Disclaimer: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles belongs to Nickelodeon.

The avian mutant flew through the clear sky, staring blankly at the desolate dust bowl. Although he couldn't recall how long it had been, he knew years had passed since the world ended. A gunshot sounded, making him flinch and memories that occurred that day flood his mind.

He and his human companion had been flying in the park, laughing joyously. Her small hands clung to the large pigeon as he dove down, then back up. He was about to corkscrew through the trees, when a loud siren was heard.

The pair ceased abruptly, the human's face paling as she realized what that sound denoted. They looked up in time to see an enormous, green cloud of ooze covering the sky and pouring down. Crying in terror, the two took off to find some protection in the trees. A moment later, a large piece of debris hit the human female in the chest, knocking her off the mutant's back and into the green substance. Screeching, the bird flew after her, but the mutagen doused him as well. Time seemed to slow as, bit by bit, the entire earth was completely covered in it, sirens sounding everywhere.

Pete blinked the tears away from his bulging yellow and red eyes, landing on the sandy ground a short distance from the road. The now seven-foot birdman was nearly bald, splotches of gray feathers on his back, head, face, torso, and limbs. Large, rounded growths bedaubed his entire body, and his jeans were tattered.

The pigeon set off in a brisk walk. Before the disaster, he was free to fly about New York without a care in the world. Now, Day in, day out, Pete did his best to stay alive, scouting every bomb shelter he came across for water and food and looking for any of his friends. Another set of tears stung his eyes, but he willed them away once again. Part of him assumed them all dead, while another refused to believe that. He wasn't going to stop searching for them.

A passing war truck came into view. Picking up the pace, Pete caught up and waved, making the driver stop. The window rolled down, revealing a female snow leopard with blond hair, green eyes, and wearing a pink short-sleeved shirt and jean shorts. She smiled up at the bird. "Can I help you, stranger?"

"Yes, can you tell me where the next bomb shelter is, please?" Pete asked. His voice had dropped nearly an octave, a contrast to his previously high-pitched tone.

"Go up a little ways, and then make the first right. You should be able to see it," The feline replied. "Can I give you a ride?"

"No thanks. Also, I'm looking for my friends. One is a large alligator, another is a huge blue turtle, the other is a monkey, and the last one is..." he trailed off. What did she look like now? Was she a grotesque monster, a bird, a squirrel, a bat?

"What does the last person look like?" asked the leopard, raising her eyebrows.

"I—I don't know what she looks like," Pete said somberly.

"Oh. Well, I haven't seen anyone like that. I'm sorry," she responded sympathetically.

The pigeon sighed. "That's okay. Thanks for the help."

With that, he set off down the side of the road. Coming to the first right, he turned and walked for about twenty minutes, before spotting the bomb shelter. Diving for the first box he saw, he pulled out a bottle of water, uncapped it, and chugged its entire contents, sighing at the chilling liquid traveling down his throat and into his stomach. Reaching in again, the bird retrieved another bottle and downed it. Large, feathered hands going in the box for a third time, he withdrew another bottled water in the left and a bag of peanut butter crackers in the right. Setting the drink aside, Pete tore open the plastic package, grabbed a cracker, and put it in his mouth.

'A little stale, but it'll do. At least it's something,' the bird thought, settling on the sand to have a quick lunch.

After drinking the last of the cold beverage, Pete tossed the items in a waste bin and took flight. The blazing sun beamed down on him as he flew, staring blankly down at the desolate, arid world. There was absolutely nothing left. No big city, no buildings, no people, no purple dragons, no bread. No Slash, no Leatherhead, no Dr. Rockwell, no Turtles, no Christina—he shook his head. They had to be alive. They were out there—somewhere. Every person he asked about his friends' whereabouts said he/she didn't see them, dwindling that notion. Notwithstanding that, he held on.

Something walking across the sand caught his eye. Scrutinizing it, Pete was pleasantly surprised to find it to be another bird. An ostrich, to be exact.

"Excuse me," Pete called, descending. "Could you—oomph!"

The mutant pigeon landed face first, kicking up a cloud of sand. Slowly, he got to his feet, spluttering out bats of the grainy substance and dusting himself off. He tried again, clearing his throat. "Could you help me, please? I'm looking for my friends."

The avian smiled kindly, wisdom emanating in his green orbs. "Of course. Who is it you are seeking?"

"An alligator, a giant turtle, and a monkey," Pete replied.

The ostrich's eyes narrowed in deep thought. After a moment, he said sympathetically. "I am so sorry, my friend, I have not seen any of them."

Desperation seeped into the pigeon's voice. "Not even four turtles?"

The mutant moved towards the other and placed a gentle wing on his arm. "No, my friend. Either your friends fled or perished when the bomb went off."

