a drum line to his ears.

In the cover of twilight he'd made his way back to his tiny apartment only two blocks from the pet shop he'd visited that morning in search of some type of companionship. No one had seen him as he darted between garbage bins and the occasional rusted, abandoned vehicle in the alleyways he chose to run through. Though he wanted to believe this was all nothing but a nightmare, Yoshi knew the terrible truth. He knew it was as real as the long pale tail that whipped and lashed about behind him; knocking debris all over the alley and making a clattering noise with every step; until finally, he grabbed the end and held it against his chest as he scurried in the direction of his apartment.

It was real. A nightmare come to life. Of that there was no doubt. He no longer fought against the truth of the matter. The man he once was, only hours before was completely gone. Replaced with this abomination of nature he beheld in the mirror. Head, hands, feet, body; twisted and deformed into something not human and not animal. Even his eyes had been changed. This hurt the most for some reason. He could not recognize his eyes, he realized with anguish crushing his features. He turned one hand over and observed his palm, pink and hair-less, the long fingers with the slightly curved claws at each end. His shoulders slumped with sickening resignation.

The canister that hit him, the contents were responsible for this transformation. Just as the strange men with laser guns were some beings from a science fiction movie, so was the liquid that had assaulted him from their vehicle. Whoever they were, whatever they were, they were responsible for this. He balled his hand into a slow, tight fist; dropping it to his side. And yet, something stirred deep within him; a profound revelation. It was not only the men with the glowing goo that was responsible. For surely karma had graced him with her long overdue but not wholly unexpected visit.

He backed up, away from the mirror, one claw going to cover his eyes as pried the bathroom door open. In a daze, he moved into the cramped room that served as his bedroom. Only big enough to fit a twin-sized bed and a small dresser. At one side of his bed was a rectangular chest that held the few treasures from his life in Japan; his collection of weapons, mostly, that he cherished and had salvaged from the blaze all those years ago.

He crossed the room in three steps and sat heavily on the edge of his neatly made bed. He reached out with a shaking hand and pulled the top-most drawer open. Rifling around until his fingers felt the smooth surface, he pulled free a folded and wrinkled picture. He drew it back and carefully unfolded it on his lap. A young woman; her hair done up in a traditional thick bun on the top of her head, stared with large, dark eyes seriously into the camera. A small bouquet held in her fist in front of her chest; protectively. A much younger Hamato Yoshi stood proudly next to her; his expression one of triumph; of pride. Yoshi huffed. The damn fool.

This was punishment. For the sins of his youth. His arrogance and pride; his envy and possessiveness. He thought when he lost her in the fire after their heated argument, that, that would have been enough. That the pain of loss, the haunting guilt, along with the knowledge of his beloved's gruesome death would have assuaged the invisible forces that toyed with all men's lives. How wrong he was.

He'd made his mistakes, thinking she'd come to love him eventually was his biggest. And whether that was truly borne from his arrogance and pride or rather something more righteous, like the desire to make her happy, to give her a life he never could, Yoshi would never know. Yoshi understood what he'd hoped it had been. For what man wishes to acknowledge the worst about himself?

He'd promised her a life filled with every material thing she could wish for as well as his heart, yet, his gifts and his love was not what she'd yearned for in the secret depths of her heart. Yoshi could never be the man that Tang Shen yearned after. And once the arrangements had been finalized and they were married, she had tried. He knew now that she had tried. But he could see right through her carefully placed veil. In her eyes, it was there; that faraway look when he kissed her. And when he held her she was never really there. He should have let her go. It would have been better for everyone if he'd only swallowed his pride and released her. Another truth he'd learned too late. What a fool he'd been. And still a fool, it seemed, because he thought fate and karma had finished with him.

Slowly, his eyes raised again to stare into the alien reflection. This time in the small, dusty mirror above his dresser. Sorrow and regret played across them as he sat there, motionless.

As the years rolled away from that painful day of the fire, when he'd lost everything, he built his new life, his more humble life, here in this land of freedom and opportunity. He had little, but he had enough. In time, he grew complacent, nearly happy even. Yoshi shook his head sadly and refolded the picture. He sat it on the dresser.

