Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter 1

New York City: the early stages of fall. The cool and not-so-bleak days of autumn provided relief from the sweltering heat of the preceding summer. A hard summer meant a hard winter; everyone knew it, and they knew now was the time to savor the favorable weather. Of course, the hustle and bustle of city life would not allow much time to admire these beautiful days. This was one hell of a city to live in, and the pace at which life moved did not take well to dawdlers. One had to work hard to get ahead in this city. Jeremy knew this all too well. And with his recent strain of misfortune, it seemed life would not be too kind to Jeremy -- especially in the coming winter months.

Jeremy Stoker, a black-haired, slender young man of 23, had hit rock bottom in a two-week stretch. The week before last, Jeremy's mother and sister had past away. With no life insurance policies, Jeremy had to use his life savings to pay the funeral expenses. His boss fired him for not showing up for work, and now he had an eviction notice waiting for him on his apartment door. Jeremy approached the entrance to his small two-room apartment. He stared at the letter numbly. The door creaked as he slowly walked in. He made his way past the kitchenette, unsaddled his backpack, set it on the floor, and turned to sit on the narrow twin-sized bed. He clicked on the small black and white television set; a weatherman spoke of the low chance of showers. A heavy sigh escaped his lungs, then once again Jeremy was perfectly still. He sat hunched on his bed. Clearly, this young man carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Jeremy's mother Jane had lived with him until last month, when she was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was then that she thought it best to move some place that she could be cared for properly. However, her condition worsened rapidly, and she had to stay at the hospital almost daily. As she lay on her death bed, Jeremy called his half sister Beth to come and stay by her alongside him.

Beth was Jeremy's closest sibling. He knew he had a few more out there, but Beth was the only one who had made the effort to know him and their mother. It was on her way to the hospital that Beth was involved in a major head on collision. She was killed instantly. Jane never had time to learn of her daughter's death; she died a moment before the police informed Jeremy of the incident.

His life was in shambles. The tears had already stopped. All Jeremy felt was a faint buzz: a strange numbness right on top of his head. Yesterday, Jeremy had received a call from his father -- the man Jeremy had not seen his since his sudden departure 13 years ago.

Now, he wishes to express a love for me that had not been present over a decade ago? Jeremy thought.

The strangely familiar gruff voice on the other end of the line offered a place to stay and a little money to get by.

This was Father's definition of love?

However, the meeting was arranged to be for this afternoon, and the cab would arrive in about ten minutes. Jeremy revived with a great intake of breath, and loud exhalation.

Marlboro... Lites.

He put what was necessary to survive in the black Jansport, picked up a Polaroid of Jane and Beth, and slid it into the front zipper pouch of the bag. He picked up his trench coat, started towards the door, took one last look at his small home, opened the door, and left. As Jeremy descended the building's front stoop, he pulled on his black trench coat, and slid the backpack over both shoulders. The cab was waiting at the curb.

The destination was a Denny's few miles south. As he sat muted in the back seat, he realized that after today his life would be changed forever. No longer did he have the comfort of a caring mother and sister. All he knew was that today he would be seeing the man who abandoned him ten years ago, and who would hopefully regain some stability in his life.

As he emerged from the taxi, Jeremy handed over his last few dollars to pay the fare. He was now penniless, and his only salvation was his father who promised to help in any way. He entered the restaurant.

Approaching the hostess, Jeremy said, "I am meeting someone."
"Name of the party, Sir?" the hostess asked.
"Stoker."
"I'm sorry, Sir. There is a note here saying that Mr. Stoker could not make it today, and he would call you tomorrow."

Speechless, Jeremy only looked around the crowded dining room. Unfamiliar faces filled the restaurant.

"Thanks."

Jeremy turned and left the building. He walked down the crowded sidewalk, noticing the heavy clouds that loomed overhead. Weathermen always lie, Jeremy thought. It was obvious there would be a hard rain tonight, and Jeremy had no place to stay.

