Hello everyone!

Here is my first full-length Ninja Turtles story, and involves Puerto Rican cuisine, gangs, unlikely friendships, and, of course, mutants! Quite an interesting combination, isn't it? This story does not take place in a specific TMNT universe, instead drawing from many different TMNT universes for inspiration, and it starts in late March 2016.

BIG thanks to RemTar85 for his help making this story come to be; he advised me and informed me about Puerto Rican culture and food while writing this story, as well as helping me with the Spanish words.

Enjoy!

Note: Conversations in Italics are in Spanish unless otherwise stated (and emphasized words are usually in italics or all caps).

NEW NOTE (11/12/22) - I have rewritten and edited this story in the first nine chapters, as well as getting rid of the original prologue! This was done to improve my story's quality, and I corrected some grammar errors as well.

A Delivery Gone Wrong

March 2016

Even before getting abducted, my day hadn't been going very well.

First, my cousin Manny got sick with the flu, so I had to do most of the morning prep work by myself, meaning I had to skip breakfast so I could avoid being late for school. He would be out for at least a week, meaning I'd have to cover for him during that time. And school was no better; I had forgotten that I had a quiz in History, and I probably failed it, seeing that I knew nothing about the Italian Renaissance. I also ended up on the losing team for dodgeball in PE, got last week's Science homework back with a spiky red 67 scrawled across the top, and my crush, Esperanza Gomez, still hadn't noticed me.

So in a way, me getting kidnapped was the highlight of my day.

I live smack dab in the middle of the Washington Heights neighborhood, on the northern part of the island of Manhattan, and I have lived there my whole life. All I know is this small area of the city that I went to school in, worked in, and went to church in. I rarely left the neighborhood, save for a field trip to some museum back in the fifth grade, or to deliver a food order that was farther away (even then the farthest I had ever gone was 100th street). For all I knew, the ten-by-ten block area I lived in was all that existed in the world.

Located in this square trap was my family's restaurant. My grandfather had opened it back in the seventies after immigrating from Puerto Rico with his family, and my dad took over after he died. It was a family-run business, meaning I, as one of my dad's children, had to help out whether I liked it or not. Want to be a lawyer or work somewhere outside of the restaurant business? Too bad. You were stuck working at La Libertad six days a week for the rest of your natural life, unless you somehow saved up enough money to escape (and this was impossible, since we never got paid).

At least my older brother Arturo was lucky; he would get the restaurant when my dad died, meaning he could shut it down on a whim and leave the rest of us jobless and with no experience outside of waiting tables and cleaning dishes. And he would. Arturo was a jerk to just about everyone, save our dad and the elders of the family, who thought he was the perfect son who could do no wrong. My younger sisters weren't as perfect, but still got some respect since they were my dad's little princesses.

And me? Let's just say being the middle child sucks.

I know that each family is different, and that not all middle children have horrible lives that consist of annoying siblings, a short-tempered parent, and either being neglected or constantly having someone over their shoulder. I'm just saying that for me, being the middle child was the equivalent of being the runt of the litter, despite not being the youngest. I was either overlooked by most of my family, or given the most jobs to do, and if I tried to argue about the injustice of it all, I was quickly shot down and reprimanded.

So this was my life. Wake up early most mornings to help prepare the food to be served later that day. A quick breakfast, then school. Home, an hour or two to do homework and rest before going downstairs to work a six to eight hour shift (which was longer if I had to help clean the restaurant that night). Then some more homework before getting too tired, and then to bed, and the cycle repeated itself. 365 days a year, save for some holidays, constantly working without end.

Sundays were slightly different, since the restaurant was closed and we didn't have to cook anything (unless we were catering a church event). We went to church and Ispent most of the day catching up on all the homework I was behind with. There was youth group in the evening, but we always had to leave that early so that we could get enough sleep to wake up early on Monday. It was the same routine week after week, never getting to do anything I wanted to do, because I was so busy helping my family members whenever they slacked off with their work.

Was I mad that no one ever really thanked me for going above and beyond what I was supposed to do, giving 110% when others were pushing it at 60%? Of course. But what could I do about it? Trying to talk to my dad was like playing a rigged game of Russian Roulette; I lost every time. He refused to listen to whatever I had to say, and when he did, he would either chastise me, guilt trip me, or ask me why I wasn't more like Arturo. Mamá would have listened to me if she were still alive, but she was in Heaven now, so all I could do is pray for some kind of change in my life.