He should have known that the shadows of his youth were long and twisted and followed him no matter how far he'd run. Would he ever be free of his past? Would fate be content with this turn of events? For he could not think of anything worse befalling him.

Just as hope was growing dim, the perpetually optimistic part of his heart began to glow with an idea. Perhaps this situation was merely temporary, he thought, a small flicker of hope flamed to life within him. He didn't know what was in that substance, after all. It could have been something that wears off in time. All he needed to do was stay out of sight. He could do that. He could stay here in his apartment. He had a little money saved from the last job he had at the grocery store unloading deliveries and stocking shelves. In the meantime, he could devote himself to learning more English. Then, when he was back to normal he could get himself a better paying job, one that would allow him to finally apply for the loan to open his martial arts school. Yoshi blinked and sat straighter, his heart lightened with the visions of a happy future floating just beyond his reach. Perhaps things would work out fine, after all.

The pounding on his front door had him jumping up from the bed. Heart racing from the sudden noise, he crept from the bedroom down the short hall to his tiny living room. He stood still in the center of the room; head tilted to one side. His tail swished behind him. Every time it moved left, it struck the corner of the wall painfully, Yoshi flinched. Thankfully the strike of his fleshy appendage against the drywall made only the smallest of sounds. He grabbed it from behind him and held it still. This damn thing. He needed to gain better control of it. His keen nose moved slightly to the left at the edge of his snout as it picked up the familiar, pickled scent of shaving lotion and alcohol. His sensitive ears twitched as they caught the scrit-scritching noise of his landlord scratching himself and the grumbling curses under his breath.

The pounding came again and Yoshi jumped. The spring of his strong thighs carried him much further and much higher with much less effort than he ever could move as a man. He realized with a start that he now stood on his kitchen table. Climbing down and mentally chiding himself for being on the table, he paused as the sound of paper scrapping across the floor reached him. He scurried into the living room and his eyes fell on the envelope as it came to a sliding stop near his feet. Yoshi turned his head left and right and then slowly reached down to pick up the envelope. His developed nose caught the scent of hamburger grease and he saw the dirty thumb print that the scent belonged to. His stomach cramped. He moved into the kitchen as he opened the letter. An uneasy feeling roved over him as he realized it was in fact from his landlord and he remembered it had been some weeks since he last paid his rent.

Placing a kettle of water on the stove he turned the burner on then reached into a cabinet to fetch some crackers all while reading the contents of the letter his landlord had slipped beneath his front door. He frowned as he placed the box of crackers on the table and glanced around at a loss. What else? He sighed as his free hand rubbed his middle. His stomach growled. There wasn't much to be had. He'd already eaten the left-over rice he had in his refrigerator when he'd gotten home, wracked with terrible hunger.

He tossed the eviction notice onto the table with a huff as the kettle began to whistle behind him. As he got out his favorite and only mug, Yoshi sighed. It seemed fate was not quite done with him yet. Dimly he wondered where a giant rat could go in this city and not be molested by scientists, thugs, nosey news reporters or mutant creatures bent on harming him. Whether it was some instinct borne out of his newly merged DNA or a subconscious desire to return to the only spot that seemed safe in the moment of his terror after his earlier attack, his mind went to the sewers.


Leo and Raph were the strongest, so they took turns picking up and holding Mikey as the group trudged onward; holding him around the middle as he squealed in joy each time another took over the task. They had tried to let him crawl and toddle along, but he kept veering off in different directions and the one leading them kept getting angry and hissing at them to hurry up or he'd leave them in the dark to be eaten by monsters. Monsters that hid in the dark and loved to devour sweet little turtle-boys like them.

Don followed quietly behind as the four of them followed the rat as he ventured relentlessly on, deeper into the tunnels. He had tried to carry Mikey, but he was too small and Mikey was too heavy. So, he brought up the rear of the group, constantly glancing over his shoulder in case one of the monsters were following them. He could at least let them know if he spotted one. He rubbed his hands over his arms and shivered. He really hoped there weren't any monsters in this tunnel.

Because he wasn't occupied with carrying Mikey, and he was keeping a sharp eye open for any monsters lurking in the shadows around them, it was Don who spotted the door. His footsteps faltered then stopped as his sharp mind whirled as he considered what may be behind it. Was it something good? Something bad? He wasn't sure, but he did know he was tired. The bottoms of his feet hurt and his legs ached from all the walking. And he hadn't been carrying around Mikey. His brothers must be tired, too, he speculated. They needed to stop. This might be a safe place for them.

