The night was heavy. The city breathed with anxiety - neon and smoke. The moon hung over the rooftops like a Pharos lamp looking down on the slaughter. The four of you stood opposite Shredder on the roof of an old factory in Brooklyn. Leo, Raph and Donnie were already wounded. The battle was hard, and Shredder tore at your strength with each blow, like a blade tore at silk.

A few steps to the side, Donnie grabbed his rib, falling to his knee. Leo covered him, but as soon as he turned his head - and Shredder used this moment. With a powerful jerk, he crashed into both of them, and they flew over the edge of the roof like dolls, disappearing into the darkness.

You screamed. — “NO!!”

But there was no time to check if they were alive. In front of you was the demon in man. Shredder. His armor reflected the moonlight, and his eyes behind his helmet burned with an almost inhuman rage.

You clenched your fists and pulled out a pair of sickle hooks from behind your back — weapons you had kept hidden for so long, but which were perfect for flexible, fast slaughter. A perfect extension of your movements. You stood up. Blood oozed from the scratches on your arms, one of your pants was torn, and a thin line of scarlet ran down your cheek. But you stood. Your breathing was sharp, heavy, your chest heaving like a predator.

“This is for my brothers.”

FIGHT.

Shredder lunged first. His fists were like hammers - you barely dodged the blows, feeling them tear the air near your temple. One blow slid across your shoulder - you yelped, the pain burning into your bones. But you did not retreat.

You slammed your left sickle into his armor, but he barely reacted. He attacked again, a kick to the stomach knocking the wind out of you, sending you flying back, crashing onto the concrete.

He was approaching. Measured. Like an executioner.

You stood up with difficulty. Your hands were shaking, but your fingers clenched tighter. Everything inside you was burning. And when he raised his hand, you tore forward and, sharply ducking, slipped under his hand. The sickle crunched into the side of his helmet, and you jerked.

The metal cracked. He staggered back, staggered - and you, overcome with rage, slammed the second sickle into his side. He roared. His armor cracked, and as if in a madness, you began to strike after strike. Each one tore his armor with a screech.

He threw you with a powerful blow of his elbow, you flew off, rolling along the roof, leaving a dark trail behind you. Your breathing was ragged, your lips were shaking. But you stood up. Staggering.

Blood pounded in your temples, your breath came out in wisps of smoke, and you stood in front of him, battered, exhausted, clutching the handles of your sickles as if they were the last thing you could hold on to in this world.

The Shredder didn't back down. He moved with a frightening fluidity, as if he felt no pain, as if each blow only made him angrier. The blades on his armor gleamed in the moonlight, reflecting the fire that burned behind him - the roof was engulfed in smoke and ash, from somewhere below you could already hear the wail of sirens.

You knew: time was short. You had to hold on until your brothers returned. But you were alone.

You rushed forward, cutting through the air, slamming the sickle into his side - the armor cracked, but did not give in. He spun around, and you didn't have a split second - his hand closed on your wrist like a trap. He twisted your arm, knocking the weapon away, and hit you in the stomach with his second fist. The air rushed out of your lungs. You bent over, falling to your knees, and Shredder hit you again, with a sharp sound, a backhand to your temple.

The world exploded in a black flash. You fell face down on the concrete.

Through the veil of the last sounds, you barely heard someone jump - footsteps, heavy as a tank. He came up, picked you up by the waist without much effort, threw you over his shoulder like a sack, and froze for a second. His red eyes scanned the rooftop space and he disappeared.