My name is Leonardo.
My brothers and I made a wrong turn somewhere and now we're trapped with our backs to the wall in this trash-strewn alley. Barring the way out are fifteen members of the purple dragons— the toughest street gang on the east side.
I hold my katana in a relaxed, ready position. To my left, Donatello and Michelangelo follow suit with bō staff and nunchakus. With his sai, Raphael guards my right side. I can sense his body quivering with tense energy, waiting to be triggered into savage, slashing release. But in true predator fashion, he remains still and silent and waiting for the right moment to strike.
Raphael's tail lashed in agitation, each powerful swing telling of the growing anticipation inside the hulking mutant. Beside him, Leonardo eyed the enemy dragons with wary, white-flashing eyes. He said nothing, made no movement. Just waited.
"What are you freaks?"
Donatello's tail, equal to the red brother in all but strength, gave an annoyed whip and knocked into a nearby dumpster with a solid CLANK. The extra limb quickly drew back to wave absently behind its owners carapace.
"ANSWER US!"
No answer came. The smallest of the bunch, Michelangelo moved closer to Donatello to take shelter in his shadow and presence.
"That's it!"
The purple-clad gang leader started to move in, reaching into his pocket to draw forth a switchblade while his lackies drew guns and knives of their own. His eyes glanced over the four brothers before settling on the blue ninja in the middle. He struck.
I know that expression on my brother's face all too well. The way his pupils constrict and eyes lock onto prey as a lion to a zebra. Raphael licks his lips, his tongue tracing over the point of his snag tooth as he waited just a little longer. When the Purple Dragon strikes his blow, aimed at my head, so too does Raphael make his move. The attack never even grazes me.
Raphael moved like a shadow, and it was on his cue that the rest of his team followed.
These men are young, but they aren't rookies. Many of them probably grew up on the street, learning as they went and advancing on their prowess from their unique experiences. When they attack, each has their own method, even if simularities may be drawn between them.
Donatello shies away from the brunt of the battle. As a soft-shell, he is much more prone to injury than Michelangelo, Raphael, and I, even with his armor to protect him. Despite this, he holds his own as good as any of us. He twirls his bō staff with an expert precision, striking each blow to disarm and defend, but not to kill. His brown skin is speckles with spots of silver and gray, almost purple under the moonlight, and his tail moves as an extra limb to aid in his assault. When he is overwelmed, an expert duck and roll is all it takes to find his freedom from the corner they try to press him in.
Michelangelo isn't as nearly as subtle in his approach. He strikes fast and keeps at it until the advisory backs down, and then he pursues until they start to flee. He's quick on his feet— surely able to outpace us water turtles in speed alone— but that skill is counteracted with a bold, overtly brash nature that often prevents him from seeing all around him. On the odd occasion my mad skilled brother is overwhelmed, his final defense is to duck into his shell and allow the bony armor of the box turtle to do its nature-intended job. Had he seen the purple dragon creeping up on his back, he may have very well deployed this defense- at this moment however his narrow-sighted attention makes that observation near impossible. All it takes is a simple, silent call of warning for him to turn around.
Raphael strikes hard, dealing with the Purple Dragon before Mikey got a chance to. His strength and size is unmatched, and his will to protect is stronger than the blades that may pierce his tough skin. With his sai, he blocks any attack that dare hurt any of his unprepared brethren while doing little to protect himself. Such foolish heroism would have long sense ended a lesser turtle, but Raphael is a predator. Three hundred pounds of pure muscle and spite. The would-be attacker stood no chance against the striking sai.
I take my time. One wrong swipe of my blade could mean that a man takes his last breath. I must be decisive and quick, with little time to think and little room for error. I strike when they strike, block their blows with attacks of my own to push them back. I dodge with the skills of seasoned warrior, but my accuracy could use much work. I slide and skid, almost never landing where I intend to, but I can land by blows all the same. I can account for my shortcoming. Pretty soon, by the work or one brother or another, they're all fleeing the alley.
"AND STAY GONE!" Michelangelo shouted after them.
