I don't believe in knights in shining armor.

I've seen way too many crackpots, psychopaths, and typical trash my whole life to honestly believe that there are people out there in the world who're really looking out for the greater good. The only person I've ever seen actually put on a cape and try to keep the peace was Mikey, and he's too much of a peabrain to take much comfort in. So… good, decent human beings who only want to protect their fellow man? Nice story. Chalk it up with Santa and the tooth fairy.

We've all got our vendettas. We've all got our scores to settle. And any good deed we do is actually just an excuse to get closer to something we want, whether it's revenge, justification, money, respect, or power. So why do I do what I do?

That's a good question, Mack. I've been trying to figure it out myself. A quick ride on the shell cell, feeling the speed surge through my body and helping take out all of the sludge in my brain so I could focus… it's the only remedy for my disease. My disease? Humanity. It's got me down, man.

And then come the fireworks. Skidding on my bike, I look up into the brightly-lit night sky. Something just went kaboom, and it was something big. I can't help but let out a loud growl. Anytime I sit and actually try the whole contemplation bit, everything gets shot to shell.

I race towards the noise, hoping to scout things out before the authorities get there. If nothing else, I can get some people outta there. No sense adding flaming corpses to the menu. Just as I get the burning building into view, four huge bikes come outta the smoke, charging right for me. "Whoa!" I cry out, skidding more harshly this time.

They're so close to me that I can feel the long hair on some of those monkeys on those hogs brush against my shoulder. Dammit. Now I'll need to burn my skin. Their hyena laughs don't do much to help me out, either.

Obviously, these scumbags are responsible for the pretty lights, and they think they're getting away. Not a chance. I get back on my bike and get ready to chase them down into Hades itself when I suddenly feel a pair of hands on my shoulders. Someone's trying to pull me off the bike. "Fat chance," I mutter, elbowing the guy in the ribs.

He backs off, and I spin around to look at him. Funny, I think. He don't look like no punk. The kid has an arm around where I hit him, but don't lighten up the evil eye he's giving me. "Either you get off the bike," he tells me, "or be prepared to pick up a hitchhiker."

"Yeah?" I ask, raising the visor up from my helmet. "And what happens if I don't pick either of those?" He gapes at me, not expecting to see a green face underneath the visor. Still, I'll give the kid credit. He didn't let that bug him for long. "Then you're going to make things a whole lot more difficult for me than I wanted them to be."

I glare at him for a moment, sizing him up. It don't take me long to realize, though, that the longer I stay there scrutinizing the kid, the further and further away those punks are getting. "Hop on."

Together, we chase after the creeps from a comfortable distance.

As always, we stop by an abandoned warehouse.

Stowing my bike, I pull the kid off and tell him, "Okay, now that we don't gotta worry about an engine or the wind cutting through our words, how's about you tell me what the heck is goin' on?"

The guy is scrawny, with dark features and disheveled clothes. A regular Clark Kent-type of guy. It looks like he's been debating whether or not he can tell me anything during the entire ride. "My name's Brandon," he tells me at last. "My brother's been trying to join up with this new gang, Los Salvadores. My girlfriend's been telling me about it while I've been away, and I just came back to set him straight. Turns out, though, he's already in too deep and needs to complete some kind of 'initiation.' I don't know what that means, but those scums just came to the junior high school where I meet up with my girlfriend sometimes and kidnapped her, actually bombing me to keep me back." He slams his fist into the palm of his hand, seething. "If my brother's enough of an idiot to think that he needs a gang instead of his own family, then he deserves whatever's coming to him. But if they hurt Sara, if they'd actually do something to an innocent human being, then they're in for the fight of their lives."

"Right," I mutter, bringing him back to Earth. "And I suppose you gonna give it to them?" He looks at me, meaning to argue. I speak up again before he has the chance to give me some Leonardo-esque story about honor. "Look, kid, I'm all about fightin' the bad guys, but let's set one thing straight. Your brother's still your brother. No matter how stupid, moronic, and just plain thick-headed you might think he is, you ain't got the right to go back on family, even if you think he deserves it. Trust me, I got three 'a them, and they all try my nerves."

He gapes at me for a second before asking, "So, uh… what are you?" Rolling my eyes, I give him my shell. "Never mind that right now. First, you gonna tell me what this girlfriend 'a yours looks like. Don't wanna end up walkin' past the wrong chick."

"Yuh won't hafta worry 'bout that." I spin around at the sound of the new voice. Judging by the fact that I have to pull Brandon back, the two-ton troublemaker who butted into our conversation has his girlfriend in his grip. She's a small girl, and looks even tinier in the giant's arm. Seeing her sharp blue eyes even in the darkness, I feel a stab of pity for her and am almost tempted to let Brandon go at the slug.

