Shell Shocked

Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT, and the story is a cross between the 2k14 and 1990s versions.

Chapter 2: What to do?

Jane Doe's POV

I gasped out of the water, clinging onto one of the wooden poles underneath a dock. My whole-body hurts, especially my lower back. Slowly, if not painfully, I swam along the river, searching for shelter. Something was wrong, as I desperately tried to remember what I was. All I could remember was walking down the street with some friends when suddenly men dressed like ninjas grabbed me, and next, I was out cold. Next thing I know, I'm being shot at some strange laboratory. I know something is wrong with me, but a strange instinct is taking control to get away.

Soon I found a sewage pipe under the dock that seemed shut down. I tried to get up, having difficulty sitting in the large pipe. I lay down in the cold sewage, trying to catch my breath. Once I caught myself, I started at my hands to discover them all long and scaly, and the nails had claws. The exhaustion and pain made it difficult to react. I should be reacting in fear, panic, or anything negative. Except I was drained. But whatever the scientist gave me seemed to have me stoned out. Closing my eyes, I rested to try and gain some strength. Hopefully, this is all a nightmare, and I wake up in some abandoned building surrounded by stoners and narcotics.

When I woke up, it wasn't due to natural causes. No, something was brushing against my body. Sitting up to find out what woke me up and screaming. All around me were rats! Unable to control myself, I scrambled back only to fall out of the pipe and into the Hudson River. The wind knocked me out as I back-flopped into the freezing water.

You gotta be kidding me! I thought.

Not wanting to hang out with the rats, I swam to the next sewage pipe or abandoned dock. Searching in the blind in murky water, finding any sort of land. It wasn't long before my hand made contact with something solid. I took a peek to see a cement dock that appeared to be empty. Then again, it was raining so hard that no one would be out fishing. Taking the risk, I climbed up only to discover this is not a dock connected to the land . . . but a landfill.

Terrific, I thought bitterly.

At least there won't be any people around here for some time. I sighed, taking a seat while examining my surroundings to figure out where I was. What I saw doubled my anxiety, for I wasn't in some forest region from earlier. No, I'm between New York City and New Jersey. Why can't I be somewhere in the swamp or more isolated terrain? I took a deep breath as I examined my body, finding it no longer human. Sharp tears veiled my eyes as I continued to look at myself. All covered in scales, nails like claws, and most importantly, a tail.

A tail! I mentally screamed. What have they done to me?

I debated if I should look at myself in a mirror. Looking around to find some sort of mirror or reflective object. Unable to find anything besides garbage and junk, I lay in a fetal position, ready to cry.

I'm a freak. I mentally cried. A freak!

How am I supposed to live like this? Hell, freaks don't live on the streets. Not in our day in age. Come on, if I wander down the streets: I'll either be captured and be sent to a lab for high-develop experiment research or some freak show in Florida. I could have succeeded the lizard man if I was in the south near the bayou. But no, I'm stuck in the Big Apple!

Think, girl, think! Try to remember anything to help you calm down. I thought. What is your name?

Okay, that's one way to start off. My name is . . . what is my name? Oh God, I can't remember my damn name. I tried to remember my parents' names, but they remained blank. Friends, home, where I live, anything seemed to have disappeared. It's like anything personal has vanished from my mind. I know where I am right now, my favorite color, and my age. Also, who is the president of the United States is! And yet my identity has faded away. This wasn't good, and more tears began to fall, followed by sobs.

All I could remember was walking down the street with some people. Suddenly, men dressed as Ninjas jumped out of a van and kidnapped me. The Foot Clan that is for sure . . . thinking I was going to be forced into their gang. And here I am as some sort of mutated freak. What am I gonna do? I can't walk around the streets like this.

What am I gonna do?

.o0o.

The next day I regained my composure before finding a trench coat to wear along with a scarf, gloves, and a hat. Alright, it's gross-wearing stuff you see in the landfill. But if you must know, I attempted to wash them in the river with a box of soap. It wasn't the best disguise, but it worked as I wrapped the tail around my stomach, giving the illusion of a pregnant woman. Then the scarf wrapped along my face, most of my skin was covered from my face, gloves for my hands, and the hat on top. The plan is simple: go to dry land, find a shelter to get some food, and then head out of the city towards an isolated place. Somewhere those barely adventurous people explore.

So here I am, walking down New York City in search of a shelter. I kept low, staying near the shadows while keeping to the darker streets. There has been heavy contraband on the streets, from drug dealers, prostitutes, and other stuff. But I keep my head down and continue to walk for shelter. There have been attempts from pimps or dealers to sell their brands or whatnot. I gave them an inhuman growl, which caused them to walk away. Good.

When I reached the shelter, I was disappointed that they were full. Let alone challenging to speak, as I managed to say a few words, as they came out rough. That displeased the volunteers. Thus, I continued searching for shelter, except everyone was full, or they saw me as a threat. It took a lot of energy not to snap at the manager or whoever was in charge. Having nowhere to go, I simply walked around the city, finding somewhere warm.

Damn, it's cold here. I thought.

My scales were spiking up, my muscles tightening, and my teeth clenching. It took a lot of energy to reach Central Park. I don't know why my body is acting this way.

It must be a cold-blooded thing? I thought bitterly.

