Wow, I finally got around to posting an actual story on this site and I have to say, just clicking the "Publish" button was the real accomplishment here. I'm honestly not one to share my work so publicly with others (if at all really), but this idea has been swimming in my mind for MONTHS and I just had to get it all on (digital) paper. So here it is! My first ever fic!

Fair warning though, this will be a long one. So if you're prepared for an epic slow burn full of action-pack battles, edge-of-your-seat suspense, love at first fight, and of course, pepperoni pizza with absolutely no anchovies...then do I got a treat for you.

Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT or any of the characters within the TMNT universes.

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11:06 pm – 25 mins before the explosion

Franklin J. Henry sighed for the umpteenth time before throwing back his head and quickly downing the rest of his Dunkin' Donuts coffee. Though bitter and not exactly warm, it was the only thing that kept his eyes from closing and his head from slamming face-first into the desk in front of him. Secretly, however, he wished for something better—something a little bit stronger and not exactly appropriate whilst on the job. But Frank wasn't stupid and he knew that that dream couldn't come true lest he want to lose his job. So, he groaned and dragged a hand down his face, lightly slapping his cheeks to keep his eyes opened.

Damn. These goddamn night shifts were starting to get the best of him. Why did he take this job again? He must have asked himself this question about a million times.

One thing was for sure, he was definitely getting too old for this shit, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was literally starting to show. His body creaked every time he had to get up. His hair was no longer black, his posture was no longer straight, and his eyes, once bright and blue, were now dimmed and dulled with absolute boredom.

God, maybe it was time to retire. Maybe living off of social security wasn't such a bad idea after all. It sure beat sitting around here every night, waiting for the sun to rise.

Frank paused his thinking and glanced at his surroundings. The museum's security desk was situated in the astrology district—a room full of replicate vessels, NASA artifacts, and other space-related knick-knacks and doohickeys that the security guard had absolutely no interest in staring at for hours on end. From the ceiling hung all eight planets, each ranging from different sizes and colors to give the space district an even greater appeal to kids and the usual astrology enthusiasts. From somewhere within the wooden rafters, hidden projectors cast down a magnificent array of dots and dashes, mimicking the stars and constellations that, when paired with the museum's pitch black floors, made the whole area seem like an actual galaxy. The room was beautiful and surreal, but to someone like Frank, the entire area was nothing more than one, giant migraine.

Maybe it was time to quench his pride and accept the fact that he was old.

He scoffed. Old and stubborn was more like it.

Frank sighed for a thousandth time that night and lifted his coffee cup back up, only to curse when he realized it was empty.

Goddamnit. Reluctantly, he got up, ignoring the loud pops of his joints and started to make his way back towards the break room. As much as a guy like him enjoyed hiding out for long periods of time during his shifts, Frank absolutely dreaded going to the break room.

The BR was small, housing a small table with a couple of chairs, some stools, and what could barely be called a kitchenette. The fridge, however, was pretty big— a good thing he supposed, if not for the fact that people continually neglected to clean the damn thing out. Month-old food reign long and true behind its doors and just opening them generated the risk of releasing a new plague out in the streets, let alone the museum. It was a good way to clear a room, that was for sure. But what Frank dreaded the most was not the fridge, but the goddamn coffee maker.

The coffee maker, if one could even call it that, was too much for his small tolerance to handle. Why? Because the stupid thing could never get his request right. All he wanted was a plain black coffee, but with all buttons and options that littered the surface, it was damn near impossible for the man to get anything that wasn't foamed, steamed or smothered in sugar.

A noise from his left suddenly jerked Frank from his thoughts and quickly, he grabbed a flashlight from his belt and clicked it on. Frank turned towards the sound's direction and cautiously stepped forward, shinning the light into what looked like the history district. Glass cases and windows divided the exhibits into multiple sections—some focusing on wars and revolutions, others on cultures and evolution. Within their transparent confinements, artifacts and display models of the past sat innocently, untouched.

Shaking his head, Frank stepped through the entrance, briefly pausing before turning down one of the many pathways. Not really paying attention, Frank shined his light through the cases, half-hoping to find the source of the sound, but upon coming across a bunch of weird looking knives and swords, Frank realized he must have chosen the path that led to the Asian culture section.

Not seeing anything out of place, Frank continued through the enclosed walkway until it opened into another large, spacious room. The room held many open exhibits, with mannequins dressed in a multitude of Asian attire, ranging from traditional Japanese garb to straight up samurai warrior armor. Pausing at the said samurai station, Frank cringed at the figure, both large and menacing behind the red stanchion.

It was positioned in the front, away from the Japanese temple backdrop, in a crouched position, and decked head to toe in a mixture of leather coverage and metal plates. On its head was a simple black kabuto helmet with a red shogun mask that seemed to smile a bloodthirsty smile, while strapped to its back were what Frank assumed to be two, large swords in a criss crossing pattern. Frank took a step closer and knelt down to its eye level.

