. . . Huh?  What the hell?  Where am I?  My mind whirled with confusion,  What’s going on?  Standing on a roof, stars and a mid-phased moon over head, I probed my brain.  But it was a complete blank.  I didn’t have any clue as to how I came to be on the roof of a building in the middle of the night.  Now that I think about it, I’m not even sure of my name.  Sighing in frustration, I looked around, hoping to see something familiar.  Nothing.
 
    “Dammit!”  I cursed while toying with hem of a hooded cloak that I didn’t remember putting on.  A sound made me turn.  Four thugs in attack-ready positions had fanned out, preparing to take me down.  My eyes narrowed as I reached under my cape without knowing why.  To my surprise, I connected with what felt like a handle.  Wasting no time, I grabbed it and yanked--shocked, yet some how comforted by what appeared.  The Thugs’ eyes widened at the sight;  a gleaming, shining sword, four feet long--elegant, graceful, deadly.  A heavy, but familiar weight in my hand, almost an extension of my left arm.
    I turned my attention back to the punks, noting with little concern that they were not unarmed.  Two wielded machetes, another twirled nunchuckus, the last gripped a metal pipe.  As if on cue, they attacked.  On my right, the pipe punk lifted his weapon to bash my brains in; the look of shock as my foot connected with his chin was priceless.  At the same time, I brought the blade around in a back-hand swing.  It sang through the air and bit into the taller machete toter’s shoulder.  He cried out, and dropped his weapon to grab his bleeding arm.  The other knife thug was distracted by his whimpering pal and never saw my right hook until it impacted with his jaw.  A swift elbow to the back of his head brought him down.
    The breeze created by whirling ‘chucks caressed my face.  The puke stopped his advance when the business end of my sword came up to his belly, keeping him a safe distance away.  Grinning wickedly, I pushed my weapon toward him, allowing the point to penetrate the fabric of his black T-shirt, piercing his skin a fraction.  He gasped in pain and surprise.  Swiftly, I brought my sword down to reverse my hold, tearing his shirt and creating a shallow cut on the punk’s stomach.  I grabbed his jacket, pulling him toward me as my knee came up to connect with his crotch.  The strangled cry was cut short by the hilt of my sword, and he crumpled to the ground with a sigh.  The machete puke I had slashed was gone.  Three unconscious forms were at my feet.
    I held up the slightly blooded sword, examining the beautiful weapon.  My admiring was interrupted by noticing the hand that grasped the handle.  Even in the dim moonlight, I knew the skin was NOT the pink flesh tones of the punks I had just taken down.  Instead, my hand was a dark greenish hue.  Three fingers and a thumb were wrapped around the hilt.  I brought my free right hand up to join the left.  Spreading the four fingers, I examined the fine, thin webbing between each.  The webs came up to about the third knuckle--except on my thumb, where it was between the joint and the tip--and reminded me of duck feet.  Speaking of feet. . . I peered down, holding out my right foot.  It was the same shade of rich green; three toes per foot, webbing between each.  My mind whirled.  So confusing!
 
    My attention was caught by movement.  I squinted at a roof several blocks away.  Even in the darkness, I knew a fight when I saw one!  I started toward to battle, strangely drawn to it.  I approached swiftly, using maneuvering skills I didn’t know I had.  Leaping to the top of a small enclosure I guessed held the stairs, I watched the vicious fight below.  Two against seven, with three already down.  A gang of street punks battling a man in a hockey mask armed with two bats, and a short guy in a turtle suit!  The green fellow was kicking ass with a pair of sais, while the one in the mask easily disarmed and knocked out another puke.  Neither noticed my silent observation, or the thug that was standing off to the side, drawing a gun!
     “NO!”  I leaped at him, drawing my sword and holding it high over my head.  The punk looked up in shock as I landed before him.  Swinging fiercely, the hilt of my sword slammed into the left side of his nose.  There was a sharp crack and a spray of blood.  The kid howled in pain.  I hammered my right fist into his gut, doubling him over.  Hating to see him suffer, I shifted my sword to my right hand, cooed “Nighty-night,” then put him to sleep with a left upper cut to the jaw.  I glanced around: Six thugs unconscious, the rest apparently split.  Noticing the two strangers I had assisted were eyeing me, I quickly stowed my weapon to show I meant no harm.
     “Who the hell are you?”  The man slid up his mask, revealing a confused, but handsome face.  The green guy looked equally baffled, but had a somewhat more aggressive stance.
     I sighed, “I wish I knew. . . “
     “That doesn’t tell us anything,”  growled the Turtle.
     I turned my attention to him.  “It seems WE have a lot in common.”  Applauding my subject change, I held up my odd hands.  Their looks of confusion changed to shock at the sight of my eight webbed digits.  The Turtle slowly reached out, taking one of my hands to examine more closely.  I let him, deciding that it was no time to be difficult; besides, he was kinda cute!
     “I’m guessing yours is no more a costume than mine is?”  I tried.  He shook his head slowly.  I couldn’t decide if it meant     “no”, or if it was in disbelief at what he was seeing.
     The man suddenly spoke up, “Maybe we should do this someplace less. . . open.  Come on.”  He took off across the roof.
     “You’re coming too.”  The Turtle’s words were not a question, but a command.  Deciding not to be stubborn, I shrugged my agreement, and followed them into the night.

