Fear

Sharra screamed, stumbling after the man who yanked viciously on her hair. He didn't care that she practically fell down the two stairs of her family's trailer, banging her shins hard enough to bruise. He didn't pause as he hauled her bodily across the campground and threw her at the feet of a monster.

No. Please. I don't want to be here. I don't want to live this. Not again.

White moonlight shown brightly overhead, illuminating the scene in pitiless detail. Sharra squeezed her eyes closed, whimpering. They snapped open again when her mother shrieked.

'Get your hands OFF her! She's only a child!'

Two kung-fu-like guys held her back by the elbows and she struggled, trying to yank her arms free. They were having difficulty restraining her as she bit, kicked, and fought.

Her mother might be fighting but Sharra was frozen in fear.

This isn't fair! Please! There's nothing I can do.

'Let her go. I beg you.'

That was her father. He dropped to his knees a few feet away. It tore Sharra's heart to remember him like this. He was always so self-confident and assured.

'She has nothing to do with this.'

'Doesn't she?' The monster's demented voice rumbled in her ears, and Sharra shuddered violently at his feet.

That voice. It terrifies me even now.

She fought the bile rising in her throat, hardly cognizant of the conversation going on around her.

'Tell me, how is it your sickly daughter is somehow hale and well enough to travel when she spent her whole childhood in a cleanroom? It was no coincidence that right after the first successful test, the canister AND your family disappeared. Give it back and I'll let her live.'

'I can't. Please! I don't have it anymore.'

'Make it again. Your lab is waiting.'

'I created it to heal people,' he protested. 'You want to use it as a weapon.'

'So?'

Her father's face hardened, though when he looked at Sharra his eyes were filled with anguish.

Papa! You don't know what you're sentencing me to. Please, just give it to him.

'I won't.'

No! Papa...

The monster made a fist in front of her face and hooked the blade of his gauntlet under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His cruel eyes burned red, searing her soul.

'Then the sins of the father shall be redeemed by the child.'

He dropped his hand and jerked his head toward the men who pulled her from the trailer.

'Take her.'

These guys were not like the silent ninjas who surrounded them. Barely older than she, they looked more like street punks; wearing torn jeans, jackets, and purple bandanas. The small squares of cloth adorned strategic parts of their bodies—tied around a bicep or hanging from a back pocket—in what she could only assume was some sort of gang signature.

The nearest grabbed her wrist, wrenching her arm up behind her back and hauling her to her feet. He kept twisting until she yelped in pain. The second balled a fist and punched her in the gut. Her shout cut off abruptly as Sharra doubled over, wheezing.

The one holding her drove his hand into her long locks and grabbed a handful of hair next to her scalp. He yanked her upright again, pulling until she arched back against him. Leaning in he leered in her face, before licking up her cheek from chin to temple.

'Stop!' her mother shouted.

Sharra's eyes rolled to the other boy in fear. He laughed at her while unbuttoning his jeans. Silent tears ran down her cheeks.

This is where it began. And I prayed—every single time—for them to kill me.

They knocked her feet out from under her and yanked off her sleep shorts, taking her panties down with them. He was on her in seconds. His weight crushed her chest as he used his legs to force hers apart. Pain pierced through her like an arrow as he thrust in hard enough to scrape her back across the dead grass.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

'No!' Her father yelled. He leaped to his feet and dashed forward.

The ninja in black across from Sharra acted. His arm shot out. His wrist flexed in a strange sideways motion and her father just... stopped. He dropped to his knees. Red fluid gushed from the points of sharp silver stars embedded in his chest.

NO!

Sharra's heart screamed again though her body could not.

Blood. There is always so much blood.

Her mother wailed, drawing Sharra's shocked eyes. More blood spurted from the older woman's artery as the men holding her drew a knife across her throat. The hot liquid splashed across Sharra's face.

The boys jumped back with a disgusted yell to avoid the sticky gore, freeing her in the process.

