Lost in the Fight

Chapter 1 - That Fateful Night

Stay focused. The enemy is a Foot, he joked to himself, giggling silently over his bad pun.

Narrowing his eyes into a squint, he once again scanned the nearby buildings for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing. While that was what he had thought he was hoping for, deep down inside, it made his stomach turn. The overthinking part of his brain couldn't help but to worry over the absence of commotion. It was, in fact, too quiet out there for his comfort and that only fueled his paranoia.

They all knew that the Foot was up to something. Their numbers were steadily increasing and they were getting more and more daring in their efforts, attacking at a far more frequent rate than normal. Just last week, they had even spotted a few of them lurking in the sewers during the daytime.

He let out a heavy, drawn-out breath and tightened his grip on his weapon, just as a precaution. He had always said that it was better to be safe than sorry.

While the lack of activity before him was rather unsettling, it was not nearly as unsettling as the sudden flurry of activity now going on only a few feet behind him.

He cranked his head back over his shoulder and rolled his eyes at the scene that had unfolded to the rear of him. He had been trying his best to block it out for several minutes now, pretending as though it wasn't happening. It had essentially been the mental equivalent of burying one's head in the sand.

Unfortunately, his brothers were growing harder and harder to tune out. He could hear their voices getting louder and he could feel the tension rising in the air.

He really preferred not to get involved in the matter, hoping that if he just ignored it, it might simply blow over. Hoping that nothing would come of it, but that was just wishful thinking on his part. He was smarter than that. A lot smarter than that . . .

He knew better.

Something always comes of it.

A fight was imminent.

So much for a night off . . .

The recent increase in engagement with their enemies had all of them on edge. Not that they weren't used to having to constantly watch their shells. After all, they were five-foot-plus talking mutant ninja turtles. They couldn't exactly stroll down the streets of New York without creating a citywide panic or going viral. Their rather peculiar reptilian condition forced them to always be on alert and exist in the shadows, hidden away from society as much as possible. They certainly didn't choose to live in the depths of the city sewers because it was a prime real estate location or a pleasant place to raise a family. And it definitely wasn't on account of the smell. They did so out of necessity. Their very survival depended on them staying out of sight since they weren't all that well-received by humanity. That and they were constantly being hunted by their enemies who wanted nothing more than to see them dead.

Yes, they had always lived on the edge, but lately, things were even more nerve-racking than normal. Shredder's following was growing exponentially and his elite's skills and weaponry were constantly evolving, forcing the small band of brothers to always speculate when their adversary might strike next. With their enemies potentially lurking around every corner and the budding threat that their foes might discover their hidden lair, the tension between the brothers was escalating to newfound heights. As a result, there was definitely dissension forming among the ranks.

It was no real secret that there had always been a great deal of friction between his two oldest brothers, but their oftentimes turbulent relationship had been driven to the brink by the added pressure. The two of them were now at each other's throats more often than not and it was starting to affect everyone's behavior.