Apparently, prayer works a lot better that I had originally thought, as I soon learned.

[]

"Contra," I muttered, looking at the schedule to see that I was on cleanup duty for the third time that week. Arturo was supposed to help clean today, and I wondered what excuse he gave my dad to get out of it. The only way I would get out of a shift was if I was vomiting in a toilet upstairs (and even then he made me feel like I was hurting the restaurant by not working).

"Though shit, cuz," my cousin Jose said, setting a tray of dirty dishes in the sink. He was in his late twenties, and had been working in the restaurant since he was twelve, and he would probably be here in his eighties. "But hey, at least you get to deliver food tonight."

"I do that every night, and I can't drive," I reminded him.

"Oh yeah…" He shrugged, turning back to the dishes. "Watch out for the Purple Dragons, I guess. And take the subway if needed."

"Thanks," I muttered, walking away from the bulletin board as everyone prepared for the dinner rush to start. As if I didn't already know how to deliver food.

"I heard that she's going to name the baby Julio," my other cousin Maria was saying in Spanish, talking with the other waitresses about the latest gossip she no doubt heard at the salon earlier that afternoon. Her hot pink nails encircled a cup of coffee, which she took a sip of before continuing. "Personally, I would've gone with a name like Antonio, but Patricia's never been one for making good decisions."

"Like marrying a guy who works for a moving company," another cousin commented.

"Oh my gosh, Katrina, let it go! They've been married for nearly ten years; stop acting like Carlos is going to dump her and elope with you! He loves her!"

"Ay! I would never think that! You better not be spreading those rumors around!"

"Of course not, though I would probably make sure Julia isn't." Maria leaned forward and spoke in a loud whisper. "She's been telling everyone that you've been trying to hook up with him for months!"

"NO!" Katrina straightened up, looking ready to kill someone. "Where is she?! I'll give her something to tell people when I give her a black eye!"

I left before they could notice me, not wanting their conversation to turn towards me ("Haven't you noticed how skinny and surly Roberto's been looking recently?" "You see it too? I thought it was just me!"), as well as not wanting to be on the receiving end of Katrina's right hook. My other family members were either stirring pots, roasting meat, or chopping vegetables as the nearby wall clock ticked closer to five. The air was humming with the sounds of stoves burning, sink water running, and the various conversations between family members.

As busy as it was now, it would only get busier once the restaurant opened, and soon the fragrant smells of spiced meat and other P.R. delicacies would waft through the air. La Libertad specialized in Puerto Rican food, and was open for a few hours for lunch each day, but closed at two o'clock to allow for dinner preparations. It reopened at five-thirty in the afternoon, and closed at 11. Prep work was required before we opened each time, and cleanup was required afterwards. And let me tell you, cleaning a 5000 square foot restaurant after Family Night is anything but fun.

My phone buzzed, and I checked it to find a text from Arturo.

Thanks for covering my shift, it read. Friend asked if I wanted to hang and I said yes. Let Dad know I'll be back around ten, maybe eleven :)

"Prick," I muttered, pocketing my phone. He clearly knew that I was pissed off at covering his shift again, and that I hated having to talk to my dad. But, knowing it had to be done, I sucked it up and walked to his office.

My dad was sitting in the cramped room, typing something on his ancient computer. He was in his forties, but years of hard work and stress made him look at least ten years older. He was balding, and while he looked tired most of the time, he had the loudest voice and the most energy of everyone in the building.

"Papá," I said, knocking on the doorframe.

"Yes," he asked shortly, not looking over at me.

"Arturo texted and said he'll be back by ten, possibly eleven."

"He already texted me that. Stop telling me stuff I already know and get ready for work. You're on delivery duty tonight."

"I know."

He looked up at me, a frown on his face. "What was that?"

I quickly backtracked. "Yes, Papá. I'll go right away."

"Hmmph." He turned back to his typing, and I quickly left, wishing that I could knock Arturo's smirk off his stupid face.