He walked until the pale gray sky darkened to a ominous purple color. The rain began to spatter, and soon the clouds would spill forth their drenching contents. Jeremy turned the corner into a dark alley behind a Domino's Pizza building. He noticed a large box once used to package an oven. He put it on its side and crawled in. This was not where Jeremy intended to sleep tonight, nor ever; but he was tired from the stress incurred upon him, and soon the sounds of the lively city, and pat, pat, pat of the rain lulled him to sleep.



Jeremy Stoker awoke to find himself lying in a rain-soaked cardboard shelter. The steady rain had caused the water to soak the front of his body. His first instinct was to get up at once, but he heard voices coming. Two young men who had just picked up a few pies were walking down the alley. They were goofing around, telling jokes and laughing as they walked.

"What's the difference between a jailer and a jeweler?" one asked.
"I don't know," the other replied.
"One sells watches, and the other watches cells!" the first answered with a hysterical laugh.

The voices came closer. As they approached Jeremy, he stared straight at them. In his direct line of sight were their feet. He noticed what appeared to be bare feet. But, the skin was a different color. Green, maybe? Jeremy thought. Something else was strange. Instead of five toes on each foot, the pair had two toes on each foot. The toes both resembled his own "big toes."

"What the...?" Jeremy asked in full voice, amazed at the oddness of those feet.

Immediately, the two men stopped. In an instant, they had pulled out some funky weapons, and arched themselves to an attack position toward the box.

"Show yourself," one of the men said.
"I'm unarmed; I don't have any money. Leave me alone!" Jeremy pleaded as he emerged from the box.

He looked at the two men. They were dressed almost identical to him. They wore hats, though, and were heavyset. Nor could he see their faces; the alley was unlit and the darkness veiled them all in a black gloom. Immediately the two men realized Jeremy was not a threat, and lowered their weapons.

"Geeze, thanks for the coronary, Guy!" one of the men said. The other sputtered a boyish laugh. Jeremy was confused. The mood had changed. No longer was he being attacked. Come to think of it, he never was being attacked. He had merely alarmed to young men, who were cautious in walking these dark alleys.

"No kidding," the chuckling man said in response, "This is the stuff urban legends are made out of!" Jeremy squinted in the darkness. He noticed their eyes were masked in old rags. He said, "I was just resting in this box here because I didn't have any other place to go. I guess I'll get out of your way now," he began walking slowly, but thought again about where he would go. It was hopeless. It came back to him now, and the tears once again began streaking down his face. He sobbed.

"Hey, man. You okay?" one of the young men inquired.
"Mikey, let's get going!" the other called out.
"Raph, this guy is seriously hurting," the other replied as he approached Jeremy.
"Hey, Guy. You don't know where to go, do you? Why don't you--"
"Mikey!" the other interrupted, "you can't just go and invite any old street bum to our house!"
"I am not a bum!" cried Jeremy. "I am all alone in this damned world, and, Christ, nobody fucking cares!"

With that, Jeremy ran. Mikey turned the corner just in time to see a small car strike Jeremy's body. He lay on the pavement unconscious.

"Oh my God! Is he okay?" screamed the girl as she emerged from the car. Both of the young men were at Jeremy's side in an instant. "He'll be fine, Miss," Mikey said. "He's had a little too much to drink tonight. We'll get him home to bed. In the morning, he won't feel anything but a bad hangover." "You just go on ahead, ma'am," Raph told the girl. "We'll take care of it."

With that the girl was gone, and the two young men continued down the alley. One toting Jeremy over his shoulder, and the other carrying the two boxes of pizza.

When Jeremy awoke, he lay on a mattress that was about as ragged looking as him. His head buzzed even more than before. He touched his forehead and felt a gauze patch. He examined his surroundings. There seemed to be cement tunnels all around. An old lamp sat upon a three legged table. Sitting on an old crate in front of the couch was a small, thirteen inch television displaying the fuzzy image of New York's finest newscaster April O'Neil.