He stood in front of the door as the others continued on, oblivious to its existence or the fact that he had stopped. He tipped his head to the side and brushed his fingers against the splintery, thin wood. He decided it might be a good thing to go inside and see what was behind it. His face shot to the figures of his brothers disappearing further into the darkness of the tunnel.

"Uh . . . oh. Um! L-Leo!" he called tentatively, then more urgently, "Leo! Leo!" cupping his hands to his cheeks, fearing he was going to be left behind, in the dark, alone. With the monsters. He swallowed and called out again, his small voice echoing around the tunnel. His shoulders hunched and his eyes darted around. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But it wasn't Leo that came back. It was the big black rat creature. He loomed suddenly, a living shadow erupting from the surrounding blackness around him. Don cringed back until his shell hit the door.

"You, what are you squealing about?"

"Uh, um . . ." Don turned around and patted the door with his hand. He glanced over his shoulder up at the rat, hoping he'd understand what he meant. Scrag looked up, his good eye adjusting as he turned his head to the left to see better. It was a door. The fur bristled at the back of his neck. What was this? Hidden underground beneath the subway and the sewers. What was a man thing like a door doing down here in the darkness? He stepped forward and knocked the little turtle-boy to the side with a backhand. He made a soft sound and scrambled out of the way.

Scrag listened. Not with his ears, but his body. He held it tense and stiff as he pressed the side of his face against the door. The sensations came to him. Men had been here. Their scent was thick, aged but still present. They were possibly still around or might come back any moment. He pulled back as if he'd been burnt. He glared down at Don whose eyes glittered up at him in the dark. And this little dim-wit was standing here squawking and bringing unwanted attention to them.

Scrag snarled and raised his fist. "Stupid! Stupid!" he rasped and brought his fist down again and again.

The turtle-boy ducked but the blows struck him on the top of his head and the sides of his arms as he lifted them to block. Don fell to his knees then dropped down; cowering beneath his shell; arms covering his head as the blows continued to rain down upon him. Scrag shook his hand and grimaced in pain after his last punch struck the hard material of the turtle's carapace. Don whimpered as he cried softly and trembled but didn't move from his curled up position.

Scrag lurched forward as someone pushed him from behind. He spun around to see Raph standing there, legs spread, knees bent slightly, hands balled into small fists held out on either side of him. His amber eyes gleamed. The little bastard was growling at him.

Scrag twisted and violently backhanded him. The force of the blow knocked Raph sideways into the thin paneling of the door. His body broke through it as he tumbled inside. Scrag hissed in dismay. No! No, not in there! The men will discover us! He hurried and pulled open what remained of the door; his face darting about, looking for Raph. He caught the dim sight of the top of the little turtle's round head bouncing down a narrow hallway as he ran. Why that little . . .

Scrag turned, desperate, worried. He turned to Leo who had just appeared from down in the tunnel, awkwardly holding his sleeping baby brother in his arms. Scrag reached over and pushed him roughly through the entrance, then picked up Don by the edge of his shell near the back of his neck and shoved him after Leo.

Don stayed close to the back of his brother's shell, nearly stepping on his heels as he walked. Mikey's head was lulling on his brother's shoulder, mouth open, drool slipping down his shell. His head and arms hurt from where he was hit. He rubbed his nose and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He only wanted to help. He didn't mean to do anything wrong. The passageway was narrow and dark but less scary than the tunnels had been. Still, Don worried that monsters might be hiding at the end of the tunnel to get them. He was glad that Leo was in front of him. Just seeing his big brother's shell in front of him made him feel a little better.

Scrag followed close behind the sniffling turtle-boy, his body rigid with fear and every sense on alert. As he limped into the narrow hallway, he clawed at the walls propelling him after the small forms ahead of him. Left, right. Left, right. If the men grabbed the turtles, he could flee. They would not get him. No, he was too clever for that. And he'd be too quick. Let them have the little wretches instead.

