(A/N): Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? I think so. The voices have no limits.

The fourteen year-old doesn't have to see her pursuers to know that they're there. She can literally feel them behind her with each quick barefoot step she takes on the sewer's sidewalk. This isn't the first time she's run away, but she intends to make it her last. Because she's learned.

Her father could say her attempts were pathetic failures, but her blind eyes saw them as victories. Her crafty mind, as sharp as the miniscule wires stowed away in her fingerless gloves, has the whole underground system memorized.

Try and catch me now. Flicking her wrists, wires shoot out from her invention and latch onto the walls behind her. Two silent footsteps are stopped instantly, bringing a smile to her exhausted face. Only eight more to go.

She keeps running, not caring how much it's beginning to hurt. The blessing curse of her harsh, every second of every day, training. And she had had enough.

And then she hears the voices.

Not deep like her father's, but much younger. Teenage. But most importantly, they were going after her enemies.

And yet, she still wasn't so sure of this supposed boost in luck.

Behind her, having come out of some secret tunnel, one of the four shouts what to do. Three to finish her job of getting rid of them, and one to go after her.

And so she moves even faster. Bandages that cover her previous wounds are put to work yet again as she can literally feel each cut reopen and bruise form. She skids to the right, hoping that she's correct on where she must be, where the exit has to be. Wires whip and attach as she attempts to shake off the fourth voice. He's the only one after her, the three having stopped to take out the chasers.
"S-Stop! Please." But she has no intentions to. "You're hurt. I only want to help you."
"Then back off!" She finds herself yelling, wanting him to do such. She doesn't care how hurt she is, doesn't care if they share her dislike in enemies, doesn't care if he sounds so concerned for her well-being.
But she does care for stupid gravity that causes her to fall over. Hard. Her knees scream in pain, and she mentally curses out to each stinging throb as she tries to get back on her feet and away.
But her legs refuse to hold her up anymore. She crawls back, facing the direction of the even more concerned voice. The sign of a dead-end touches her back, and she curses again.

Better the ground than that.

"You're bleeding. Here, I'll-"

"I said to back off!" A web of wires are her last defence, but the stupid voice comes closer.

And he isn't human.

She can feel his vibrations against the wiring, deformed feet touching the ground while still trying to get to her. Every invisible sign that the teen isn't a human being, meaning that he must be one of them. One of the people, rather things, she had been trained to destroy.

But here he is, getting sliced by her weapon trying to help her. Maybe he is the exit.

Then she recalls nothing else, just scaly arms holding her, carrying her like a sleepy child. Giving her a foreign sense that must mean safety.

Huh. Won't say I don't like it, but I...I...

I do.