April and the Ninja Turtles
11:51 PM — that’s what her phone read when she flipped it over to check. Her arms were folded on her desk, chin resting on top, before she let the phone drop with a dull thud and buried her tired, dejected face in her arms.
She didn’t want to go home. Not to her dingy apartment, empty and silent.
She wanted to smell frying eggs in the morning again, talk with Master Splinter, help Donatello get over his fear of humans…
She’d hurt them. She knew it. And it wasn’t hard to imagine they’d never want to see her again.
How could she ever earn their forgiveness after what she had done?
With a weary sigh and eyes red from exhaustion, she finally stood up from her desk. The weekend was only minutes away, and everyone had already left T.C.R.I. Tower. April took off her lab coat as she made her way toward the women’s locker room — but she froze abruptly at the sound of footsteps echoing down the large hallway behind Stockman’s office.
She pressed herself against the nearest wall, careful not to be seen, and peeked discreetly around the corner toward the corridor now slowly lighting up.
A chubby man was there, whistling cheerfully as he retrieved a set of electronic keys from his belt.
April narrowed her eyes as she watched him swipe a red card through a security reader on one of the reinforced doors — one of the same doors she passed every morning. Her confusion deepened as he opened it and placed a food tray inside before closing it again and heading for another door. This time, he grabbed an electric baton and activated it.
April leaned further to see what he intended to do with it — just as he opened the second door.
“Arghhhh!” a voice screamed from inside as the baton jabbed something — or someone — in pain.
Hand clamped over her mouth to keep from gasping, April pressed back against the wall, eyes darting in panic. Then she steeled herself and turned again, fingers digging into the wall’s texture as she peeked once more.
The man opened a third door — directly across from the others, at a diagonal from her position, giving her a partial view inside. Quickly, she pulled out her phone and began recording, zooming in on the scene.
The man slowly opened the door and held out the food tray, only to pull back with a mocking laugh.
“Oops! Too slow!” he jeered, when suddenly something entered the frame.
A trembling green hand — three fingers stretching toward the tray — then collapsing to the floor.
The man set the tray beside it, then kicked the hand aside with his foot before slamming the door shut and walking off with his cart, chuckling like a fool. Then the hallway fell back into an eerie silence.
Still holding her hand to her mouth, April put away her phone and rushed toward the last door that had been opened, dropping her ID badge from her coat in her hurry. She pressed her palm against the cold metal, knocking on it in hopes of being heard, and leaned her ear against it.
“Leonardo? Raphael? Michelangelo — can you hear me?” Her voice trembled, edged with fear. She looked up at the ceiling, worry etched deeply into her brows.
The hand she’d seen had looked frail. They weren’t being fed properly — just barely kept alive. That was her conclusion, knowing Stockman.
Panic overtaking her, she raced to the elevator to get home as fast as possible, praying Splinter and Donatello hadn’t already left. She had to show them the video, tell them where the brothers were — before it was too late.
Two steps at a time, she bolted up to her apartment door — only to realize it was already unlocked.
Hesitating, she pushed it open slowly, entering with apprehension.
But her anxiety turned to overwhelming relief when her eyes landed on Master Splinter, seated on the couch, blowing gently on a cup of hot tea held in his paws.
He looked up at her entrance, set down his cup, and rose to greet her.
Tears welled in her eyes as she rushed forward to hug him, taking him by surprise. He coughed awkwardly, patting her back kindly.
“I thought you’d gone…” she whispered, tightening the hug.
“Donatello explained everything,” Splinter began in a calm voice, prompting April to let go and give him room to breathe.
“I’m so sorry…” she said sadly, the guilt crashing down on her once more.
“What you did…” Splinter paused, glancing away as he searched for the right words.
“I was surprised. But I know you never meant to hurt anyone — you were manipulated.” He turned back to her, folding his paws behind his back.
“I think you understand it’ll be hard for us to trust you again. So if there’s anything else we should know, now’s the time.”
His face softened slightly, offering a hint of forgiveness.
“Well… I found out something. About you. And about your three sons. But I’d like Donatello to hear it too,” she said, glancing around the apartment.
“Donatello, come out now,” Splinter called without taking his eyes off April.