I quickly left his office, nearly getting trampled by Julia as she ran for her life, being perused by a furious Katrina as my Uncle Antonio and a few of my cousins tried to hold her back with little success. I headed upstairs, to where we lived in a modest apartment above the restaurant. It wasn't big enough for six people, but I shared a room with Arturo, while my twin sisters shared a room. My dad had his own room, and Abue had the guest room.

She was in there now, laying in her bed with a book in her hand. She was old and wrinkled, but always had a kind expression always on her face. She was the grandparent from my mother's side, and I was her favorite grandchild (she never said it, but we both knew it was true). And, given the little affection I got from the rest of my family, I was glad to have her silent support; my conversations with her, along with all of her wisdom, gave me life and cheered me up whenever I felt down.

"Mijo," she said, setting down her book and reaching out to grab my hand. "You had a bad day, didn't you?"

"Not really," I lied.

"Roberto Hernandez," Abue chided me. "Don't you think that just because I'm 81, you can lie to me. What would Jesus think? Do you think that He ever lied to His grandparents?" I sat down on the edge of the bed. "Right?"

I nodded a little. "Si, Abue."

"And I take it you're covering your brother's shift again?"

"Not by choice," I muttered; when did I ever get to choose what I wanted to do? "You know how it is; no use complaining by this point."

"So mature for someone so young."

"I'm fourteen, Abue."

"Still not a man yet," she decided, a smile on her face. "You will be a fine man, finer than your brother. You'll see."

"I know." She always said that, but I could not help but wonder if she was just saying that to cheer me up. It worked. "Sorry for lying. And I guess I'm being kind of selfish, complaining about helping others and giving up my time."

"You still need some time to yourself," Abue said. "Even the Lord rested on the seventh day. I worry about you, Roberto. You don't spend time with friends or do anything a young boy should be doing."

I rolled my eyes. "Arturo does enough of that for the both of us."

A slight frown crossed her face.

"Do not be so cruel to your brother," she said. "It is not right."

"I'm sorry, Abue."

She sighed. "You know, I pray for you every day." She took my hand in hers. "I pray that you will get the life you deserve, and that you will finally be happy."

"Who said I'm unhappy," I asked, forcing a smile onto my face. Abue shook her head sadly, and I leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "I've got to get going; I'm on delivery duty, as usual. Do you want something to eat or drink before I go?"

"I'll be fine for now," she replied. "I'll call downstairs if I need anything."

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too," she replied, smiling and picking up her book as I walked towards the door. "Buenas noches, and be careful out there!"

"I will. Buenas noches," I repeated, heading back downstairs and preparing myself for the long night ahead.

[]

Delivery duty was actually not that bad, and I am glad to be the sole delivery person most of the time. I got to go outside and walk around, which beat washing dishes for several hours straight in a loud and crowded kitchen. Sure, there was still the stress of getting the food delivered in a timely fashion so it didn't get cold or earn the restaurant any complaints, but I liked being by myself. No relatives yelling for orders over the clanging of pans and sizzle of the stove, no dad breathing down my neck, and no slipping on the floor because of spilled water from the sink.

Plus, I could listen to music.

I had my headphones on, listening to some music as I briskly walked up the street, two bags of food in each hand, and a receipt book in my back pocket. While I could not speak for everyone else, I had grown up listening to a blend of today's hits and the best that Latino music had to offer. Selena, Magneto, Flans, Luis Miguel… their music was guaranteed to be heard at every Quince, without fail. But I also had another playlist on my phone, one that no one, not even Abue knew about. And it was this playlist that I was listening to as I made my way up the street past hair salons, bodegas, and other small businesses as I approached my second-to-last stop for the night.

In the Heights! I buy my coffee and I go! (I buy my coffee and I-)

Set my sights on only what I need to know! (What I need to know!)

Yes. I, Roberto Hernandez, was a hardcore (yet secret) theatre nerd.

When I was little, my Mamá had shown us a few musical movies that she had liked, though I didn't fully understand the plots back then. But I liked the music, the large ensemble dance numbers, and the emotions the characters conveyed as they fought, fell in love, and lived their lives to the best of their abilities. Movies like Hello Dolly, West Side Story, The Sound of Music, and The King and I were some of the ones that stuck out in my mind, and helped my secret love for musical theatre grow.

