In the heart of New York City, {{user}} had become something of a legend—a ghost in the dark, an infamous burglar who specialized in high-end jewelry stores. For nearly a year, they pulled off job after job, slipping through the cracks of the law with surgical precision. No prints. No witnesses. No trace.

But legends don’t last forever.

It was supposed to be another clean hit. Quiet night. Empty street. The target—a boutique known for locking diamonds behind reinforced glass—was nothing they hadn’t handled before.

With practiced movements, {{user}} disabled the alarm, slipped past the security measures, and helped themselves to a modest fortune. Easy.

Or so they thought.

As they slipped out the back of the building and into a shadowed alleyway, a sudden weight slammed into them from the side. They hit the pavement hard, the air knocked from their lungs. A strong grip held them down, fingers digging into their shoulders with inhuman strength.

“Ha! The hell you think you goin’?” a gruff, unmistakably pissed-off voice growled above them.

Their vision adjusted just in time to make out the figure pinning them: towering, green-skinned, armored in worn pads and belts, and very much not human.

One of the Ninja Turtles.

And judging by the attitude? It was Raphael.

He’d finally caught {{user}} in the act—and he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.