"You're an ugly sonofabitch, aren't ya," Frank muttered.

He looked at it, almost expecting it to move like some stupid horror movie plot, but it's empty eyes just stared back, unwavering and inanimate.

Suddenly, another noise sounded in the distance and Frank felt his heart leap up into his throat. This time, however, it had sounded extremely close by and had been a much heavier thump than the previous ones. Quickly retracting himself from the samurai exhibit, Frank darted around the corner, ready to face the culprit.

What he wasn't expecting, however, was to see a woman balanced precariously on a rolling chair trying to reach for something from the top shelves of a bookcase. The office door was open, acting as the only source of light in the darkness of the history exhibit and inside, contained a small computer desk that was practically buried under stacks of files, papers, and thick, leather-bound textbooks. Frank watched as the girl finally snatched one of the books she was reaching for and, without looking, drop it onto the desk behind her.

THUMP.

Well, there goes that mystery. Frank shook his head and clicked off his flashlight, watching her reach for another tome and stretch up on her tiptoes. Just as he was about to call out and ask what the hell she was doing in there, the woman suddenly gasped and stumbled forward, causing the chair to pivot and roll out from beneath her feet. Frank instinctively lurched forward to catch her, but was too late and could only watch as the woman shrieked and tumbled to the floor in an ungraceful heap, her impact causing a stack of papers to follow and fall on top of her.

And if Frank hadn't been such a gentleman, he might have laughed.

"Jesus Lady. Are you alright?" he asked as he maneuvered over the fallen debris and reached out a hand towards the girl covered in paper. The woman gratefully accepted it, and allowed herself to be yanked out of the paper pile and back up onto her feet.

While dusting her clothes off, she looked up at Frank sheepishly. "Yes, thank you." She glance at the toppled over chair and sighed despondently. "I guess that wasn't such a good idea now that I think about it."

"Ya think?" She cringed in embarrassment and slowly began crouching down to pick up the fallen pieces of paper from the floor. Frank sighed as he noticed the museum employee badge around her neck and bent down to help her.

"Shouldn't you have gone home by now? It's past ten."

Without looking up, the woman shrugged. "I had some work I had to finish up before I could go home, but it's taking me a lot longer to do than I expected. I guess I just lost track of time."

Frank pointedly glanced at the stacks of files on her desk. "Just what exactly are you working on anyway?"

Half of the folders he could see were labeled in bright, red ink displaying: LEVEL FIVE ACCESS across the cover and looking back at the woman, Frank noticed she seemed young, barely-out-of-college age, let alone having the demeanor of someone with level five access.

"Just a grad project," she said airily.

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Is this even your office?"

The woman nodded "Of course it is. I just moved in a couple days ago and actually unpacked the last box this morning. That's why it's so..." She gestured around to the chaos at their ankles, "...messy."

Suddenly, she shook her head. "I'm sorry. Where are my manners? I'm Katana Chaplin," she said as she straightened what Frank assumed was the nameplate on her desk. "The new assistant curator of the Japanese Culture exhibit. You can just call me Kat, though." Frank hesitated before briefly shaking her tiny hand.

"Frank Henry."

"Well, Mr. Henry. It's a pleasure to meet you. I haven't really met anybody other than my bosses and it tends to get rather lonely up here, if I'm honest."

"Frank's fine. And you really shouldn't be up here anyways at this time. You could trip the alarms."

"Oh well, you don't have to worry about me though, I don't really plan on leaving the office tonight. I have to finish the weekly reports and then work on my project, so I'll probably be here for the remainder of the night." The woman finally finished picking up the remaining pieces of paper and began making her way back to her desk. She sat down as if to emphasize her finality and began typing something with rapid speed on her computer, not caring to see if the man was going to argue with that statement or not.

Frank sighed, not really looking forward to throwing the young woman out and face getting an earful from the actual curator if she was in fact allowed to be there. In his eyes, this was a "I didn't see anything" scenario. Plus, this was the history district after all and he was technically in charge of the astrology district.

However, before he left, Frank did check her ID card and was admittedly surprised to see that she was at a level five privilege, but only for the labs, not the archives. He raised an eyebrow and glanced back up at the woman, noting she looked nothing like any of the lab rats he had seen moseying around in the corridors, but, like he said, not his problem. He was too old to care at this point and with that, the security guard handed the card back with a nod and didn't say anything else other than "Have a nice night".

Because really, what was the harm in looking in a bunch of old files and books anyway?

With the intent of scrummaging up some coffee and the farfetched hope of catching the last inning of the Yankees' game, Frank began to make his way back towards the break room as was his original intention, completely unaware that the two-sworded samurai from before was no longer crouching where it had last been seen.

Comments and Reviews always welcomed! I 'd love to know your thoughts! And of course, stay tuned for more. This is only the prologue after all.

- P.R.