He had always admired her work. Jeremy felt that whenever he heard her say something on the news, he was hearing the whole truth. The image was lost to a blizzard of static. Then, "What's wrong with this damned thing, Donnie?" a familiar voice said. "The interference is getting worse all the time."
"I don't know, Raph. Must be the storm up above," came a voice from another room close by.

"Ungh," Jeremy uttered.
"Guys, he's awake," Raph said.

A crowd gathered around him. He felt a little dizzy; he was seeing spots. He was seeing colors... mostly green. Again came the confusion. Jeremy grasped his head in both hands, then rubbed his eyes.

"That's okay," Mikey said. "You aren't crazy; we're turtles."
Jeremy's response was blunt. "Okay," he said.

The lair was fairly dark and somewhat damp. Of course, not as damp as the alley he was sleeping in a few hours ago. He was sitting in the tattered Barca Lounger in the middle of the living room. Around him were various items of Japanese decor. He sat facing the group of four turtles. The one named Michaelangelo sat on the arm of an old Davenport. He wore an orange mask which appeared to be a discarded T-shirt with eye-holes cut out. He was also clearly shorter than the other three, and he had a childlike face. He chewed a slice of pizza then took a swig from a twenty ounce bottle of Pepsi. Then he spoke.

"You know, Jeremy, the alleys of New York are hardly a place to call home."
"Yeah, and a musty ol' sewer den is!" remarked the one named Raphael. He was the tallest of the four, wore a red face mask, and was clearly the jock type. He slapped Michaelangelo on the back of the head. Mikey just rolled his eyes.
"Well," said the one in blue, "you can stay here for a coupla days then you gotta be on your way." This was clearly the leader of the pack. He seemed to be the oldest, and thus the decision maker for this group of oversized reptiles.
"Donatello, could you see Mr. Stoker to the sick room? If anyone needs me, I'll be in my room meditating."
"Aye-aye, Captain," replied Donatello as he ushered Jeremy to the makeshift infirmary.

Donatello held a light to Jeremy's right eye, inspecting for any internal injuries the bump could have caused. Jeremy thought his mask was purple; but upon closer examination, he could see that the rayon material actually had a black and purple plaid print.

"Say 'ah'," Donatello said in a high tenor voice. Jeremy did as he was told, but couldn't help gagging as the tongue depressor entered his mouth.
"Oops, sorry bout that," said the turtle.
"No. It's okay; that always happens to me." Donatello continued his examination.
"What were you doing in the alley of Domino's, Jeremy? You don't look like you've been on the street long. So, what's up?"
"Well," Jeremy answered, "It's kind of a long story. I've just been really unfortunate these past few weeks." "What could be so bad that you were forced to sleep in an oven box?"
"My mother and sister died, my life savings went to funeral expenses, I lost my job and my apartment, and my father stood me up once again."
"Hmm. You know what? That really sucks the big one! I am really sorry for that, and uh for this: could you turn your head and cough?"

When Donatello finished recording the results of his exam, he showed Jeremy to the room that he would be sleeping in.

"It's already furnished. This place used to be where our old friend Mondo used to live. He passed away a couple of years ago."
Jeremy asked, "was he another turtle like you guys?"
"Actually, he was a gecko, really great guy to hang with."
"Yeah, I really miss hanging out with my sis. She was my only true friend. Family is... was very important to me. But... now it's gone." His eyes lowered.
"Look, our dad's gonna be home in a few hours. He's returning from a sabbatical with his friend Sheng. They can help you with your problems: physical and emotional."
Jeremy sat on the bed. "Thanks, Donatello, for all this. I mean, this kind of hospitality is very hard to come by in this town. It's good to know there are people out there who care."
"Thanks to you, too, Jeremy. It's very difficult for most people to be as understanding about us as you are. I can tell you are gonna make a good friend to us all. See ya tomorrow."