It was clear her mother was beyond saving, but maybe her father was still alive?

My sanity hung on that hope.

'Papa!' Sharra croaked.

She couldn't draw enough breath to sob but she crawled along the ground toward where her father slumped. The monster waved away the thugs when they started after her and laughed darkly as she exhausted the last of her energy to reach him.

She didn't even have the strength to flinch away as the monster patted her bloody hair like she was some sort of dog.

'Make your peace, pet.' he grated, 'for I have no more use for him.'

'Papa?' she cried out.

Dread filled her already crushed heart when he didn't look up.

Close your eyes, Sharra! You don't want to watch this!

The monster now stood behind him. He gripped her father's limp head and pulled it upright. A ninja readied a sword beside them.

She couldn't see properly. Tears and blood blurred her vision. She scrubbed the back of a muddy fist across her face to clear her eyes.

NO! DON'T LOOK! IT DOESN'T MATTER. HE'S ALREADY GONE!

No matter how much Sharra pleaded, her younger self still opened her eyes.

Her gaze locked with a tortured blue one. Incredible, hauntingly sad, sky-colored eyes stared back at her in a face that was still very much alive.

WHAT?

Shock stiffened Sharra's spine. Her father no longer knelt before her in the moonlight, impaled by deadly weapons. A much larger, green figure with golden chest plates replaced him, kneeling painfully in the shadows of Shredder's throne room.

Blood flowed from his shoulder and plastron. And his wrists were tied brutally tight behind his shell.

"Michelangelo?" she whispered in disbelief.

"Sharra?" Mikey's eyes widened in shocked surprise as her name ghosted across his lips. Raw panic bloomed in his expression. "I thought you got away!"

He leaned closer. Bending over as far as he could, he nuzzled his cheek—wet with tears— against hers.

"He'll never hurt you again," Mikey murmured as his eyes hardened. "I'll make sure of it."

A pair of shadowy figures loomed above him. They grasped his elbows, preparing to haul him off.

"I'll distract them," Mikey gasped hoarsely in her ear. "When I do, you go. Fast and hard. You understand?"

He clenched his jaw against the agony as they dragged him backward a few steps, closer to where Shredder sat, but his eyes stayed locked on hers. They paused and he mouthed one word.

"Run!"

Roaring, he pushed off the ground with one leg and swung his injured one up and around the throat of the guard on his right. His knee bent sharply and the audible sound of cracking bone made her flinch where she sat—still cowed on the ground.

The other guard dropped Mikey as the first died, and the turtle hit the floor with a groan. He tried to rise, but couldn't get his injured body coordinated.

A dark, figure darted forward from the shadows near the throne. It raised a silver sword over Michelangelo's neck.

Something snapped in Sharra's chest and fire rose in her blood. Adrenaline flooded exhausted muscles. Pain vanished. Fear was forgotten. She drew a deep breath.

Fast and hard. Right.

"NO!" She screamed, drawing their attention— and charged forward.

"NO!"

Sharra woke—struggling through what felt like a drug-induced daze—with the shout still aching in her throat. She sat up, shaking uncontrollably, to stare in wide-eyed panic at the wall of her own workshop.

Or what she could see of it.

The room was pitch black except for the flickering of a candle flame somewhere behind her.

That's odd.

She didn't have time to consider the oddness, however. The moment she was vertical, pain cleaved her brain in two. She flinched, wondering why she had been run over by a truck.

The horrid pounding of her temples made thinking hard. Hell, it made blinking hard, but she forced herself to concentrate.

Why is it so dark?

If the grid power were out, her computer should have automatically switched over to the backup generator. Access to electricity and internet 24/7 from the Wall Street trader next door had been the deciding factor on constructing her main bolt hole in this residential building.

Unless the Nightwatcher activated... then everything shuts off.

Through a haze of agony, her memories returned.

The bodega. A terrifying man with a sword. Another looming over me. A horrifying weight pinning me down...

Sharra began to pant as the memory triggered a reboot of her flashback.

