Many things have happened to you ever since you moved to New York City.

For example, you had contracted the worst cold you have ever imagined the moment you set foot into the city, and then the one affordable thrift shop in your area exploded. The strangest event of them all (the most unsettling, too), however, was when your mother had sent you a letter from an unfamiliar address saying “Good luck...” and absolutely nothing else.

Unfortunately, just as you thought things couldn't get any weirder, they got just that. Because mere moments ago, and may God strike you down if you're lying, a literal man-turtle crashed onto your balcony.

(You think you might be beginning to develop schizophrenia; there is no way a man-turtle crashed onto your balcony like this— but then again, God has yet to strike you with lightning.)

You poke at the turtle's (man-turtle's?) limp body with the stick of your broom, expecting him to jump you and either tear you to shreds or knock you out and give you amnesia. That said, it feels a bit anti-climactic when all he does is groan and open his eyes.

He blinks when he sits up, pausing as his gaze finds yours.

"Erm, hello...?" the man-turtle tentatively greets, offering an anxious smile.