No one else knew about it, and no one else would ever know about it. My siblings and cousins would make fun of me, my dad would discourage me and probably think I was gay (I'm not), and Abue… She would encourage me to follow my dreams, but we both knew that the only dreams allowed in our house were the ones that pertain to the restaurant. Besides, Papa never liked it when we watched those movies, saying that we ought to be learning something 'useful.' If Mamá were still alive, maybe I would have had a chance; she always had a way of convincing my dad to let us do stuff outside of the restaurant every now and then.

But she was dead, and couldn't speak for me. So whenever I saw a sign in the school hallways advertising auditions for a play or a musical, I walked on by as if I hadn't seen it. I listened to ballads and chorus lines whenever I worked on my homework, and sometimes as I was falling asleep.

"Gracias," I said, accepting the money from the man and handing him his food, getting him to sign a receipt. As I walked down the hall, I put the money in an empty passport holder around my neck, so I could keep it safe from pickpockets and the like. I never wore my headphones when talking to customers (my dad would probably kill me if he found out I was listening to music on the job), but as soon as I was out of the building, the music returned.

There actually was a Broadway legend from Washington Heights: Lin-Manuel Miranda. His family was also from Puerto Rico, and like me, he had grown up in the Barrio, surrounded by the rich culture of the people who lived here. He had written my favorite musical (In the Heights, whose album I was currently listening to), and had opened his new musical Hamilton about seven months ago. People were still obsessed with it, and I heard that tickets sold for hundreds of dollars each night. Lin had parents that supported his passion for music and encouraged him to follow his dreams. He had gone to school for theatre, which helped him gain the skills and knowledge he needed to succeed in the musical world. And while he was not someone I overly admired, I had to admit that his passion for musical theatre was inspiring. Plus, his lyrics and music-writing skills were incredible.

If only I could be so openly passionate about my love for theatre.

Yeah I'm a streetlight, choking on the heat.

The world spins around while I'm frozen to my seat.

The people that I know all keep on rolling down the street.

But everyday is different so I'm switching up the beat!

As if I could switch up the beat, I thought, the light changing as I and several other people crossed the street. Usnavi, the lead of the play, had big dreams of leaving his bodega and returning home to San Domingo. The only thing holding him back was money, but through some Broadway plot-convenience, he gets the money he needs to leave. If only stuff like that happened in real life.

I checked my watch for the time. A little after ten. I needed to quickly deliver these last two bags and then I would be heading back to the restaurant. We stopped taking orders after ten, and fortunately, we never got more than twelve orders on average each night. I would head back to the restaurant after this, and start the slow and tedious task of cleaning the restaurant; every booth, every table, every chair, plus sweeping and mopping the floors.

Life was not a musical, no matter how much I wanted it to be. There were no upbeat dance numbers, no crazy coincidences or miscommunications that created drama or solved seemingly impossible problems, and no hope for a better future. There was nothing exciting, and each day seemed just as bad as the day before. I wasn't the main character, or even a part of the chorus; I was off-stage, doomed to sit in the shadows for the rest of my life.

But at least things can't get any worse, I thought, walking by an alleyway just as two hands reached out and grabbed me, pulling me into the darkness.

"AUG-" My scream was cut off as a hand clapped over my mouth, a large arm wrapping around me and pulling me away from the street. My feet dragged on the ground, but they didn't stop me or slow my abductor down. I dropped the two bags of food, trying to pry the person's hand off my face as my headphones were yanked off.

The Purple Dragons, I thought, wondering if the gang had moved up from vandalism and petty thievery to kidnapping and mugging. Just my luck.

"Stop strugglin'," a rough voice said, and I was suddenly punched in the gut, making me double over with pain. Now I knew that there was at least one other person there, and I vaguely saw a large shadow to my right before a bag was shoved over my head.

[]

As I lay in the back of the car with a sack over my head, I thought about how my life couldn't get any worse than this. Then again, I had been thinking that same thought right before getting abducted, so I should probably keep my mind on other things before things did get worse.

At least the guys who had kidnapped me didn't stuff me in the trunk; I was laid out on the car's backseat, my hands tied behind my back and my feet bound together with rope. I leaned towards the back of the seat, not wanting to accidentally roll onto the floor as the car bumped and shook.