With, that Donatello was gone, and Jeremy thought through the events of the day once more. Incredible. He looked around at his surroundings once more. On the night stand, there sat a framed picture of a teenage girl with blue hair. She stood holding a skateboard. He remembered how Beth used to love skateboarding. Jeremy flicked off the lamp and made himself comfortable. Soon, he was asleep.



"Psst. Jer," came a hushed voice. Jeremy slowly raised one eyelid to see the same plaid mask from the previous night. "Jeremy, it's eleven o'clock. Master Splinter is here and would like to talk to you." Jeremy revived, and peeled the covers from his body. "You ready for the light?" and Donatello switched on the lamp. Jeremy's eyes scrunched and refused to open until his eyelids sensed that the light was not harsh enough to blind him. He climbed out of bed and pulled on his jeans.

"I'm ready," Jeremy said. As he followed Donatello, Jeremy entered the kitchen area of the sewer flat. He saw that at the table there sat Leonardo and a human Japanese man, and what looked like the largest rat he had ever seen. He gasped out of surprise, the rat spoke. "Do not fear, young Jeremy. I am Splinter, the Turtles' surrogate father. I am a mutant rat.
"Ahem. Very nice to meet you Splinter."
"This is my friend Fu Sheng. He is a man educated in the healing methods of the Orient. I, too, know some of these ways to help calm your mind. Donatello has told me of your plight. I know that your heart must be aching terribly; we have all lost someone very dear to us and can somewhat relate."

Splinter lifted a pipe to his mouth and placed and lit the contents. There was a soothing feeling about Splinter. Jeremy felt it as soon as he entered the kitchen. His long, flowing kimono dyed a deep magenta hung on his body weightlessly. The room smelled of burning incense, and the atmosphere was much more comfortable than the scene in the living room the night before.

"Now then," Fu Sheng began. "Tell us the complete story. Leave nothing out, and tell us about your father."

Taking the seat next to Leonardo, Jeremy Stoker began the story of his life.

Chapter 2

"And that’s when I woke up here. The Turtles introduced themselves and told me of their origin.”

Splinter said, “And you are a very kind man to not judge us by our appearance. It is so rare that people realize that we too are human in our hearts and in our minds. I trust that you will be a true friend Jeremy Stoker.”

Just then, Donatello walked into the kitchen. He grabbed a muffin from the plate on the counter and took the seat next to Jeremy. “Master Sheng,” he began. “What do you think we should do about this? I know it can’t be in Jeremy’s best interest to live his life in the sewers of Manhattan.”

“Well," Fu Sheng replied. "I know that our friend Chu Hsi may be able to help us out. Our number one predicament is that Jeremy has no idea how to locate his father. Many a time, I have visited the firehouse that Chu is stationed at. You would be amazed at how much information is readily available to firemen. I believe the location of Mister Stoker can be retrieved by Chu; this is our first step, Donna-san.”

With that, Fu Sheng stood from his seat, and gave a slight bow to his comrades. He turned to Jeremy as they all began standing up. “Do not worry, son. I will contact Chu Hsi, and see if I can count on this source. Meanwhile, I suggest that you try to make the best of the situation, and try not to allow the depths of depression get a hold of you. Now, good day to you all.”

Splinter walked Fu out to the main pipeline that led to a wooden door. Jeremy figured that it must be the only way out, since all of the other tunnels seemed to lead to dead-end rooms. He and Donatello stayed in the kitchen. “What’ll it be: eggs and bacon or Fruit Loops and banana-nut muffins? Jeremy gladly accepted a coffee mug bowl with the cereal and grabbed a muffin from the plate on the counter. As he poured the milk, he asked, “Will Fu Sheng be able to get some information from this Chu Hsi guy?”
“Well,” Donatello replied, “he is gonna try. Chu has been with the Chinatown Fire Department a long time, and has helped us out a lot in the past. Chu is a human, but possesses a spirit in him that allows a great Chinese Warrior Dragon to appear. Usually, he saves the day. We’ll take you to meet him tomorrow.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Jeremy said.

