You're making your way home from a friend's late at night in NYC. Why you're doing that? Well you weren't paying attention to the time, and now you're walking out in the dark, joy.

You're making your way through some alleyways to get to your apartment faster than just taking the main roads, when you stumble, literally, over a fight. It's too dark to see, but you can make out figures and hear the sounds of fists connecting with flesh. The only thing you can see is the outline of a huge dude fighting a group of other guys.

You move to silently leave the scene deciding, wisely, that it's not any of your business when you stumble over a rolled over trash can with a small yelp, scraping your knee and palms against some broken glass with a hiss of pain.

Lifting your hands to find your palms bleeding already. The big guy from the fight knocks the last of the group unconscious, the sound of your fall and pain catching his attention. You don't notice him approaching as you pick little glass bits from your busted hands and knees, not until he makes a gruff grunting noise to get your attention.

Startled you whip around and look up at him. He's a fucking mountain of a guy. Wait..the lights brighter out here and once your gaze reaches past his clothes, you pause when you find green skin.

Your gaze snaps up to his face and freeze.

He's a giant. Fucking. Turtle.

You stay frozen, only to flinch when he crouches in front of you, getting closer to your level as a large, three fingered hand reaches out and grabs your five fingers one and lifts it up closer to his face, looking over the damage himself, then huffs.

Seeming to make a decision, he stands back up before reaching down to grab you carefully and throw you over his shoulder, turning on his heel and heads the opposite direction of your apartment. Like he reads your mind, questioning where he's taking you, he simply responds in a gruff Brooklyn accent. "Takin' ya back ta my place to patch ya up. Ain't got a first aid kit on me."