My abductors sat in the front seat, talking loudly as music blared over the radio, which muddled their speech (the sack over my head did little to help my hearing). I had no idea what they even looked like; they had grabbed me so fast that I didn't get a look. They must be big, seeing that one of them had slapped a hand over my mouth when they kidnapped me, nearly covering my entire face as he muffled my yell of surprise.

I wondered where the food was; I had been making a delivery to an apartment a few blocks away from my family's restaurant when I was taken. The bag had fallen from my hands, but I could faintly smell the chillo frito al mojito isleño and arroz con gandules wafting through the air. They had probably taken it with them, grateful for a free meal.

Dios te salve, Maria, I prayed in my mind, just in case I was in my final moments. Llena eres de gracia: El Seńor es contigo.

I had no idea why they had taken me, or what they were going to do with me once we reached our destination. Abue always said to trust in the Lord and He will deliver us, and if there was a time to do that, this was it. On the plus-side, if I was killed, then at least I would probably see Mamá again. But I still felt the mortal fear of bodily harm, especially when I felt the car finally stop as my kidnappers put it in park. I held my breath my breath as the music switched off, and the front doors opened and closed.

"Okay, let's get this over with," one of the guys said, and I was suddenly lifted out of the backseat, being carried over someone's shoulder. I tried to wriggle free, but the man held me in a tight grip, smacking the side of my head after he nearly dropped me.

"Stop that or I'll snap your back like a twig," another rough voice said, this belonging to whoever was carrying me. I immediately stiffened like a board, not wanting anything to be broken as I was carried to only God knew where. They had already threatened to hurt me if I yelled for help, so I kept quiet as I was carried to my death.

Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I prayed the last part: Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte - Now and at the hour of our death.

"Amen," I muttered under my breath, feeling myself being flipped upright and sat down in a chair. I felt someone else quickly start to wrap another rope around me, pinning me to the chair as a bright light came on, shining through the fabric of the sack. When I was finished being tied up, the sack was pulled off my head, the bright light momentarily blinding me.

I'm coming, Mamá, I thought, slowly opening my eyes as they adjusted to the light. Now, I would either be beaten, shot, or whatever happened to people that got abducted in New York City. My eyes opened further, and finally, right as I finally saw my captors, one of them said-

"This ain't the right guy!"

[][][]

I gaped up at my two abductors, wondering if my sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on me.

Standing right in front of me were two large guys with animal heads, looking at me as if I were the freaky one. They were both pretty big, built like club bouncers or professional wrestlers; one of them had to have been at least seven feet tall. I had no idea how they got such realistic costumes, but they must have been expensive, given the attention to detail. Besides the masks, they must have been wearing arm sleeves and gloves, since their arms and legs didn't appear look like human skin. It was also clear to me that they were not members of the Purple Dragons; they always travelled in groups of four or more, and they always wore something with a dragon on it.

One of them looked like a rhino, honest to goodness. He had thick grey skin, small ears, and two horns poking out of his snout. He was the taller of the two, and looked like he could snap my spine like a twig, no problem. He wore a plain black t-shirt, camo-colored jeans, and heavy black boots. I noticed that he had a machete strapped to his back and a pair of brass knuckles on his right hand, which did little to assure me of my prospects of leaving unscathed.

The other one looked like a warthog, with coarse brown fur all over his head. He face, neck and arms were also covered with the same hair, he had a large pig's nose with small tusks near his mouth, and (for some bizarre reason) a purple mohawk on his head, which matched the purple sunglasses he wore; even his sideburns, which were also dyed purple. He was wearing a dark green shirt with a red vest and jeans with some holes in them, and boots similar to his friend. He held a wooden baseball bat in his hands, which I noticed was stained a reddish-brown color.

"AAAUGH," I screamed, not just because of how frightening the two costumed thugs looked, but also because I realized what those bat stains were. I jerked away from the warthog, forgetting that I was tied to a chair. I leaned back too far, and the chair tipped over, hitting the floor with a thud, the impact making my teeth rattle.

"Dammit," the warthog said, cursing under his breath as he stepped forward and picked me back up.

"P-Please don't kill me," I begged, finally speaking for the first time as the abductor's bat accidentally hit my leg. "I w-won't say a word t-to anyone, I s-swear!"

"We grabbed the wrong guy," the warthog said, almost to himself, before turning to glare at his friend. "What the heck, Rocksteady?!"

