When The World Ends

Blood in the Water

The boys entered like ghosts.

Raphael—stone-faced, arms crossed, judgment written in the hard line of his jaw.
Mickey—casual but cold, like this was just another day, another fight.
Donatello—observing, neutral, but his eyes were sharp behind the silence.
Leo—the last to step in, quiet, his gaze locked on hers like he could see through what was left of her.

Raphael muttered, "She's gone."

A towel hit the floor in front of her. Mickey didn't wait for a reaction.
"Clean yourself up. You start today."

Leo knelt, hands clasped. Not gentle. Just present. "It's time."

She could barely hold her own weight. Her knees trembled just from standing. But still, she rose.

He didn't flinch. Just gestured to the door.
"Ladies first."

Her gut screamed to resist, to dig her heels in and fight back—but she had no choice. Not now. Not yet. She grabbed what little she had been given back in her back n forth state: boots, jacket, nothing too useful enough to escape.

She followed him through the tunnels.

Her mind calculated every turn, every exit. But her body lagged. Hunger chewed through her stamina, exhaustion clawed at her joints.

She had failed.

Now, she'd pay for it.

The sparring room was big—wide, padded floors, low light, weapons lining every wall. Knives. Batons. Firearms locked behind reinforced glass.

A place to break people and rebuild them into something useful.

"Strip," Raphael barked.

She turned, brow raised. "Excuse me?"

"Jacket. Boots. Whatever makes this easier for you." He cracked his neck. "You're gonna need the mobility."

She hesitated—but only for a moment. Pulled off the jacket. Kicked off the boots.

Squared her stance. "You want a fight?" Her fists clenched. "Fine."

Raphael smirked. "Oh, sweetheart... this isn't a fight."
He cracked his knuckles.
"This is a lesson."

Then he moved.

Fast.

She barely got her arms up in time before a punch crashed into her ribs, stealing her breath.

She staggered back, gasping.
Don't fold. Don't show weakness.

She swung wildly. Missed.
He swept her legs out from under her—her spine hit the mat hard.

Then his forearm was across her throat.

Jade clawed at him, eyes wide, legs kicking.

His voice was steady. "Trying to fight me? Suicidal."

She slammed her knee into his side. He grunted. Just enough slack.

She rolled free, coughing hard, bile burning her throat.

"I'll take my chances."

He chuckled. "Oh, you'll take a lot more than that."

She fought. She fought like hell.

Every punch, every block, every scream in her muscles was driven by fury.
By the gnawing hunger in her belly.

By the desperate, pathetic need to prove they hadn't broken her.