     We walked in silence for a while, then I spoke up: “So, who are you guys?  Undercover cops or something?”
     The man snickered.  “No, just concerned citizens.  Name’s Casey.”
     “Raphael.”  The Turtle said, falling back to walk beside me.  “What’s your name?”
     I didn’t answer for a moment, thinking hard, but couldn’t recall anything.
 “I don’t know.”  I shook my head, frustrated.
     “You can’t remember anything?”  He glanced sideways at me.
     “Nope.  First thing I remember is being up on the roof of some building.  Then, I fought some punks. . . I still don’t know why they attacked me,” I paused for a moment, thinking.  Raphael waited patiently for me to go on.  “Anyway, I took them down, using moves I don’t remember learning and a sword I didn’t know I had.”  I drew the weapon, blue moonlight glinting off the polished steel.
     “Can I see it?”  I handed it to him hilt first.  He examined the blade, feeling the weight.  “Heavier than Leo’s,” I heard him mutter, “Longer, too.”
     “I have no idea how I came to have such a beautiful weapon.”  I was talking more to myself than to him.  The blade was polished to mirror shine; a frosted, lacy pattern danced up from the hilt, dwindling to nothing half way up.  The long handle appeared to be made of black pearl; it shimmered, deep and entrancing.
     Raphael flipped it over in his hand, then gave it back.  “It’s a good sword,” He said simply.  I nodded my thanks.  Noticing Casey was far ahead, The Turtle quickened his pace.
     “Come on.”
 

     I stepped into Casey’s bathroom, squinting in the harsh light that filled the room at the flip of a switch.  Taking a deep breath, I slowly closed the door. . .
     A complete stranger stared back.
     “. . .Oh my God. . .”  I barely heard myself utter the words.  Gulping, I examined the reflection from head to toe, trying to figure out my own body.  I looked into my mirror image’s eyes:  Large, dark brown, and framed by long, thick lashes.  They reflected my confusion back to me.  My face itself was actually quite like Raphael’s.  My features were a more pronounced, however, with higher cheek bones, and a sharper beak.  My lips were large and full, pulled down in a look of distress.
    Surrounding my face, and feathered across my forehead, was a mess of blonde curls, thick and gleaming.  They fell to my broad shoulders and beyond, a waterfall of gold, down to my rear.  I studied my arms and legs; definitely those of a warrior:  Long, and clearly very strong, cut with muscle.  My skin, for the most part, was a rich, bright green, not to far from the color of Raphael’s.
    I evaluated my figure, deciding it was “voluptuous.”  My full, shapely hips exaggerated my slim waist.  My stomach was flat, hinting of a six-pack.  My feminineness was even more accentuated by my large, full breasts.  I supposed I could understand and forgive Raphael for letting is eyes linger here for so long.  My skin in these areas was a vibrant yellow, which started at my throat, and expanded to it’s widest point on the far sides of my breasts, under each arm.  It narrowed again at my waistline, only to flare out again at my hips, to come back  together and go between my legs.  I turned sideways to look at my profile.
    The yellow skin, I discovered, continued to the underside of a long tail, the top half of which matched my green skin.  I tested this extremity.  It seemed to move on command: up, down, left, right.  I could easily bring it around to the front, be it from either side, over the shoulder, or between my legs.  It was quite flexible.  I had figured out by this time that I was once some sort of a lizard, but was now much more.  I wondered if the same thing that had happened to Raphael had occurred with me.  My thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.  I had no idea how long I had been in here.
     Sighing, I leaned against the sink, bringing my hands up to my temples.  “Yeah, come in.”
     The door opened slowly, and Raphael poked his head in.  “Uh, I hate to rush you, but we’ve gotta get going.”
     “What?”  I lifted my eyes to look at him.
     “Casey and I thought it would be best if you came home with me.  Then, you could meet the rest of us.”  He appeared amused by my surprised expression.  “Let’s go,” he opened the door completely, once again taking me in visually.  I followed him back to where Casey was standing by the window, holding my cape.  I took it, then offered him my hand with a smile.
     “It was a pleasure meeting you,” I said politely.
     Casey looked a little surprised for a moment, but shook my hand and grinned back, “Yeah, see ya around.”
     Raphael opened the window, again gesturing for me to go first.  I heard the sound of a high five/three and Casey’s voice whispering “Go get ‘er!”  I sighed and grinned to myself, wondering what else they had talked about while I wasn’t there to hear.
    Boys. . . Sheesh!