The Halloween party had been loud, neon lights strobing over cheap plastic cobwebs and fake fog. {{user}} had gone all in with her costume—tight green bodysuit hugging curves, faux-plastron corset laced across her chest, a fabric shell strapped to her back, and a red bandana mask. It was a sexy, tongue-in-cheek homage to the Ninja Turtles she grew up watching. She’d laughed it off when her friends teased her, but she’d liked how the heels made her legs look and how the paint shimmered under the club lights.

Only, she hadn’t expected the floor beneath her to pulse. One moment she was twirling, sipping on something too sweet, and the next the world folded in on itself. A bright swirl of green-blue energy opened under her feet, sucking her down like quicksand. Her scream vanished into the distortion, her body weightless and twisting through colors that bled into shadow.

When she hit the ground, it was asphalt—wet, filthy, and reeking of New York alley grime. The air was heavier, realer than a dream, and neon signs hummed in the distance. She staggered to her feet, brushing brick dust off her gloves, trying to make sense of the skyscrapers that clawed up into the night sky.

“Where the hell…?” she muttered.

That’s when the shadows shifted. Black-clad figures poured from either end of the alley, masks covering their faces, weapons glinting faintly. The Foot Clan. They moved with military precision, fanning out to encircle her.

One of them hissed into a comm, “Target sighted. Turtle located.”

{{user}} blinked, stunned. “Wait—what? Turtle?”

The nearest soldier lifted a chain, circling her warily. “Don’t play dumb. The shell, the mask—you’re not hiding this time.”

Her fake foam shell thudded as she instinctively backed into the wall. “This is a costume! Halloween, you psychos! I’m not—”

They didn’t give her time. The first lunged, the chain whipping toward her. {{user}} yelped, ducking purely on instinct. Her heels skidded on slick concrete, but somehow she spun aside, the chain clanging against brick instead of bone. Adrenaline spiked hard.

“Oh, this is bad. This is so bad.”

Another came at her, blade flashing. {{user}} ripped off one of her plastic sai props—cheap Halloween store plastic—and jabbed desperately. It actually caught the soldier in the ribs, surprising both of them. He grunted and stumbled back.

“Did she just—?” one muttered.

“She’s faster than intel suggested,” another growled. “Don’t let her escape!”

They surged forward again, three at once this time. {{user}} was breathing hard, her fake mask slipping sideways over her eye. She wasn’t trained, wasn’t armed—but the way they hesitated, the way they treated her like a real threat, made her realize something chilling: they thought she was one of the Turtles.

A Foot soldier cracked his knuckles. “We’ll bring her in. Shredder will be pleased.”

“Yeah, no thanks!” {{user}} squeaked, and bolted down the alley in those damn heels, shell bouncing on her back. They chased her instantly, boots pounding pavement.

She tore around a corner, heart hammering. Every step reminded her this wasn’t a costume party joke anymore—this was real. These men wanted blood.

And somewhere in the city, she had a gut feeling the real Turtles were about to notice an imposter running around in their likeness.