 Several hours had passed. Raphael and Michaelangelo were in the garage attempting to soup up an old Jeep they had found days earlier. The treasure was discovered just outside the northern sewer grate that lead to the open waters of the New York harbor. Leonardo sat in the TV room. The Happy Hour News broadcast had just begun, and Leo never missed the news. The familiar face of April O’Neil appeared on the fuzzy TV screen.

“Topping the news this evening is a grim bulletin of yet another high school massacre. John Hathaway is live from Littleton, Colorado.”

Donatello sat in his den. His fingers rapped against the keyboard of a beat up Presario clone. Jeremy walked in just as the wave generated voice exclaimed, “You’ve got mail!”

Don said, “Come on in. Lemme clear off this chair for you.” With that, Donatello’s eyes left the monitor’s screen, and his hands moved to the huge pile of computer hardware that buried a rusty fold-out chair. Jeremy sat down and gazed at the computer.

“I just received an e-mail from Chu Hsi,” said Donatello.
“Files done!” alerted the computer as the attached file completed the downloading process. He opened the file. It was a jpeg image of a man in his early fifties.

The features were sharp, with the apparent lines under the eyes and on either side of the mouth; eyes that were small and dark. The hair was jet black with the exception of the sideburns, which had long since run dry of any pigment. His lips were thin, and his mouth was small. There was no mistaking this man was a crooked character, and no mistake about it: this was Jeremy’s father.

“My God. He looks even more evil than I ever remember.” Jeremy leaned forward, brushing his right index finger over his eye lids.

“Umm Jer--” Donatello began, “I see no resemblance.” Of course, he was just being polite. Although there was no real physical characteristic that made these two father and son, there was the a hint of paternal essence.

The e-mail to which the file was attached read:

“Hello, Donatello. I haven’t seen you for a long time. It is nice to know that the city doesn't need as much rescuing as before. Fu Sheng has told me much about your friend's problem, and I hope I can help. Well, here is the information that you requested about your friend's father.

Name: Jackson Lee Stoker
Age: 52 Address: 317 E. Oyama, Little Tokyo, NY
Status: No spouse, No children, No claimed dependents

Well, that is all I could get on him. I hope to see you soon. --Chu Hsi”

 Just then, Leonardo walked in with a grimace on his face. His brow was furrowed. “Man, I really, REALLY hate guns! So, have you all found anything yet?”

Donatello replied, “Yup. Here are his stats and this is a pic.” He reclined in the seat, and folded his arms across his chest. Jeremy kept his focus on the haunting picture of his father. “Woah,” Leonardo began as he leaned his arms on the desktop. “This is pretty good start. You know, we can give April a call tomorrow. She could probably give us the scoop on this guy. He stood up straight again and folded his arms. "No offense, Jer but he looks like a pretty shady guy.”

Jeremy's gaze left the screen and fixed upon Leonardo. “I think I should go see him as soon as possible,” he said.

 All three made their way back to the front of the television.
April continued, “And in other news, the recent escalation in Mob related murders has Mayor Giuliani worried that the work of suspected crime-lord Don Turtelli will break the city’s “safe place” reputation. Now, the weather...”

Raphael and Michaelangelo entered the room engrossed in a heated argument. Between Raphael’s cussing and Michaelangelo’s accusations, it was ascertained that the argument was over a cracked head gasket. Both were covered in oil so it was reminiscent of Raphael’s old wrestling outfit worn on Stump Asteroid.

Raphael blared, “Well, if you hadn’t frickin’ poured water all over the head, we would already have that piece of shit running!”
Michaelangelo retorted, “You’re the one turned the damn hose on! If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours!” Both made there way to the couch, about to plop their greasy bodies onto the old davenport.

