She's pretty. Laughing in a way to make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, with wide brown eyes glinting with mischief that teeters on the edge of full-on madness. But I have to admit, she's pretty.

Her bat meets the blade of my scythe expertly, and she keeps me at bay with a few wild kicks. Sloppy attempts, I have to say. There are inklings in her fighting style to suggest professional training, but her guerrilla warfare technique and that bat of hers suggests she's taken on more of a rogue vigilante stance than that of a seasoned warrior.

Definitely not with the Hamatos, I conclude as her bat whooshes through the air and narrowly misses a strike at the right side of my head. Yoshi would have never allowed such tomfoolery in his pupils' techniques while training them to fight adversaries, and the maniacal giggles that constantly bubble up out of her definitely banish any thought of her being one of Splinter's usually centered students.

My earpiece crackles. "Where is she? Kirā hasn't disposed of the girl, has she?" "No, Master. Her instructions were specific - capture, not kill."

I smirk, getting lost in my own pride. Sure, Shredder can bark orders at me through this infuriating device and order me around like a little puppet, but he was completely oblivious to the fact that I'd rewired it to pick up his conversations with the other henchmen. Though I wish they wouldn't call me by my alias — Kirā was so misleading. I'd never killed anybody. Sure, the translation of the name implied I was a ruthless assassin, but I never ended anyone's life. Killer was false. Perhaps calling me Surēbu would better communicate my true place in the Foot Clan — Slave.

I'm getting ahead of myself, I realize when her bat nearly collides with my ribs. My scythe nearly manages to slice off her ear as I jab and parry her blows, but she grazes my wrist with her weapon and makes me bite back a pained cry. My scythe clatters to the ground, and her next kick is too quick for me to retrieve it immediately. I jump up, bending and tucking in my legs automatically, flipping multiple times in the air before sticking my hands out at the last second to catch myself and springing up. A perfect back handspring to finish off a flawlessly executed backflip, if I do say so myself.

She giggles as she shoulders her bat, giving me a smile that makes it seem as if we're playing a harmless game of tag rather than participating in a potentially fatal fight. She has a high tolerance for pain. Blood is seeping into the fabric of her white crop top, and she's favoring her left shoulder. Obviously remnants of the prior fight with Bradford and Tigerclaw.

I'm still defenseless, which is a problem. She continues approaching, the rubber soles of her sneakers smacking the concrete as she saunters forward. I inch back, doing as I was trained and looking for a way to evade the opponent and retrieve my scythe.

"C'mon, don't run away!" she coaxes, "You started this little game, and now we gotta finish it! No backin' out now!"

I scowl. The childish lilt in her voice is starting to irk me.

"It's you who should be running," I attempt to back-talk, cursing my lack of confidence when it came to intimidation.

The girl cackles again, her pitch rising as she advances faster. "Honey, I never run from fun! Why would I pass up teaching you a lesson? I already schooled Wolfie and Kitty Cat back there!"

I can't help my internal laughter at what had to be taunting nicknames for the two goons who'd ordered me to take care of this little nuisance, but my lips remain in a thin, unamused line. No emotion. No reaction. Only the mission.

I crouch momentarily, then vault up over my enemy, the wind blowing my hair back and filling me with renewed exhilaration. My combat boots thud against the concrete as I land behind her, spotting my scythe and reaching for it, stupidly letting my defenses down for a split second.

"Nope!" she cries, and her metal-plated baseball bat meeting the side of my head sends me sprawling.

I roll and manage to kneel, blinking a few times as stars dance across my vision. Damn it, how could she have bested me?!

"What a nice little toy!" she exclaims, plucking my scythe up to examine. She seems casual as she twirls my weapon experimentally, glancing back at me and clucking her tongue. "You know it's very rude of you to try and—"

I jump up, cutting her off with a kick to her jaw. I don't put enough force behind it to break anything, but I revel in her little squeak as she falls. My scythe is in my hand again, and it's so natural in my grip I almost forget about my pounding forehead.

