Hey.

I've been working on this one for a while (and I'm still not finished). I think it's interesting (but I'm the author) and I hope you do, too. Like I said, this is a work in progress so updates with be slow after the first couple chapters. That is . . . unless you can get me motivated . . .

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them . . .

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He raised his head to the clouds accumulating above his head. Looking back at the concrete under his feet he sighed and started to run jumping from roof top to roof top. His black bandana tails whirling around his scared, green face and whipping the shoulders of his beat up leather jacket. The storm was approaching fast. He could see the lighting in the distance and hear the roar of thunder rush toward him.

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5 miles away. Flash

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Bang.4 miles.

This storm was fast, he had to find shelter. He did a graceful flip into a darkened alley below landing cat-like on the rough concrete. He heard a soft padding of feet in a quickened pace. Carefully placing himself between a dumpster and a few garbage cans he waited for the figure to show itself.

A shadow began to lengthen against a wall at the end of the alley, contorted and disfigured by the random clashes of lightning. He heard labored breaths approach his hiding place and the distorted shadow became smaller.

Suddenly, the figure appeared at the end of the alley, slowing its speed so that his feet lumbered in an exhausted gait. A flash of blinding light illuminated the scene. It was a turtle. A red bandana tied around his sweat laden and rain streaked head. His shell was a light tinge of green with a skin tone of a dark hunter-green. Brown leather pads decked his knees elbows and wrists. Thrust into his belt were two large weapons with three prongs, the middle one the longest, glistening with the rain and shining in the dull feeble moonlit rays that were lucky enough to cut through the thick downpour.

The turtle looked around and bent down next to a manhole cover lifting it up in silence with the ease of practice. The turtle gave one more glance at the storm embattled alleyway then slid down into the sewers like a liquid shadow.

Carefully shifting the garbage bags so he could slip through, he gazed down into the black stinking depths of the sewers, and followed Raphael.

Easing himself through the hole he fell to the ground silently and started forward. Ahead he could still hear the exhausted breaths from the other turtle. Smirking a little at how easy it would be to track it; he followed, blending in with his shadowed surroundings.

Suddenly the turtle stopped. It pushed on the wall and a hidden door revealed itself. Stepping in quietly the turtle closed the door. A relevant smile slithered across his face. He stepped out into the open then slid, once again, into the shadows next to the entrance to the unknown lair. Putting his head against the entry he listened.

". . . Leo calm down they're only a couple scratches-" another voice cut the first one off.

"Scratches? Scratches! They're not scratches! They're . . . they're . . . lacerations!"

The first voice chuckled dryly.

"There is nothing funny about this, Raphael!"

"Just listenin' to you is funny." The first voice retorted

"We need to get those cleaned before they get infected . . . unless you'd like to be bedridden." The second voice said, obviously pleased with himself.

Silence reigned. Then, "Fine. I'll go see Donnie," the first voice murmured in defeat. Then as an after thought: "Splinter Jr."

He heard a pair of footsteps stomp off in the direction opposite the door. But the second pair never left. He considered the garb the first turtle was wearing, a ninja garb. Taking his chances he slowly opened the hidden door. Peeking in he saw no one. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, he slipped into the lair undaunted, unnoticed.

So thought he.

He was met with a vast circular room that swallowed him in awe. A bridge with a small pond of water sat in the center of the room, the water's surface calm and serene. About 13 televisions were piled on top of each other creating a huge monitor set to right of the pool. A second level overlapped the first held up by huge, light beige, brick pillars. A bridge like structure was its creation.

Silently he slid into a shadow behind a pillar. "Who are you?" The voice, filled with an unexplainable malice, scared him to a breaking point. He slammed a hand over his mouth to muffle a yelp and turned around swiftly in fighting stance. Another turtle. This one had a light blue mask with a leather brown strap stretching across his yellow plastron and around his shoulder, connecting a leather sheath to his shell. Two handles of twin blades peeked out from over his shoulders wrapped in the same blue cloth of his mask.

"Who are you?" the turtle repeated the question tightening his glare in a dignified way. He returned the glare and said nothing. He saw the turtle's hand twitch upward. "Wouldn't you like to know," he said with sarcasm intertwining in his words. In a movement quicker than the eye the turtle had unsheathed a sword, flipped over him, and placed the sword right below his chin. "Yes, I would," it said. The breathing on his neck made him go rigid. "Now, I'll ask again. Who are you?"

He kept his voice as calm and dignified as possible "Dagon." He responded. "Who're you?" he asked. The turtle tightened his glare and inched the blade closer to Dagon's neck. "You're in no position to ask questions." In the blink of an eye Dagon grabbed the handle of the sword kicked the turtle in his stomach and flipped over him doing as the turtle did and placing the sword at his neck. "Now I am. Who are you?"

The turtle did not tremble or show any signs of fear. "That's none of your concern," he said. Dagon was growing impatient with the turtle. "Tell me," he said, unconsciously closing the gap between the turtle's neck and the trembling blade. It answered simply: "No. It's none of your business." "It will be when I slice you head off!" Dagon yelled into his ear. The bellow echoed around the circular room and reverberated off the walls, only increasing Dagon's anger at himself and the turtle. The pitter-patter of soft feet on the floor alerted him of the danger he was in. "We aren't finished," he whispered into its ear and slipped into the many shadows and out the open door, the sword in hand. Placing his ear to the door he listened and waited.

Finally, the feet stopped.

"Leo what happened?" The voice of the red masked turtle reached his ears.

Hmm Leo, eh?

he chuckled to himself and his pure luck.

"Intruder in the lair. We have to go find him. It's another turtle"

"But Leo-"

"HE TOOK MY KATANA!"

Silence and heavy breathing.

"But what about your spar-"

"No. We're finding him and we're finishing him. He's a threat to this family and he must be eliminated."

Dagon grinned, so they thought they were going to kill him, huh? They've got another thing coming. The malicious grin widened as Dagon started to run. He looked up and spied a pipe barely visible within the grasps of shadow. Quickly, Dagon leaped onto the wall and pushed off with his other foot, grabbing onto the pipe and heaving himself onto it.

The only sound heard was a squeak from the pipe with its new found weight.

The squeak was soon followed by diligently disguised foot steps. The footsteps grew nearer yet there was no sign of any being. Only a trained eye could have caught the shadows shifting. Dagon's wicked smirk was topped off with a spiteful glare. Silently, Dagon stalked the shadows.

The hunters became the hunted.

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Well, what do you think?