The narrow passageway opened up into a wide open room with a high ceiling. Scrag looked up and saw wires hanging exposed from between pipes of various thicknesses. To the left was a large mattress pushed up against the wall. A pile of dirty blankets and pillows were strewn about. Next to it was an old television set. In front of the set was another pile of pillows and a worn couch.

Leo set Mikey down on the couch where he coo'd then rolled to the side and went back to sleep. He turned and picked up a tattered blanket full of moth-eaten holes from the floor. A cloud of dust erupted around him as he shook it out and covered Mikey with it. Leo then moved over to the mattress. His arms shook as he crawled over the mattress and laid down on his stomach, his arm making a pillow. He was so exhausted he fell immediately to sleep.

Raph peeked at them from behind the couch. He looked down at his two sleeping brothers and yawned. He spotted Don and waved to him who was still sniffling and looking around. Raph slowly moved around the couch. He climbed up to the cushions and then curled up next to Mikey. He hugged him tight and closed his eyes. Don moved next to Leo and laid down, resting his cheek on his hands. He was still scared but suddenly he couldn't keep his eyes open. Soon, all four brothers were sound asleep.

As the children settled in and fell asleep, Scrag moved deeper into the room, still wary, still careful. The scent of men was strong, but old. Dust and mildew coated everything. Cobwebs covered the corners where the brick walls met the ceiling. Garbage and empty containers of fast food, cigarette butts, beer bottles intact and broken littered the floor in large piles. A large heap of clothing sat collecting dust and growing mold in one corner.

Scrag looked to his left to see a crooked stack of shelves against the wall laden with canned food items. Everything was covered in a gray layer of dust. But food was good. Very good. Next to that, several feet over, was a set of pipes protruding from the wall and an old rust covered basin that seemed to have served as a sink or bath tub, he didn't know, it was large enough to be a small tub. One of the pipes had a spigot and a valve to turn it on and off with a twist. There was a partial wall and on the other side, Scrag saw a cracked and filthy toilet covered in thick dust and cobwebs positioned in the corner.

He turned to his right. As he explored deeper, he noted another mass of pillows in a heap behind the couch and an entrance to a room just behind the couch and pillows on the floor off to the side. To the left of that doorway, Scrag peered into the opening of another narrow tunnel: a back door, he mused; sniffing the air and tasting the freshness seeping down from the opening it led to. He turned back to the entrance of the room behind the couch. A thin blanket hung over the opening as a makeshift door. Carefully, he edged his feet through the piles of garbage. He gathered the fabric with one hand and pulled it aside.

Scrag froze. There in the center of the room, laying on another large, musty mattress was a man. Scrag's lip pulled back in a snarl. His oily fur bristled and stood up on end making him look much larger. He'd fight if he had to. He'd bite and claw, tear and rip. Eyes and throat and all the other places soft and vulnerable that Scrag knew to attack. Yes, where they were soft. That's where he'd rend the flesh and drink the blood as it spilled. A thrill of anticipation raced through him.

Rigid with fear and agitation, he waited. But the man was not moving. Scrag inched closer. The man was quiet and unnaturally still. He reached out with one tip of his claw and nudged the man's dirty, bare foot. Nothing. He poked the rubbery flesh and pulled his claw back quickly. Nothing, still. He slithered even closer and listened with his double senses. His tattered ears flicked in the gloom; he reached out to feel anything. Anything at all. Nothing. The man was here but was not. Scrag sat back on his haunches. Not a man any longer. He was a dead thing.

Scrag considered him as he sniffed once more. No, not good to eat. Too old, dried out and rotten. They could not use the man for meat. But they could use this place. Scrag thought, his mind racing. If men come, he could hide, he thought as his eye rolled up to the pipes in the ceiling. They'd be distracted by the turtle-boys while he was safe. Then later, he could escape.

Yes, they would use this place, Scrag decided. For the time being. It was a hidden place. It would work just fine as their new home.


A/N: In the spirit of taking my time with this story, I feel like all the pieces are coming together nicely. But I hope it hasn't been too slow - In the next chapter, we shall jump ahead in time a bit. You didn't think I was going to leave Mikey a drooling baby through this entire thing, did you? XD And we'll be getting into the turtles POVs as well. They were just too little right now and were mostly scared and confused at this point. Let me know how I'm doing - Review, please!