"Now," says the Hun-sized mountain, "how's about Boyfriend and the little freak do as I say?" My hands going for my sais, I can't help but roll my eyes again. "Jeez, can't you guys think of any words other than freaks?" Jumping in the air, I mention, "Maybe I oughta just hurl thesauruses at you jerks to help expand your vocabulary."

Of course, I always knew that I have a big mouth and sometimes bite off more than I can chew. This is one of those cases. As I got near Mister Mammoth, I realize that the hand I couldn't see before has got a laser in it. A blast sounds, and he gets me square in the chest, pushing me backwards. I briefly wonder where all of these baddies get their toys.

That's my last thought before I slam into a wall and everything goes black.

After a while, I open my eyes again.

Apparently, the wall crumbled under the impact of my shell. Digging myself out of the rubble, I rub my sore back. Man, was that big twit gonna get his due. Looking around, I realize I'm alone. They apparently either left me for dead or judged me too unimportant to bother with. Either way, this only pisses me off even more.

Sticking to the shadows, I make my way to the top of this stereotypically abandoned warehouse. Skylight. Of course. What creepy abandoned warehouse is complete without a skylight for the hero to peer into?

Looking down, I see this Brandon guy tied up alongside his girlfriend. A couple of goons look like they were set up to keep watch, but they've stopped and are looking at something I can't see. Judging by the rectangle of light and the shadowy outline of more people, I'm guessing that they're listening to somebody at a doorway. I'm proven right when I see two people slowly step into the room.

Looking closer, I see that the younger of the two new arrivals is a smaller version of Brandon. His brother. Definitely his brother. I close my eyes and shake my head. The kid looks like he's only fifteen. What's so appealing about hanging out with crime bosses and giving up on a clean, normal home? I'm almost ready to think that Brandon was right; his brother really is an idiot.

I check the strength of the glass on the skylight. Not bad. I could definitely crash through. Remembering the burning pain at my chest, I think it over. I'll have to come up with a slightly less obtrusive way. No way am I getting shot at again.

Something down below catches my eye. Turning my attention back to the scenario down there, I see that the apparent leader of this crackpot gang just gave Brandon's bro a weapon. Taking it, the kid starts walking towards Brandon and Sara. Judging by the look on his face, this don't look good. Murderous little brat.

Gonna have to jump for it. Sais in hand, I jump down onto the glass, feeling it shatter beneath me. Even through the crash, I can hear yells, crying, and cursing. Soundtrack of my life.

One sai is tossed straight for one of the creeps who thinks he's gonna shoot me up. His gun backfires and explodes. The sai flies back towards me, and pushing my body towards it allows me to catch it just as I hit the floor in a crouch. "Playtime," I whisper.

Chaos and mayhem. Just another night in the life of a teenaged mutant ninja turtle. There's no way mere words can describe what went on. Words don't capture that speed, that agility, that rhythm, that cold and brutal art. Let's just fast forward to the main idea, shall we?

I get to Brandon and his girl and cut them loose. "Hurry it up," I tell him as he's trying to get every last bit of rope off of Sara. Just as I grab him by his arm and spin around, I see his brother step in front of him, his gun raised straight at me. "Let go of my brother, you monster!"

I don't even manage to raise an eye ridge before I'm shot at again. Despite my scream as I sail backwards, I can hear Brandon yell, "Calvin, no!" Calvin. Great. Now I know the name that needs to be carved into his tombstone.

Since I didn't hit a wall this time, I managed to make it up to my hands and knees relatively quickly. Looking up, I see the aforementioned gang leader duking it out with Brandon, and it don't look like Brandon's got much of a chance.

By the time I make it to my feet, though, Calvin's intercepted with a kick to Mr. Gang Leader's torso. As the baddie doubles up, Calvin slams his elbow down onto his back and takes his brother's arm, running away. Brandon tries to pull back, calling for Sara, but Calvin keeps pressing on. Brandon don't look like he's in any position to pull away.

Sara runs and tries to keep up with Calvin, but she gets stopped by yet another flunky. Easily enough dealt with. After the chump hits the ground, I grab Sara just as the sharp smell of petroleum hits my nostrils. Great. Dealing with a bunch of pyromaniacs. Are Brandon and Calvin gonna have a great talk or what? Especially since the kid left his bro's girl behind.

Long story short, I make it out of there with my cargo just a few seconds before another set of fireworks start up. She's clinging to me, and I gotta pry her fingers off of me and leave her sitting on the curb. I see two shadows in a nearby alley and go to check it out.