"I thought it was him," the rhino said, looking just as surprised as his friend. "They said he usually hangs around that block-"

"And you didn't check to make sure it was him before puttin' a sack over his head," the warthog snapped.

"Bebop, I-"

"I should've known not to trust ya with somethin' that requires more than one brain cell!"

"Hey! You didn't check neither," the rhino retorted, now sticking up for himself and glaring at his friend. "You're the one that said we had ta grab him quick and get outta there!"

"Like hell I did!"

"Yeah ya did!"

"Did not!"

"Did to!"

"Did not!"

"Did to!"

"Did not!"

"Did to!"

I watched the two animal people bicker back and forth, momentarily stunned by how childish they were acting. Then, realizing that their attention was not on me, I looked around, desperate to find an escape route. We appeared to be in an old warehouse, and to my right I saw a nondescript grey van with tinted windows, and past that, a door with a glowing 'Exit' sign over it.

The two abductors were still arguing, so I slowly and cautiously started to scoot my chair towards the door, using my feet to propel me along. It was slow going, but it was better than just sitting there, waiting for them to remember me. Neither of my kidnappers noticed, and I continued to scoot my way to freedom, gradually getting closer and closer to the door. I had no idea what I would do once I got outside; probably yell for help or something.

Wait, how am I supposed to open the door, I suddenly realized, just as I heard a surprised shout from behind me.

"Hey!" I yelped as the rhino Rocksteady grabbed the back of my chair, dragging me back towards his warthog friend. "Where do ya think you're goin', kid?"

"J-Just let me go," I pleaded. "You said you d-didn't mean to abduct me!"

"Yeah, but we can't just let ya go now," the warthog said, pointing his bat at me. "Not without havin' some fun first!" His friend snickered a little at that, and a thrill of fear ran down my spine. "Ya gotta name?"

"R-Roberto," I automatically replied. "Roberto Hernandez."

"Where do ya live?"

"Uh… I s-shouldn't tell-" I flinched as the abductor tapped my forehead with the bat. "U-Upper Manhattan. Washington Heights."

"Weren't we up there earlier," Rocksteady asked, scratching the side of his head.

"Yes… T-That's where you kidnapped me," I reminded him.

"Oh yeah," the rhino replied, nodding a little. Something told me that he was a little slow on the uptake, but his friend was not.

"We're gettin' off topic," Bebop said, still pointing the bat at my face. "What were ya doin' outside that alleyway?"

I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat, wondering why he even cared to know. "I… I was j-just delivering some food-"

"That explains the bags," the warthog explained, looking over at the car. "What kinda food is it?"

"P-Puerto Rican," I answered. "From my f-family's restaurant."

"It smells weird," the rhino commented.

"It's actually really good," I said, sticking up for my family's food. "Our restaurant's gotten some good reviews-"

"Do we look like we care," Bebop asked. "Because we don't! Now-"

My phone suddenly buzzed, and all three of us turned to look at my right pocket, surprised looks on our faces. It was probably my dad, wondering where the heck I was, but I was unable to take the phone from my pocket and open it.

"I'll break it," Rocksteady said, starting towards me.

"NO," I yelped, trying to scoot my chair away from him.

"Give it to me," the warthog said. The rhino took the phone from my pocket and tossed it to his friend, who looked at the caller ID. "It's your dad."

"He's probably looking for me," I said, though I knew that he was probably just sitting in his office, waiting to chew me out for not making that last delivery.

"Not if he can't track your phone." Bebop turned the phone off, pocketing it. "Now where were we?"

"Please, just let me go," I pleaded, nervous sweat all over my face and under my armpits. "I swear, I won't tell anyone about you kidnapping me!"

"You're funny," the warthog said, taking a few steps back and lightly twirling the bat in his hand. "I know we're the ones who messed up and snatched ya by mistake, but ya gotta understand that we can't just let ya go. Kids like to blab to their friends and parents about everythin'-"

I don't have any friends, I thought grumpily.

"-so maybe we oughta make sure ya can't talk," Bebop continued. "I think I gotta switchblade in my pocket reserved for snitches!"

My fear only jumped from a ten to a ten thousand, and I shook my head.

"P-Please," I begged. "I'll keep my mouth shut! I promise!"