Leonardo whistled, his hands joining in front of his waist and stretching up above his head. "OH YEAH! That's turtle power to the max!"
"Not to brag or anything, but I think I did exceptional well." Donatello smiled.
"Well, I think I did just a little bit better and I definitely am gonna brag about that." Leonardo got within feet of Donatello with a cocky smirk on his face.
Michelangelo pushed his way between them. "Guys, guys!" He gave a slight pause, "I obviously did the best out of all of us."
Leonardo flicked mikeys head. "Shut up Mikey."
"Good work team!" Raphael's beak spread into a wide grin, "Pops'll he proud! Gimme three!"
Raphael held his hand out and was greeted with three, three-fingered greetings.
"Oh yeah!"
"Alright!"
"Booya!"
The four brothers started to dance around each other in a celebratory circle.
"Go ninja go ninja go! Go ninja go ninja go!"
Each brothers laughter followed the short song as they replaced their weapons in the designated sheaths.
Raphael looked up at the night sky, starting to twinkle with the first glimmer of daylight.
"Alright team, it's gonna get light out soon, and we gotta get back to the sewer before then!"
"Right!" Leonardo agreed, "ninja, after me!"
Leonardo's confident smile didn't fade even as the twice-bigger snapping turtle spun on him in with a snarl, spit started to foam and spill out over his lips.
"Excuse me!" Raphael snapped, "Who's the leader here?"
"You are, oh fearless leader." Leonardo gave a patronizing bow.
It seemed Raphael didn't know how to respond. His mind sputtered a moment like a buffering screen, his maw hanging open and letting drool trail down his chin before he snapped to reality.
"Well— then— good!" He stood up straight and gave a beckoning wave of his tail. "Ninja, after me!"
Raphael is our oldest— our leader— and I respect that. I repect his strength and his size, that doesn't mean I have to respect him. A true leader is chosen by a master, not dictated by the strongest or the oldest or the biggest. He has a lot of heart, but heart isn't enough on its own.
We take the rooftops to get where we're going, nothing more than another shadow in the darkened city, the buzz of the night life starting to give way to the rush of morning. If we're smart with our movement, we can usually beat the morning rush and be back in the tunnels before the streets below fill with humans oblivious to the lives we live under their feet.
The darkness of the sewer is where we spend our days. In the damp wetness that very rarely habits any life other than us and the rats. Our eyes glaze over white to protect from the painful fumes, the same way they do when we're under water or under attack. The already black tunnel (lit by nothing other than the occasional storm drain) is tinted even darker by the protective layer, but it's something we cannot simply control. It's as natural to us as laughter or sneezing or swimming. It's a part of us.
We know these tunnels like the back of our hands. Our feet guide us through the maze leading ever downward, deeper and darker and more the dark smog and narrow tunnels give way to a dim glow and farther-set walls. We make our way expertly through the sensors and wires set to warn of impending approach, installed by Donatello to keep the odd stragglers from venturing too close. The glow grows brighter the nearer we are home, the lights bouncing off the wall leading our way ever closer until we come to our final defense: a door.
The door, powerful and metal, is scrawled with symbols even Donatello cant read (and trust me, he's tried). None of us now how it got there, or how the structure beyond came to be, but it's been our domain ever since Splinter happened upon it thirteen years ago. It doesn't matter how it got there or what's its use was, we made it our own and it's going to stay that way. Raphael opens the door and we're all welcomed with the warm, pleasant stench of home.
The first floor has always been a sight to behold: a wide open room converted into everything a turtle could need. A living room with two sectional couches and a reclinable armchair facing a television, a large glass table separating them in the middle. On the opposite side of the room, separated by nothing but a wraparound counter, is the kitchen. Taking up much of the room is a halfpipe, built by Donnie and gifted to Mikey. A stairwell leads up into the main rooms and down into the dojo, our training area.
Raphael took a deep breath. "Smell that boys? It's the smell of home!"
Donatello covered his nose. "Hurray."
Raphael took a deep breath. "Smell that boys? It's the smell of home!"
Donatello covered his nose. "Hurray."