She dropped her bat. I scoop it up before she can recover, throwing it out into the street. She gasps, blowing her wavy brown locks from her eyes as she looks up at me with a glare.

"That was my favorite!" she shrieks, bolting to her feet and rushing toward me. She clutches the end of my weapon before I can react, shoving it at me and rotating it so the blade gouges my flesh. I yelp, stumbling away and trying to ignore the warm sensation of blood rushing down my cheek, dripping from my chin.

She'd breathing heavily now, and laughing again behind my back. God, her laughter is driving even me crazy.

"Told ya you'd stain your little outfit," she spat with a toothy grin.

I whirl to face her, unusual anger rushing through my veins, my eyes stinging with wrathful tears.

"Aww, is the baby gonna cry?" the girl teases, "Maybe she needs a bottle. Want me to sing you a lullaby?"

I let loose a furious scream. No one would accuse me of weakness. My hands are a blur, striking and swinging and moving my scythe in tandem with my uncontainable rage. She evades a few of my blows, but after a few seconds, I don't know anything but the pounding of the blunt side of my weapon against skin, the sound of my blade whirring through the air.

My vision clears. I stand over her form, and for a moment I panic. She's not moving. Have I finally earned my nickname as a relentless assassin?

Then her chest rises and falls, and I let out a sigh of relief. She's out, but she's not dead. My eyes sweep over the new scratches and blooming bruises, and I raise my hand to my ear, clicking on the earpiece.

"Shredder," I murmured, "I have the girl."

Silence. Nothing but crackling static. Then: "Kill her."

I gape. "W...What?"

"Dispose of her. It's obvious she will be nothing but trouble to train. I will not waste my time training a student who is destined to fail."

"Good riddance." A quieter frequency let me hear Bradford's snickering. "That little brat is useless, anyway."

A faint voice, recognizably Tigerclaw, protests, "Master, perhaps this girl would eventually prove—"


"Enough!" Shredder bellowed, "I have made my decision. Do not test me!" His attention returned to me. "Kill her, and return to your post."

"I...I..." I couldn't compute what was happening.

"Did I not make myself clear, student? Kill her, or I will make sure your punishment for letting her escape will be painful!"

I wince, my breaths ragged now. Murder isn't in my nature. My eyes are welling up thinking about ending this girl's life. My muscles are aching, the absence of adrenaline weighing my body down. She's helpless, no longer fighting — innocent. Getting rid of her would be dishonorable!

But my own life hangs in the balance. I can't endure more hours of torture. Letting her go means weeks, months even of agony.

I'm crying openly now. My scythe is raised overhead, preparing to plunge into flesh and rob a person's life. What am I doing? This isn't you, Reneé!

The girl's eyes flicker open, and then register me. Her expression shifts from peaceful unconsciousness to horror, holding her hands up in a vain attempt to defend herself.

'What...what are you doing?" she whimpers.

I let out a sob, squeezing my own eyes shut, bringing the blade down.

Her scream fills the air.

And then I'm on my back. I wheeze, trying to take oxygen back into my lungs. I hear my scythe clatter out of reach, and the weight of someone else's body bearing down on me. I struggle, going into Cornered-Animal Mode, kicking and screaming and flailing. Someone grabs my arms, forcing them to my sides.

I realize my eyes are still closed. They fly open, and I'm met with russet orbs, staring down at me, surrounded by a purple mask. I gasp, my eyes wide, eyes shifting to another individual, this one in orange.

There are two more of them, green, with shells and masks of red and blue, though my view of them is obscured my the tall, lanky one holding me down.

"What the hell?!" I hear the girl cry.

"Geez, scream a little louder, why don't ya?" the red-masked brother grumbles.

"Don't panic," the terrapin in blue says.

"Did one of you drop your bat?" Orange-Clad asks.

"Are you okay? What were you thinking?!"the one in purple asks.

I nod, only registering one of Donatello's questions. He sighs in exasperation, searching my eyes for some explanation.

"Hey guys," I sighed, looking around at my friends, smiling through the tears pouring down my face.