“HEY!” Leonardo shouted. “You two march to those showers and scrub yourselves so that I can see my handsome green mug in your shells!” The pair shut up and walked to the adjacent tunnel, heads slumped.

Jeremy turned to Donatello. The expression on his pale face clearly showed that he was still engaged in deep thought over his father. "I have to see him... tomorrow." Donatello looked at him surprised, but he gave a small nod in approval.


Chapter 3:

Jeremy lay in bed. He felt comfortable, although it was not his bed. He lay thinking of the events that tomorrow would bring. The lady at the restaurant told him that his father had wanted to meet the next day, but Jeremy knew that was not true. If Jack Stoker was as much of a father as he was a liar, Jeremy would not be in the situation that was his life. No, if he didn't show up after this many years, why would he show up the next day? Besides, he knew full well that Jeremy's phone would be disconnected.

He yanked the chain that hung from the ceiling; a dim bulb encased in metal wire illuminated a small portion of the dank room. He thought, turtles, rats, geckos....

The only thing keeping him from thinking this was a dream was the incredible amount of pain he was feeling. Then again, he had woken up crying before.

Here he was, a man of twenty-three. Twenty-three years old and running around in a sewer pipe with four teenage turtles and one old rat.

He rolled over and looked at the framed photo of the blue-haired girl. The curiosity overcame him, and soon he was reaching for the frame. He slid the backing off, and pulled the out the picture.

"Mondo,
I will always love you. I will always love your
long black hair, your ripped jeans, and your stupid
braces. Remember me always.
Love, Candice Fine"

The girl was beautiful and had a certain sparkle in her eyes that had Jeremy transfixed. He replaced the picture, and lay back in the bed. Tomorrow was another day of searching and meeting new people. It was best that he got some sleep.



Jeremy woke up long before the turtles. He knew Splinter was awake, or sort of awake anyway. He smelled heavy incense burning from the master's sitting room, and a flickering candle was the only light. Splinter's shadow danced along the walls of the adjacent tunnel. He was meditating; and so, Jeremy decided not to disturb him.
"Donatello," Jeremy whispered as he entered the dark room of snoring beasts. "Donatello... Don?" he continued. They all looked the same without their face masks. The corridor bulb gave off enough light to make out objects and dull colors.

There were bunk beds. The top one contained a turtle with his hind quarters pushed up in the air and a glint of drool running from his mouth to the pillow. No doubt that was Michaelangelo. The bottom bunk carried a larger, heavier turtle. He had his right forearm over his eyes, yet otherwise lay straight neatly covered by his blanket. This had to be Leonardo. The next turtle found refuge on the floor with a flat pillow and a thin sheet. Part of his head was tucked into his shell, but eerily, one eye was visible and partially open. Raphael, keeping constant guard over their den. Finally, came Donatello. His location was a mattress residing on the damp floor. He was curled into a fetal position, and books were scattered all around him.

"Donatello?" Jeremy asked as he prodded the turtle's scaly shoulder.
"Yeah?" Donatello replied half hoarse.
"Hey, do you all have a shower around here?"
"Oh yeah, sorry. I'll show you." Don said as he wiped his eyes.

They walked a short distance from the side tunnel in the kitchen. Jeremy had gone to the restroom before, but found that there was no bath, only a toilet and sink. They arrived at another tunnel entrance.

Here, Jeremy was surprised to see what closely resembled a high school locker room. There were six separate lockers, six shower heads on a tiled wall, two benches, and oddly enough, a hot tub in the corner.

"Did you all build this?" he asked in astonishment.
"Mostly," Donatello replied. "It's a great time saver after our training exercises. Usually, we want to just get back home and pig out, and not have to worry about who gets the shower."
"And why did you build six?" Jeremy pointed out the two extra shower heads.
"That's one for Splinter, and another for Casey Jones. He's another of our human friends. Well, the soap's over here, and Casey left some shampoo in this basket here, and the towels are in that cabinet. There's also some clothes that we use sometimes in that closet over there." Donatello still looked sleepy with bloodshot eyes and the way he trudged around the room instead of walking.