At his command, Donatello emerged from the bathroom, limping, and joined them in the living room. April watched him sit beside his father, heart tightening when he avoided her gaze. She knew she’d have to earn his trust again.
Fidgeting nervously, April began telling them about her father and the experiments he had conducted on the mutagen. He was the one who had caused their mutation — turned them into what they were and forced them into hiding.
At this revelation, both remained silent until Splinter finally spoke.
“Thanks to your father, we were free for a while.” A gentle smile crossed his face as he continued.
“He did inject us with mutagen, yes. But he realized his mistake — and did everything he could to help us. Unfortunately, he paid a high price.”
The old rat looked down at his folded paws for a moment before taking another sip of his tea.
“My father helped you?” April asked, frowning.
“When we began to mutate, your father was fascinated. That fascination turned into respect. Seeing our intelligence, he grew fond of us and wanted to end the experiments. But he wasn’t alone — he worked with Baxter Stockman, and Stockman was in charge. The tests he performed on us were…”
Splinter stopped with a growl. Donatello gently placed his good hand on his father’s arm to calm him.
“Mr. O’Neil couldn’t take it anymore. He planned our escape while Stockman was away. He freed me, gave me the young turtles, and helped us escape through the sewers. But everything didn’t go as planned. He was supposed to join us later after destroying the blueprints and hiding us — but he never came.”
“He died in the fire he set to destroy the evidence,” April finished, her eyes drifting toward a framed photo of her father holding her as a child.
After a moment of silence, April pulled out her phone, hesitating. Should she show them the footage?
She looked at the two mutants — they exchanged knowing, pained glances. The old memories clearly stirred deep trauma.
“I…” she began, drawing their attention.
“I filmed something tonight. I was about to leave when I heard footsteps. I hid and watched a guard I’d never seen before with a set of electronic cards.”
Her grip on the phone tightened.
“He opened three doors to leave food trays. I filmed the last door.”
She deliberately left out the electric baton. Donatello and Splinter leaned forward, fully attentive.
“Show us,” Splinter said, reaching out his paw.
April’s chest tightened as she held the phone close, afraid of what they’d feel watching the footage.
“You can trust us,” Donatello said, catching her off guard.
His face wasn’t closed off — just a soft, encouraging smile. Through his words, she realized they had likely endured worse.
She handed over her phone.
The video played. April rose and walked to the kitchen, one hand on her forehead, turning her back to them.
The chubby man, the tray, the hand collapsing.
After a while, Splinter handed the phone to Donatello and stood to move to the window. Orange light filtered through the curtain.
But the video wasn’t over.
Donatello watched to the end. April had forgotten to cut the footage. It showed her crouched by the wall, the camera now angled downward. Her distressed face was just visible in the fading light. The motion light turned off. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she pressed her hand to her mouth and slid to the floor. With a sniffle, she stopped the recording.
Donatello looked up at April, who had turned to face Splinter but stood at a distance, as if ashamed. It was clear she felt personally responsible — her family’s connection weighed heavily on her.
He stood, returned her phone, a dark expression clouding his features after the video.
"Thank you," he whispered before going to comfort his father.
April tightened her grip on her phone, unsure of what to say to ease their pain. Splinter then turned around, his expression resolute.
"It's time. We can't delay any longer — the plan must be executed," he said, running a nervous paw through his beard.
"You can count on my help," April replied, standing tall as she slipped her phone into her pocket.
"Thank you, April, but we can't involve you in this. It's too dangerous," he said kindly, offering her a grateful smile.
"If there's anyone who can help you, it's me. Besides, you'll need me in your current condition — you're not fully recovered, and that could jeopardize the mission," she argued quickly, glancing between the two mutants.
Splinter fell silent for a moment, then turned to look at his son, lingering on the bandages wrapped around him — his chest wound bleeding again.
"Let me help you," she insisted.
"I'll be your undercover spy!" she added enthusiastically, raising a fist near her face, which made the old rat chuckle briefly.
"Very well. We have a plan to carry out. But before that, you'll need training," he explained, raising one finger with a firm look that left no room for argument.
April smiled triumphantly and clasped her hands behind her back, then turned to Donatello with a smile — one he returned, to her great surprise.
But it wasn’t a friendly smile — it was a teasing one.
He knew exactly what Master Splinter had in store for her.