No. Please, not again. I—

A vision of Michelangelo's terrified eyes as he was dragged away flashed across her thoughts. Why had her memories morphed to include him?

Unless I saw him get taken. Oh my god, Mikey!

She spun in place, pain temporarily forgotten, as her hands patted wildly among the blankets. Her knuckles collided with the familiar hardness of his shell under the covers and she sagged in relief.

I was wrong. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! It was just a nightmare.

Michelangelo lay on his side between her and the rest of the room, breathing in the normal rhythm of sleep. In fact, he breathed easier than he had been. A soft snore escaped his lips.

Sharra chuckled under her breath and slumped forward, resting her pounding forehead against the turtle's shoulder in confused relief.

How much of it was real? The rooftop? The attack?

Sharra shuddered again and wrapped her arm around Mikey's chest, pulling him close and nestling her face the crook of his neck to center herself.

Parts of it were definitely a flashback. The headache is because I haven't eaten enough. I went to sleep worried about food, but I must never have left the building.

The hypothesis seemed plausible.

For two seconds she relaxed, breathing in Michelangelo's soothing scent—until she realized someone had lit the taper candle flickering on her desk.

I don't own any candles.

Open flame was too dangerous around some of her work.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

We're not alone.

Horror stopped the scream in her throat. The Foot HAD found her sanctuary and Mikey exhausted himself trying to stave them off. Or worse, they knocked him unconscious. Why the enemy would place them both back in bed she couldn't fathom, but the danger was real.

Her mind raced as her eyes scanned the darkness. She couldn't detect anyone in the shadows, but because of the clutter, there weren't many places for them to hide.

Maybe I can bluff them. If they think I'm armed they might back off...

It was a horrible idea really. An entirely laughable tactic considering if she actually held a gun, trained ninjas could easily take it. But Sharra's strength was spent. She was near delirious with hunger and a little scrambled in the head.

Without anything better to try, she clasped her hands together and pointed her fingers. She felt stupid but she waved her arms back and forth to cover the two cleared pathways through her hoard, hoping she was obscured enough by the dancing shadows to pull the deception off.

"I know you're out there," she called. "Don't try anything. I won't hesitate to use this!"

Her attention—and hands—snapped to the left as an audible yawn sounded from across the room.

"I don't think it's loaded, kid," a sarcastic voice noted. When she twitched in consternation he continued, "Yeah, we can see ya' just fine."

We?

"There is no need for further violence."

Unlike the acidic raspiness of the first comment, this voice sounded comforting. Or it would have, if it wasn't also close enough to be breathing down her neck. Sharra spun to defend against this new threat, her whole body trembling.

"Come out where I can see you!"

The moment the words left her mouth she wished she could swallow them back. The shadows directly in front of Michelangelo shifted, unfolding ominously. A silhouette of a head became faintly discernible from the pile of boxes next to the wall.

Eyes reflected candlelight back at her with an eerie glow. Absolutely terrifying eyes. Angled white slits with no pupil. They locked on her face.

Oh, shit.

Sharra blinked rapidly, panting, fighting not to faint. Then the adrenaline kicked in. Squeaking in fear, she backed away, but self-preservation or no, she wasn't about to leave her friend at this demon's mercy. She grabbed Mikey's wrist with both hands and attempted to drag him along.

Michelangelo was deadweight. So out he didn't even stir, though she hauled him several feet before they ground to a halt. Silently she begged him to regain consciousness. If only so she wouldn't be alone as this nightmare descended upon them.

Mikey, please! Wake up!

Sharra was nearly insensible with panic, her body screaming at her to run but...

I can't! I can't leave him defenseless!

Rather than continue her retreat alone, Sharra crouched and spread her arms, assuming a protective stance over Michelangelo. Her terror-stricken gaze remained glued to the shadowy figure.

"Stay away from us!" she growled.

It had frozen in place, but at her abrupt shift in attitude, it pivoted slowly—submitting its entire body, almost grudgingly, to the light.