Anyway, I walked around until I found a small brick building under a bridge. Warmth was projecting from it, which I can only assume is the boiler room for Central Park. Looking around for cameras or anybody, I bang my shoulder a couple of times on it until the lock gives way.

Yes, I thought, going inside and finding it much warmer.

By nightfall, the park became less crowded. Practically empty in this autumn temperature. I shuddered, keeping the trench coat close while leaning against the warm pipes. Overhead the sounds of people living their ordinary lives. Not knowing that there's a freak beneath their feet.

Sighing, I watched my tail swish side to side on its occurrence. It takes a lot of focus to control it. Otherwise, it has a mind of its own. There were bullet wounds as I tried to use my claws to get them out. I managed to get one out, yet I roared in pain, regretting it.

Shaking my head and seeing there wasn't much bleeding, I consider it not a medical threat for now.

The exhaustion won, and I closed my eyes, ready to sleep, when a scream could be heard. I debated if I should go out and investigate it. Then the ruckus started to sound like two boys in trouble. Something inside me stirred to go out. So, with a deep breath, I left the under-bridge shack and went into the park. By following the sounds, I spotted three guys fighting each other. Well, more like one dude wearing a hockey mask beating two boys with a hockey stick.

I narrow my eyes, coming up behind the jerk and giving a hard push. The masked man fell farther than anticipated, but I didn't care.

How about a five-minute game penalty for misconduct, asshole? I thought though I managed to growl, "Leave them alone."

The man stood up, removing his mask. He appeared to be in his early twenties, but that didn't stop the anger from boiling in me. Must I have been bullied in my human life to hold such wrath? In fact, looking at the two boys on the ground, they appeared to be my age. Either they were street urchins or plain stupid.

Anyway, the guy with the sports mask lifted his arms. "Hey, chick, who died and made you referee. You did your job, so let me do mine. These low lives need to be taught a lesson."

"Maybe," I agreed in a rough voice, crossing my arms. I stared at the boys, seeing them wearing purple jackets with a dragon on them. "Get out…. of here."

The boys nodded as they scampered away with their tails between their legs. The wannabe vigilante saw this and gave an exaggerated huff. He walked towards me, pulling out two baseball bats. "Well, looks like you need to be taught a lesson, girl. Class of Pain 101; your instructor's Casey Jones." He swings his bats around theatrically.

"Stop," I warned. "No…fighting."

I don't want to fight you, I thought. You were beating up some kids. Why don't ya pick on somebody your own size?

"Tough luck for you," Casey Jones said as he swung his bats forward.

Quickly I ducked the swing on the first strike, then stood up, catching the second. I examined the material, finding it made out of wood.

"Stop," I hissed.

Didn't your mom teach you not to hit a girl? I thought.

Casey Jones used his other bat, smacking me in the gut. I stumbled back from the blow, managing to possess the second bat. The impact made me lose concentration. My tail unraveled while falling down, losing the fat allusion. I groaned, standing up to regain my breath, apparently, the tail was more sensitive. Meanwhile, Casey stared at me with confusion.

"Hey, what are you, some sort of cosplayer?" He asked.

"What?" I replied.

"Oh, I hate cosplayers, especially those obsessive ones who dress like green reptilian characters." He continued. "Let me guess, you're a Whovian?"

"That's it," I roared.

I got into the batter's position, marching over and swinging at the jerk. Casey dodged each swing making some sort of insult, and remarked. "Strike one." He taunted. The anger inside me grew strong, hating the childish behaviors of this man. Another swing he blocked, "Strike two." What is it with guys not acting their age but their shoe size? Unable to resist, my tail snaked around his ankles, tripping him with much force. He fell backward with a hard thump on the concrete.

"Home… run…" I murmured, walking around and setting my lizard feet on his chest.

Point for the girls, I thought proudly.

Casey groaned till spotting my feet, spinning around and escaping my hold. The guy scrambled back, catching himself before standing up. "Nice animatronics." Then he pulled out a sizable flat bat. "Cricket."

Cricket? What are ya, British? I thought sarcastically. "Ain't… a…. gentleman."

"True, but you're no girl." He noted, swinging the mallet with such a force.

The impact was so strong it knocked me off my feet. I crashed into the ground, colliding against a trashcan where rotten food fell all over me. The blow on the chest hurt severely, as nasty swelling started to build up.

Damn, that is gonna hurt in the morning, I thought.

"Six points." He said, running off. "So long freak, I got work to do!"

Something inside me snapped as I exclaimed, "Freak!"

The tight coil of anger built up to a point it snapped. The animal within roared as I got up, chasing after the asshole for calling me a freak. We ran all through Central Park. Suddenly when my arm was about three feet away, he jumped up over the wall climbing over it. Unfortunately, blinded by a furious rage, I ran into the brick wall.

"Better watch where ya going, sweet cheeks." Casey Jones taunted on top of the wall.

"Come…. Back…. Here," I snarled. "Ain't finish …. with… you."

"Another time," he said, jumping off to who knows where.

I growled on the wet grass. "Damn!"

I will kick his ass the next time I see him.

So, what do you all think? I shall bring in the turtles in the next chapter. To those ready to scold or yell at me, I put Casey fighting our new mutant. It was for fun to pass the time and such. I wonder if Casey will come up again. Simply a tiny cameo.

Leave a review and let me know what you all think.

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