Enter The Turtle Tots

Three years.

That's how long it's been since everything changed.

Time is strange down here there's no sun, no sky, nothing to mark the passing of a day except the steady rhythm of our training and Father's voice echoing in the tunnels. But I've been counting. i keep track of exactly how long its been since that day because it is what pushes me forward

We grew up fast. Maybe not in size, we're still short, with stubby fingers and soft shells, but we've changed.

I've changed. I'm stronger than my brothers by a lot. While I may not be as strong as master splinter, I'm definitely as strong as a 7 to 9-year-old, and I'm only 3, so I knew I had a lot more to grow. It also seemed like my brothers and I didn't get sick often, and healed pretty quickly, with me being the best in those fields too, I guess getting more mutagen in my system made me pretty broken for a 3-year-old but I knew it wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things there were still at least three organizations that I would have to fight in the future with probably thousands of grunts I would have to beat to survive not to mention the bosses which were broken in their own right but at least I had my family meaning I didn't have to do this alone.

I remember watching Father meditate. His back was straight, eyes closed, fur twitching every so often. The light from one of the broken subway lamps flickered above him, throwing weird shadows on the walls. I remember staring at his shape, at the long claws and the hunched back, and thinking what could possibly be going on in his head.

I remember when Donnie was around 1 year old, he asked Splinter about his name, and instead of saying Yoshi, he said Splinter that didn't stop any of us from just calling him dad though.

I look at my brothers sometimes and wonder what's going on inside their heads too.

Leonardo is most like Father. Almost always serious, and always trying to be better than yesterday. He pushes himself hard, harder than anyone else. He trains like he's trying to prove something but I don't know to who. Father? Us? Himself? Maybe all three.

He's the one I fight with the most. Not because I don't like him, but because he keeps challenging me. And he gets upset when I don't respond, which is normal, I guess, since he is still 3 years old. Besides the constant challenges against me and sometimes Raph, Leo is a pretty obedient child who follows basically anything Splinter says, unlike the rest of us.

Donatello's always off to the side with something broken. It could be a clock, a lamp, or a cracked piece of piping, he likes putting things together. Likes fixing things. When I ask him why, he just shrugs and says, "It's nice to make things whole again." Splinter used to be wary of letting a toddler mess with dangerous things, but Donnie eventually proved himself to be smart enough, even at 2. Well, Splinter never really had a choice since Donnie would always sneak away to mess with things anyway.

I think he understands the world differently than I do because he is way smarter than I am, while being weaker. I break things sometimes, on purpose, really just to see if he can fix them. He doesn't get mad, or at least he isn't really mad. He just fixes them again while being all snarky. Because of his genius, we have working lights and other small things. He has even started getting parts to start a project for computers and a TV. He is at least as smart as a college student at 3 years old, and although I don't always understand him, I admire his skills.

Raphael's a hurricane. Loud, fast, and sometimes . He doesn't talk about his feelings. He just shouts them. he wears his emotions on his sleeves most of the time, and his most powerful emotion is rage. That rage masks his care for us, or his underlings, as he has been calling us, cause if one of us is ever hurt, even a scratch, he's the first one at our side, whining about us not being strong enough, but worried nonetheless. I caught him crying once, when he fell and hurt his leg, was sad he wasn't strong enough to stop the pain. I understood, because I felt the same when Shen was dying.

He's the one I fight with the most after Leo. Sometimes I get annoyed that he is always saying he's better than us and that he's the leader he almost behaves like some cocky anime protag sometimes which is annoying when hes only 2nd strongest and 3rd skilled and that's only because Mikey doesn't care enough to try hard in training

Speaking of Michelangelo…

Mikey is pretty cool for a 3-year-old.

Even down here in the dark, he shines. He's always laughing, always trying to make us smile even when things are hard. Especially when things are hard. He sings, he draws on the walls with old chalk, he tells stories that don't make any sense. But we love them anyway. Mikey was the most childlike out of all of us, but he's also pretty empathetic. He cries when we cry, and although he doesn't show it I think he knows how much that means to us even at 3

Sometimes I wonder if I'm really fit to be here. I don't show it. I laugh with Mikey, I train with Leo, I even tinker a little with Donnie when he lets me and indulge raph But at night, when everything's quiet and Father's gone off to meditate, I sit alone by the old tracks and listen.