"I'm gonna grab a snack!" Michelangelo went to run off toward the kitchen.
"Mikey."
The Orange-spotted ninja stopped and spun around. Raphael grunted and nodded toward the armchair and the television playing reruns of The Roadrunner Show.
"Splinter first, snacks later."
Michelangelo pouted and stuck out his bottom lip. "But I'm hungry."
"Yeah, can't we stop for a snack first?" Donatello asked, "we've been up all running night!"
"Well then suck it up."
That was all Raph Said before making his way to the living room without looking back, as if daring any of them to disobey. None of them did.
Sitting there, Empty eyes locked on the colorful screen, was splinter. The rat was small, a head shorter than Michelangelo with a mess of black hair slicked back, streaks of gray starting to creep their way through the inky mane. A long goatee fell from his chin to just above the collar of his red silk robes, and on his lap hairless pink paws crossed over each other with the occasion click of the claws tapping together.
The four brothers came to kneel beside him, Raphael daring to place his claws on the arm of the chair while the smaller turtles kept to themselves.
"Pops." Raphael said in a calm voice, so unlike the usual harshness that his tone often carried. "Hey— we're back."
Splinter didn't answer. His beady black eyes were locked on the television, his pink ears giving the slightly twitch. His silence was nothing unusual, and so Raphael went on.
"We got in a scuffle with the Purple Dragons and won!"
"Yeah!" Leonardo added with a laugh, "sent those losers running for the hills!"
"They didn't know what hit em!" Michelangelo chirped, slamming a fist into his palm.
Splinter didn't move, except to blink.
Raphael moved to stand in front of splinter. He kneeled once more before the rat before daring to look up.
"Otōsan, anata no tsuitachi wa dōdeshita ka?" he said, "are you thirsty?"
When splinter didn't respond, Leonardo pushed Raphael aside and took his place.
"Dad, can you tell us a story?"
A light came into Splinters eyes and it was like he saw his sons for the first time. A grin spread across his face and he motioned with his paws for his sons to gather in front of him.
"Kite suwatte. Kite suwatte, watashi no kodomo-tachi."
Michelangelo threw his hands in the air as he and Donatello hurried to sit in front with Raphael and Leonardo. All four sets of eyes laid expectantly on their father, with four smiles to match.
"Yay! Story time!" Michelangelo cheered.
"Can you tell us about The Ancient one?" Raphael asked hopefully.
"No no no!" Leonardo interrupted, "Tell the one about Urashima Taro!"
Donatello nodded. "Timeless classic really; aged like a fine wine."
"Nani? Iyaiya!" Splinter dismissed with a wave of his paw, "You have heard that one a million times!"
"What about Kintaro?" Michelangelo asked.
"That's for babies, Mike!" Raphael Said.
"Well I like it!" Michelangelo insisted.
"That's because you are a baby." Donatello snarked.
"Ā!" Leonardo interjected, "What about Bunbuku Chagama?"
"Oh that's a good one." Raphael agreed.
"BOYS!" Splinter stood to slam his walking stick down on the ground with a heavy, thundering crack, "Hanasu no o yamete! Asobi-sugi!"
The brothers immediately fell silently.
"Totemo yoi." Splinter sat back down and folded his walking stick over his lap. "Now, let me tell you a story..."
Notice: This fanfiction is an amalgamation of all the tmnt franchises and will feature plots and aspects from all of them. Most of the plots have been taken from the comics, the 2003 cartoon, and the 2012 cartoon. The turtles, like in the 2019 reboot, are all different species: Raphael is a snapping turtle, Leonardo is a red eared slider, Donatello is a Chinese Softshell, and Michelangelo is a common box turtle. I chose to use this to show off and highlight different aspects and skills the brothers have, based around their designated species, and to add more conflict as different needs and requirements arise. It's a show of diversity and difference, and will eventually show how these differences can aid in different situations.
Some aspects, such as my depiction of splinter, is of my own creation. The Japanese may not be entirely accurate, as I am working with a mix of google translate and googling the proper terms, so feel free to correct me and I'll try to fix the mistakes in the future!