"Like we're gonna take your word on that," Rocksteady said, rolling his eyes a little. "We ain't idiots!"

"C'mon," I pleaded, trying to wriggle free of my bonds with little success. "I won't tell anyone! I don't know your last names, and I don't even know what you really look like!"

"What's that supposed to mean," the rhino asked.

"I don't know who you are under those costumes!"

"These ain't costumes," the warthog said proudly. "We're mutants."

Out of all the things I had expected them to say, that was not one of them. Mutants weren't real, so either they were messing with me, or were missing a few brain cells. Probably the latter.

"Oh… okay," I said tentatively. "I still won't tell anyone."

"We can't take any chances; we gotta make sure we have your silence," Bebop said, now facing me with a grim expression on his face. "It ain't personal or anythin'."

"Wait Wait WAIT," I yelled, trying to scoot away from the thug as he started towards me. "This isn't fair! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You were in the wrong place at the wrong time," Rocksteady said seriously.

"How was I supposed to know that?! Why were you two even there?!"

"Just lookin' for some guy who owes us money," the warthog replied, lining up the bat as he prepared to break my kneecaps. "We were expectin' him to walk by, but he didn't."

"He should have," Rocksteady insisted. "My contact told me that Crazy Louis always hangs out in that area that time of night."

I blinked with surprise, the name sounding very familiar to me. Bebop raised his bat, seconds away from swinging it at me.

"Wait," I cried. "Do you... Do you mean Loco Luis?"

The two animals (or mutants, I suppose), looked at me with surprise, and the warthog slowly lowered the bat.

"You know him," the rhino asked.

"Y-Yeah," I said quickly. "He comes to our restaurant every Friday with his family. Orders the asopao every time."

"Really," Bebop asked, sounding a little suspicious as he looked at me. "What does he look like?"

"Short black hair, has a tattoo of a dragon on his back with its head peeking over his shirt collar." There were rumors that he was a member of the Purple Dragons, and his tattoo only added fuel to this gossip. "He also wears a leather jacket all the time, even in the summer."

The warthog's eyebrows raised in surprise; he had probably thought I was making things up to save my own skin, I could see that the two thugs were hesitating, thinking over what I had told them, and I felt a faint hope rising in my chest.

"So ya know this guy," Bebop finally asked, crouching down so he was more eye level with me. I could see my frightened reflection in the lenses of his sunglasses (who wears sunglasses indoors?), including the beads of sweat on my forehead.

"Y-Yes," I agreed, nodding furiously.

"Know where he lives?"

"Yes, I-" I stopped talking, realizing what I had said. "Wait, what are you gonna do to-"

"Ain't your business," the thug interrupted, standing back up. "Now, why don't the three of us go for a drive and visit this buddy of yours?"

"Wait," I stammered. "Y-You can't kill him! He's got a kid!"

"We ain't gonna kill him," Rocksteady said, holding up his fist with the brass knuckles. "We're just gonna kick his ass and break his legs and take all the money he has on him."

"You can't hurt him either!"

"And why not," Bebop asked, frowning at me. "You'd rather take a beatin'?"

"No! I mean yes- Wait, no, I mean… I don't know," I yelled with frustration. "It's just wrong, beating someone up just because they owe you money!"

"Kid, what's our business is our business," the warthog said. "I mean, we can't exactly go to the cops for help. Besides, Luis ain't so innocent himself, so he's just gettin' what's comin' to him."

I shook my head. "I won't tell you where he lives. Not if it means you'll hurt him."

Bebop quietly stared at me for a few moments, his expression unreadable to me. Finally, he smiled, which did little to reassure me.

"I just remembered you're the one tied up," he said. "You've got a bad hand right now, so here's what we're gonna do." He crouched down to my eye level again. "You're gonna tell us where this guys is, or we'll break your legs, along with every bone in your body."

I gulped, shaking like a leaf as I looked up at the two costumed thugs.

"We'll find him either way, but we'd rather be done with him sooner than later." He stood back up, aiming the bat right between my eyes. "What's it gonna be?"