Looks like I just walked into a brotherly spat. Calvin's still got the gun in his hands and is waving it around as he says, "Just because he hasn't tried to hurt you doesn't mean he's not an enemy. You think that Sara would do nothing to you either, huh? You can't tell. You can't tell until people like me find these things out for you. And once these things come to light, you can't stand by and just let it happen." Noticing me, he raises his weapon again, though he's still talking to Brandon. "Something needs to be done to rectify evil, and someone needs to-"

He don't get the chance to finish. I hurl my sai at the gun, and it starts glowing, a sure sign of a misfire. I rush the kid and throw the gun out of his hands just as it overloads. Grabbing the kid by the collar, I force him down onto the floor. "I'm thinkin' someone's been watching The Boondock Saints a bit too much," I growl at him.

"Calvin! No!" I realize that this is Sara calling out for him. I feel someone's hand on my shell trying to pull me off. "Let him go," Brandon tells me. Shrugging the hand off, I ask, "Why? You said so yourself, anyone stupid enough to think he needs a gang instead 'a his own family deserves whatever's comin' to him."

"Don't hurt him," Sara pleads behind me. "Please… this is my fault. He's just… he needs help." Looking down at the kid and seeing a bit of fear mixed in with his indignation, I mutter, "Yeah, no kiddin'."

I ease up only slightly on Calvin, allowing him to sit up. His hands are over mine, trying to loosen my grip. Not a chance. "I've got to do what is right," he says lowly. "She willingly hurt my brother. No one should be allowed to do that and get away with it."

"Sara, what the heck is he talking about?" Brandon asks. Hearing Sara crying behind me, I can't help but roll my eyes. Great. I somehow walked straight into a melodrama. "Los Salvadores," Calvin quietly explains to his brother, "are the saviors. They right wrongs. Wrongs that the greater public won't always acknowledge as crimes. Wrongs like cheating and easily giving in to temptation."

I look back. Sara's staring down at the sidewalk, crying guiltily. Brandon gawks at her, slowly understanding. Melodrama. Oh, for shell's sake. I liked this better when I was just kicking the tar out of people.

Sirens sound in the distance. Hoping that the kid didn't have any weapons he was hiding, I let him go and stand. "Crazy cults," I mumble. "I don't care what she did, kid. You were gonna hurt her. Two wrongs don't make a right, and all that sorta clichéd type 'a thing."

Still on the floor, Brandon warily looked up at me. Maybe he had been brainwashed. Whatever had happened, he looked like he was thinking clearly now. "I was only trying to stand up for my brother," he offered weakly.

Seeing that Brandon was too caught up in what had just happened and what he was hearing, I told Calvin, "Maybe your brother could have stood up for himself. You didn't have to go 'n pull some stupid stunt just to let him know that his girlfriend's not who he thought she was." I gave the kid my back and began walking away from the three of them, towards a fire escape. "Hey!" Calvin calls to me. I stop and look back at him.

He walks towards me slowly. Brandon grabs his arm and keeps him back, but Calvin just keeps staring at me. "You're not human," he states. Yeah, we're working with a real mind here. "But you still looked out for Brandon. And you saved Sara. Why?"

I can't answer right away. Cops are quickly approaching, and I just wanna get out of there. But the trio's looking at me with expectation. Deciding that Calvin could stand some food for thought, I told him, "Because that's what real Salvadores do."

Turning, I jump up the fire escape, well aware that they were calling after me about how they didn't even know my name. So maybe I do have a flair for the dramatic. On the safety of the rooftops, I run as quickly as I can to the corner where I had stowed my bike, just missing the scores of cops that came in response to the night's explosions. Leaping down, I land on my bike and get it started.

So Calvin decided to join a gang that does what Casey Jones did before I met him. Calvin the vigilante. He was all set to kill his brother's girlfriend just because she had cheated on him. Funny… the rest of that gang didn't look like they were out to abolish sin.

Then it hits me: fire purges. It cleans things in a way that nothing in this world can, even if only by destroying them. This may be why the Christian hell is set in a fiery wasteland. It's an effort to purify that, when uncontrolled, only leads to destruction. Funny, how most people say I'm a hothead, or got a fiery temper.

Still, chances are that those punks just used their "Salvadores" line as a way to draw the kid in. Maybe they wanted the girl dead for other reasons, and decided to use an impressionable kid to do their dirty work. It was low, it was sneaky… but it could have been effective.

Maybe there really are people out there who are willing to risk it all to save their fellow man… even if they risk losing a part of themselves as well. Calvin was just easily corruptible… what would have happened if he had learned to focus his defensiveness for his brother in the way that… that I do? "Heh," I utter to myself as I put on my helmet and take off. "So I guess I really am a Salvador."

Finding myself with even more to meditate on, I head back home.