Its complexion was distinctly green.

Sharra's shocked gaze jerked back to its face. The eyes had shifted into a more natural color. They were blue-grey, stormy, and familiar. She'd seen them somewhere before—when they were murderously cold and harder than steel.

He's the man who almost sliced my head off!

One hand crept up to her throat and she was surprised to find a bandage laid neatly along the line where his blade met her flesh. Underneath it, her neck ached with a dull sort of pain, but it wasn't enough to distract her from the swordsman in front of her.

His face was bare, no longer swathed in white. He did not wear the symbolic red browband of the Foot clan or the purple of the dragon gang. Instead, a strip of blue bound his eyes and wrapped his rounded head in a mask similar to the one Michelangelo previously sported.

She quickly surveyed the rest of him.

Shell? Check. Thick arms and legs with superior musculature? Check. Leather-bound accessories? Check. Martial Arts weapons? Absolutely check.

This turtle held his razor-sharp sword balanced across his knees. It looked like he had been polishing it with a scrap of cloth.

Sharra shuddered. Her neck knew that weapon too intimately.

The pounding of her pulse slowed when he didn't make any further moves. Her fright-driven energy drained away. Frustrated tears gathered in her eyes and her outstretched arm began to shake.

"Who are you?" she blurted, baffled by this turn of events.

"Don't ya mean what are we?" The sarcastic voice drawled.

Sharra risked a glance away from the swordsman. She still couldn't locate the other speaker, but she didn't care for his tone. "I meant exactly what I said," she retorted with as much disdain as she could summon. "Who are you?"

The swordsman tilted forward in something akin to a bow.

Shara's focus sprang back to the danger nearer to hand but he didn't rise from his half-kneeling position. Instead, he opened his mouth. His voice derailed her flustered train of thought. Again.

"My name is Leonardo."

Sharra watched his jaw move with the words, yet she couldn't quite believe this calm and reassuring tone issued from the guy who nearly killed her.

He didn't sound that way at all on the rooftop...

Leonardo waited until her wide-eyed gaze raised from his lips to his eyes before he spoke again. "I owe you a profound apology, Miss Sharra. I treated you as an enemy when you risked much to be an ally. Your actions should not have been met with such disrespect."

Gripping the back of his sword lightly, he placed it across his forearm and offered the hilt in her direction—reminding her of a scene from a medieval fantasy novel.

"My blade and those of my team are at your disposal, should you ever need them."

Curiouser and curiouser.

"Your team?" Sharra repeated apprehensively, her eyes darted once again to the shadows surrounding them.

Are they all turtles?

"You have nothing to fear from us," Leonardo said.

"Events would argue otherwise," she shot back, refusing to be placated. "How many are you? Where are the others?"

Leonardo sighed and withdrew the sword. Regripping the hilt, he raised the katana over his shoulder before sliding it into a darkened leather sheath mounted to his shell. The maneuver was easy, practiced. He didn't even have to look.

Sharra had observed a lot of martial artists train while in the Shredder's compound, and the implied mastery of this simple move made her quiver anew. It took decades of work to be that comfortable with a weapon—to treat it as an extension of one's own arm. Very few accomplished such a task, and the ones she knew were not to be trifled with.

"Don? Raph? Show yourselves."

Another green hand reached into the candlelight and lifted the taper from her desk, leaning in to reveal a third turtle torso and head. This one still wore his white clothing, though he had removed his head covering and gloves. He sat in the rickety kitchen chair in front of her computer. Soft brown eyes enveloped in a violet band blinked at her gently. The purple made Sharra wary, but...

I don't think he's part of the dragon gang, his mask is a different shade.

The last one appeared from the far side of her piles of junk. For a long moment, he was simply a colossal shadow flowing past the clutter with an unholy grace. He paused in the space where Mikey had originally fainted, scarcely in reach of the tiny circle of light.