"So, I guess I'll see ya in a few."

Donatello was gone, closing the grate behind him.
Jeremy hoped he could find his way back.

He undressed and turned on one of the showers. He poured some shampoo into his hand, and worked it into his hair. He gazed into the steamy atmosphere of the shower room. The steady dripping of a broken faucet washer lulled Jeremy into a state of hypnosis, as the steam grew thicker and thicker.

"Jeremy, go say good-bye to your father," his mother's voice said. A wreath of smoke engulfed her face as she took another drag from her ever present cigarette.

"Bye, Daddy!" cried a small boy with jet-black hair. He ran up to his father and jumped into his arms. The tall man's eyes met the child's.

Daddy looked into each of Jeremy's green eyes.
Daddy put Jeremy down and brushed Jeremy's hair with his hand.

"See ya, Boy," said Daddy to Jeremy.

"You won't be seeing him for a while," said Jeremy's mother. She took his chin in her hands, and directed it up to her face. Nothing was visible but a cloud of smoke. A drop of wetness fell from the haze onto little Jeremy's cheek.

Jeremy blinked twice, and felt the wetness fall onto his cheeks. Nothing was visible, but a cloud of steam and a chrome faucet. Jeremy turned off the water.

He toweled off, found some black slacks with suspenders, an oversized turtleneck sweater, and clean socks to redress in. He sat down on the wooden bench, looked back at the cloud filled room, and buried his face in the palms of his hands.



Jeremy returned to find the entire family sitting at the breakfast table, enjoying a good ol' American breakfast. They offered him a seat and some food, and spoke the usual conversation of teenagers. Leo and raph talked about the coming football season, Donatello explained to his father how he uploaded a brand new web page on the Internet, and Michaelangelo just sat quietly.

Jeremy almost laughed when he noticed why Mike was so quiet. He was a site to see. His right arm rested on the table with the hand wedged under his jaw. His cheek was stretched so far that his upper teeth were showing. His eyes would lazily blink every so often, and sometimes shut completely. His other hand held the spoon loosely in his bowl of Cocoa Puffs. Jeremy would have certainly laughed out loud had he seen Mikey's pink bunny slippers nestled snugly on his feet.

"Jeremy," Splinter began. "I understand that today you are going to find your father."
Jeremy nodded as he sipped his coffee.
"I believe it would be wise to have some company go along with you."
"Umm. No offense, Splinter," Jeremy replied, "but I don't think my father will handle your presence too well."
None taken, san. But, I am referring to one of our human allies. I believe that our friend April can help us by initiating her investigative resourcefulness."

"That's a good idea, master," Michaelangelo added in a half-yawn. "You know, we could always use that surveillance stuff that she's got in her van. She and Jer can be wired, and at the first sign of trouble, we would be right there!" Mike was getting up now, heading for the living room.
"Michaelangelo," Leonardo said in a motherly tone. His brow furrowed, and he snapped is fingers twice.
"Aww, man!" Michaelangelo complained as he picked up his cereal bowl and put it in the sink. Splinter chuckled.

"Do you like celebrities, guy?" asked Raphael.
"Sure, I guess. Why?"
Raph leaned back in his chair and began picking is teeth. "Because you are about to meet New York's finest, and I mean FINEST, news reporter!"

Jeremy was puzzled for a second, but then realized just which April they had been talking about. And, at that moment, Jeremy blushed; he was going to meet the most beautiful woman on local television -- April O'Neil.

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Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and all related characters ©2000 Mirage Studios

The characters Jeremy Stoker and Jackson Lee Stoker ©2000 Michael E. Perez

Any similarity between any characters, names, persons, and/or institutions in this story and any living, dead, or fictional characters, names, persons, and/or institutions is not intended, and if does exists, is purely coincidental.