"Oh—okay," he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Th-thanks anyway."

"Your welcome. Again, I am truly sorry. Best of luck."

Nodding, Pete took to the sky. Between the scolding heat and his overflowing emotions, he was only able to fly a short distance, before collapsing, physically and mentally. Lying prone on the desert sand, the bird buried his head in his large hands and, for the first time, allowed the tears to fall. He cried for the loss of the world he once knew, he cried for the loss of humanity, and most of all, he cried for the losses of his friends. Slash, the turtles, Dr. Rockwell, Leatherhead, Christina—his best friend—they were gone, dead. For the first time, he accepted the cruel, harsh reality that he was alone.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Pete didn't respond. The feminine voice reiterated, and this time, the pigeon man lifted his head and turned to face its owner. A cheetah knelt at his side, concern etched on her features. Her speckled fur was beige, with white running from just beneath a pink nose , down the front, and on the paws. She wore a short-sleeved green shirt and a white skirt. Curly, snowy hair went a little ways past her shoulders, and her tail was slightly curled, flicking lazily.

The tears didn't cease falling as the birdman choked out, "They're—gone—all of them—gone."

Chocolate eyes blinked. "Whose gone?"

"M-my friends…all…gone…" Pete placed his head back in his hands and sobbed quietly. Slowly, the cat scooted closer to him and placed a comforting paw on his back, caressing it. "I am so sorry. Mine were destroyed, too. I'm all alone now."

Pete's expression turned sorrowful upon seeing the tears in her eyes. "Oh, man, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thanks," the cheetah smiled sadly. She reached into a blue duffle bag beside her and drew out a tissue, holding it out to him. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Pete replied, sniffing and accepting the handkerchief and wiping his face.

The cat held out a clawed hand. "Your welcome. I'm Christina."

The bird shook it gently, yet firmly. "Pete. Would you like to join me? We can be alone together."

Christina stood and slung her bag over her shoulder, looking slightly shocked. "Pete? You have the same name as one of my friends."

Pete stood, also shocked. "Really? Huh, small world. Anyway, you want to come with me?"

"Sure. In these dark times, we should be helping each other."

The two began walking in silence, staring ahead at the horizon. The pigeon broke the ice. "So, did you start out as a cheetah?"

"No, I began my life as a human. A friend and I were playing in the park when the bomb hit," she explained.

"I started out as a pigeon, but it wasn't the bomb that caused my mutation. I was captured by these aliens called the Kraang, and they mutated me," Pete explained his story.

Remembrance made the female's brows raise. "That's what happened to my friend."

'Okay, now this is getting unusual,' thought the bird. 'How can our stories be so similar? She and a friend were at the park when the bomb went off, and so was I. Her friend was a normal pigeon that got mutated by the krang, so was I. This is just so weird—wait a minute.

He stopped and stared at the cheetah, beak hanging open and eyes wide. It couldn't be—it just couldn't be! "Ch-christina..."

"Yes?"

"Christina—" mouth slowly widening into a grin, overjoyed tears sprang to his red-yellow eyes. "Chris—it's me, Pete. R-remember?"

Christina took a quick step back and gazed wide-eyed at the mutant pigeon, gasping. Her jaw stayed slack for a good minute, then she breathed, eyes misting as well, "Pete—

"Oh, Chris!" the pigeon cried, rushing forward and flinging himself at the feline, tightly embracing her, squalling. "Oh, Christina…"

"Oh my— throwing her thin arms around the bird, she burried her face into his shoulder, also howling.

The pigeon clung ever tighter to her. She was here and alive. Mutated, but alive. A half century of searching and fear had finally come to an end. Pulling from their shared embrace, Christina choked out, "How are you, Pete?"

"Hanging in there, you?" the bird responded, sniffling.

"Same here. Been doing everything I can to stay alive. Some tribes have been taking me in and teaching me their ways, which is neat," she sighed, gazing about, crestfallen. "This world—it's an absolute nightmare. Only problem is, I can't wake up."

Pete squeezed her shoulder. "Tell me about it, but you know what? we have each other, and we're going to need each other if we're going to survive this."

The cat put her hand on her friend's shoulder, smiling softly. "Yeah."

The pigeon released her shoulder and held out his hand. Smiling broadly, he asked, "So, are you ready to tackle this together? You with me?"

"I'm with you," the cheetah said brrightly, accepting her companion's feathered hand. They turned and walked forward a few paces, before Pete stopped and faced her with a sincere expression. "Chris?"

"Yes, my friend?"

"Love you."

Eyes clouding over, the feline hugged him tightly, sandpapery tongue passing over his cheek. "I love you, too."

The male returned the hug and nuzzled the female's cheek with a soft coo. Linking arms, the pigeon man and cat woman walked off.