I listen to the water dripping through the cracks in the ceiling.

To the faint rumble of trains far, far above.

To the silence of everything we've lost.

Father doesn't talk about the surface. Not unless we ask. And even then, he gets this look in his eyes like he's trying to remember something that hurts.

He still carries her photo. Shen.

Sometimes I find him looking at it when he thinks we're asleep.

We've never said her name out loud. Not once. But I know it. I remember her. Her voice. Her touch. She used to stroke my head and say soft words in a language I didn't understand. (Japanese) I remember her lying on the couch, too tired to move. I remember how she still worried about us even when she was sick. I remember every time those monsters hit her, and I remember how much it hurt when she died.

Father never says it, but I know he blames himself. I know he sees himself as a monster sometimes, and even sees us as monsters sometimes.

But he has stayed 

Even when he was limping from injury, even when he could barely find enough food, even when the nightmares woke him up screaming and clawing at the walls—he stayed.

So did we.

...

Today is different.

We knew something was coming. The way Father moved, the way he looked at us. It was in the air, thick with expectation.

He'd been working on something in secret for a while—carving, shaping, whispering to himself while we trained or slept. And then this morning, he called us together.

There were five cloth-wrapped bundles placed on the stone slab in the center of the lair.

He said it was time.

Time for us to receive our weapons.

Our faces lit up. Even Leo, who never really smiles, looked excited.

Father stood tall, staff in hand, eyes dark and solemn.

"These weapons," he said, "will become more than tools. They will become extensions of your body. Of your spirit. They will shape your path, as you shape theirs. You must treat them with respect—and with understanding."

He went to Leonardo first, unwrapping a pair of long, sharp swords. "These are yours. The katana. Straight of edge, strong of will."

Leo bowed deeply, taking the swords like they were sacred.

Then to Raphael, his sai gleamed in the flickering light. "You burn bright, Raph. These will temper your fire along with your will."

Raphael practically trembled with excitement, grinning as he spun the weapons in his hands.

To Donatello, Father gave a long metal bo staff, beautifully balanced. "Your mind is your greatest weapon. Let this reflect that."

Donnie examined it with wide eyes, already analyzing its craftsmanship.

To Mikey, he offered a pair of nunchaku. "You see joy where others see chaos. Use that strength wisely."

Mikey bounced on his feet, testing the weight with a few wild swings and a bright, "Cowabunga!"

Then Father turned to me.

I felt… strange. Like something was caught in my throat.

He stepped forward and held out a short, curved blade attached to a chain. The metal glinted wickedly.

"A sickle," he said, "and a kusarigama chain. This weapon is dangerous… unpredictable. It requires precision. Focus."

He looked me straight in the eyes. "I believe you have both."

I took it, my fingers wrapping around the worn wooden handle with leather straps. It felt… right. Like it belonged to me. Like I had always known it.

I looked at my brothers. They were admiring their weapons, sparring a little, grinning like we'd just become something more.

Maybe we had.

I didn't say anything. I just watched the way the sickle caught the light. The way the chain curled and coiled like a snake waiting to strike.

I would get stronger. I could feel it.

I didn't know if that scared me or not.

But I knew one thing.

Whatever it brought, whatever the world had in store

I would be ready.

Authors Note: 

well that was a long 2 weeks huh 

i wouldn't say the chapter is fully polished or really all that good its more of an info dump if anything so im sorry to keep you waiting on a bad chapter 

but i feel it was probably the best i could do

i know there are mistakes in here somewhere but its also basically 12 so coment on them and ill fix em later 

if you have any sugesstions please leave those too and also leave reviews if you want

honestly having a schedule makes me want to procrastinate it so yeah... see you when i see you which will be at least 2 weeks and maybe around a friday 

anyway

bye