I could tell that they were going to carry through with their threat, and I tried not to think about that bat swinging towards my legs. I would not have to work at the restaurant while they healed [which was a plus], but getting up and down the stairs to our apartment, plus getting to school… that would be a pain in the ass. Not to mention my dad would somehow find a way to blame me for getting my own legs broken, and he would probably resent me for having to pay for whatever medical bills I would need (it already cost a fortune for Abue's weekly doctor appointments).

This was the time for me to do the noble thing and refuse their offer, allowing myself to be beaten to a pulp so Loco Luis would be fine. So what if they got him later on down the road; I would not have given him up to them, and I wound not be in the wrong. I would be like those martyrs we learned about in youth group, refusing to give up their beliefs in the face of certain death. They were courageous, they were good, they were holy…

And I was a coward.

But I wasn't an idiot. Seeing that these two hadn't been able to find him before (I had no idea how they thought I was him; Loco Luis was a foot taller than me and at least fifty pounds heavier), they were probably desperate to find him. While Bebop said I had a bad set of cards, I would argue that I had the best hand: I had the information they wanted. That meant that I could set the terms as I see fit.

"F-Fine," I agreed. "I'll tell you where he is… but on one condition."

"What," Bebop asked, frowning at me.

"Don't beat him up too badly," I requested. "Don't break any bones or knock out any teeth or give him any brain damage. And no weapons! He has a wife and daughter that depend on him… I don't want them to suffer because of him. He needs to support them, and he can't do that from a hospital room."

"Why do you care," Rocksteady asked. "Is he a family friend or somethin'?"

I hesitated. "Not really, but-"

"Then why?"

"Because… Because no kid should have to realize that their dad's a loser until they're older," I snapped, my fists clenched with anger. "She's only six years old, and… it's just the right thing to do!"

The two animals exchanged a quick look, then walked off a short distance to talk it over. I stared after them, my hands slowly unclenching as I started to calm down. I had no idea if they would agree to my terms, but I prayed that they would. If not, I was doomed. Finally, they walked back over to me, and the warthog nodded.

"Fine," he said. "We'll go easy on him. But if ya lie to us about where he lives-"

"I won't," I promised. "And you'll let me go afterwards?"

Bebop frowned. "I didn't say anythin' about that."

"C'mon! If I'm helping you out, the least you could do is let me go! Besides," I added, "it's not like anyone would believe me if I tell them that two costumed guys-"

"They're not costumes," Rocksteady said.

"Fine. Two mutants kidnapped and threatened me. I mean, do you honestly think people would take me seriously?"

"This is New York," the warthog reminded me. "Weirder stuff's happened, and we don't know what your friends would believe."

"Yes, that may be true, but-" I stopped talking, realizing that we were getting caught in a back-and-forth argument (and I should know; my younger sisters did it all the time). I sighed. "You're not gonna let me go without hurting me, are you?"

The thugs nodded. "Yep."

I sighed knowing that I had no choice. "Fine. I'll let you give me a black eye so my dad thinks I just got mugged, and that's what I'll tell them."

"A black eye," the rhino whined. "Not even a hit to the jaw?"

"C'mon, dude, I don't wanna get beat up too badly," I said. "Especially not by someone's that built like a tank!"

"Can we at least break your wrist or somethin'," Bebop asked.

"My dad'll kill me if I can't work for more than a day."

"He oughta be more lenient if it's because ya supposedly got mugged."

Are you sure about that, I thought, shaking my head.

"How about a few hits to the side as well," I offered. "Maybe leave a few bruises on the chest. I'll tell my dad that I was jumped while delivering the food. I won't mention you two, or Luis, or anything else. We part ways, and we never deal with each other again. I don't get my legs broken, and you still get to beat me up, and get your money back from Luis."

Bebop cocked his head, thinking it over, and Rocksteady scratched the side of his head. Then, after a few moments, the warthog straightened up, setting his bat on the floor.

"Okay. You tell us where he is, and in return, ya both don't end up in a hospital," he said. "Deal?"

"Deal," I replied, the words barely leaving my lips before I was punched in the face.

So Roberto's met two mutant thugs, and had made an unusual deal with them to keep himself from being beaten too badly. And Loco Luis is gonna need all the help he can get when facing Bebop and Rocksteady when they find him!

Feel free to R&R if you liked the chapter or want to see more! I hope you all have a great day, and I'll see you next chapter

-aggiefrogger

I do NOT own TMNT or In the Heights at all