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P R O L O G U E
 

DECEMBER 11TH, 1978  NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

Splinter rested on his haunches and huddled in the warmth of his tattered cloak. With a careful eye he watched two of four six-year old Turtles, Leonardo and Donatello, mock-fighting with each other. So quickly they were growing; even faster than Splinter. To his wonder, each of them had grown to three feet tall over the past summer, dwarfing the rat.

Where the Turtles were maturing physically, Splinter matured intellectually. It could be said Splinter was something of a mutant even before he was exposed to the container of ooze labeled "TCRI" in the New York sewers that had been their home for the past six years. In the home of his master in Japan, as an ordinary enough rat, Splinter had watched Hamato Yoshi practice the martial art of ninjitsu, even mimicking it from his cage. It went beyond that—he had understood it, retained it, and practiced enough to even consider himself a seventh level master. He attributed it to his vaguely remembered master before Yoshi, a traveling alchemist from India who had sold Splinter to Yoshi’s father who had then given him to Yoshi as an eighteenth birthday present.

Yoshi had cared for him, showed him love, and, however unwittingly, taught him of honor and respect.

Since the day he had scooped those four baby turtles into an old coffee can, he had been the caretaker of the Turtles, the one that would care for them, show them love, and teach them the same honor and respect that Yoshi had shown him. Above all things, he would hold them together.

"Look what I got, Master!" little Raphael said, proudly. "We ’kilt it for you!" He and Michaelangelo struggled to hold up the bloodied body of a young alligator. It had been the second one in as many months they’d managed to hunt.

"Very good, Raphael! We’ll dine well tonight." Splinter chuckled in spite of himself. "Just be careful in the future."

Raphael and Michaelangelo plopped the alligator corpse down and scurried back about their business. Leonardo and Donatello had since stopped their mock-fighting, Donatello choosing to take a nap and Leonardo deciding to sit quietly cross-legged by himself.

"You seem troubled, Leonardo," Splinter spoke, walking over to him.

"Are you our father?" little Leonardo asked meekly.

A grin formed on Splinter’s whiskered face. He laid an affectionate hand on the Turtle’s brow. "Yes, Leonardo, I am your father. In every way that matters." In time he would be more. A jonin, a sensei.

When their ninja skills are at their peak... he told himself. When the time is right...

There would come a day when he would ask them to do something terrible, but something that had to be done. He would one day ask his sons to kill Oroku Saki, the murderer of his late master, Hamato Yoshi, and his bride, Tang Shen. It was not a thing Splinter liked to think about now.

Splinter sat down beside Leonardo. "Is that all that troubles you, my son?"

"Raph and Mike... they killed that gator. It’s dead." Leo sniffled, observing the dead alligator with a quick glance. "What will happen when you die, Master Splinter?"

Splinter massaged one of Leo’s shoulders. "Even at your tender age, you have always taken my words and teachings to heart. In you I see the heart of a leader." He sighed, then stood. "When I die, you will be the one to hold your brothers together."

Leaving Leonardo alone to contemplate that responsibility, Splinter retired to his bedchamber. Together, his four sons would forever find unbreakable strength in their unity; their blood bond of family.

But divided... divided they would fall.

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