This turtle was huge, possibly over six feet tall. He dwarfed the previous two, though that could be because he was the only one standing. He wore a band of red on his uncovered face.

The color alone make Sharra's heartbeat escalate, but as she met his gaze she realized she had seen his amber eyes before as well.

Filled with flames and rage.

Her chest collapsed as if crushed again by his weight. A whimper escaped her lips. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand and backed away until she hit the wall. Sinking down, she curled into a ball. Nausea churned her stomach and she was glad there wasn't anything in it.

The giant turtle flinched at her reaction and started towards her.

Sharra began to hyperventilate.

"Raph, stay where you are," Leonardo commanded.

The massive turtle halted.

"We won't hurt you, Miss Sharra. How can we put your mind at ease?"

He's used my name twice now. How does he know it?

Her brain chose the most ridiculous things to pay attention to as her cardiopulmonary system was shutting down.

She fought against the panic attack, dropping her head between her knees, and battling for air that didn't want to enter her lungs. Gasping, her gaze flicked to Michelangelo. She felt horrible for using his unconscious body as a shield.

I hope he wakes up soon, because I don't think I'm going to be conscious to protect him much longer.

Leonardo exchanged a worried glance with the violet-banded one next to him as if seeking advice.

"Look at me, Sharra," violet said, leaning forward. Her frantic gaze bounced between the three of them in uncertainty until he spoke again. "They are not going to move a muscle, I promise you. Focus on me. This will help. Cup your hands like this."

He demonstrated, touching his smallest fingers together and curving his palms to form a barrier in front of his nose and mouth. He held them close but didn't touch his face.

"That's it," he praised when she mimicked his movements, though her hands were shaking.

"Now, purse your lips slightly and breathe into your cupped hands as evenly as you can. Breathe in with me. One... two... three." His chest expanded dramatically as he showed her what to do.

"Breathe out. Two... three... four."

His voice, a rich deep baritone became almost hypnotic as he repeated the mantra. " Breathe in. Two... three. And out. Two... three... four."

"Great. You are doing great. Now, this time, breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. In... two... three. Out... two... three... four."

For several minutes he patiently recited cues. No one else spoke. Sharra kept her eyes glued to his kind brown ones until her breathing finally leveled off and she felt more like herself. Or at least less like passing out.

"Perfect, Sharra," he said, lowering his hands. "If you have further trouble, we can do it again."

Silence reigned as Sharra's eyes again flicked between them. As promised, nobody had moved. That reassured her a bit more, though she was still awfully confused.

"Would you feel better if I woke my brother?" Leonardo asked, gesturing to Mikey.

"Brother?" The word slipped past her lips in shock and her hands dropped from her mouth.

"Ya don't see the resemblance?" The one called Raph grumbled, albeit quietly, crossing his arms and cocking his head at her condescendingly.

Sharra's brows drew together. Anger burned away a little more of her hysteria.

"Looking similar doesn't make you related," she snapped. "And being family doesn't necessarily make you friendly. Even to each other."

"An astute observation," the resonant baritone voice interjected. "Leo, I think we should wake him. He needs to move. With the power out, we've got no heat source and it's getting too cold in here to sit still."

Suddenly, the temperature registered on Sharra's skin. She'd been too flustered and focused on the intruders to notice before. She flushed and rubbed her arms as her gaze darted again to Michelangelo. Despite the added layer of what she could only assume was Leonardo's white clothing peeking out from under the blankets, he must be freezing.

Poor Mikey! I should warm him up—

All thought ceased as Leonardo moved. Sharra clenched her teeth as he flowed to his feet in one smooth motion.

I was wrong. He is as huge as the red one.

Before she could react, he reached out to pat Mikey's shoulder.

Leonardo's touch was gentle, certainly not as rough as Sharra dragging Mikey across the floor, but immediately the intense blue eyes she'd been longing to see popped open.

Sharra nearly sobbed with relief.

"Leo? Is it time to go?" Mikey asked with a smile.