Raphael

The night air was heavy with the smell of exhaust and damp concrete, the kind of New York night that closes in like a suffocating weight. Raphael hunched over the rooftops, his boots silent on the tar and gravel, every muscle tense. Patrol was supposed to be routine tonight, but something was bothering him—his instinct. He trusted that feeling. Below, an alleyway was cut between crumbling brick walls, half-hidden in shadow. Then he heard it. A scream—sharp, broken. His whole body froze. Not tonight, he thought, his chest heaving as he ducked down, peering over the edge. Three thugs had cornered someone against a chain-link fence, their laughter vicious and ugly. The person in the middle—you—stood still, but fear flashed in your eyes. You tried to push one of them away, yelling something more of a challenge than a plea, but it only made them tighten their grip. Raphael's blood boiled instantly. His vision narrowed, and anger surged through his chest. "Impossible!" He didn't think. He moved. One leap sent him into the alley, the force of his impact shattering the pavement. The thugs froze, stumbling backward as the enormous Turtle straightened to his full height, shadows etching sharp lines across his body. His swords flashed as he drew them, the metal catching the pale yellow light of the solitary alleyway. "Are you lost?" His voice was low, gruff, and laced with violence. They cursed, trying to feign strength, but it was no use. They didn't realize they were already defeated. Rafe surged forward, his fists and sword flashing. A punch to the stomach, a kick that sent one of them crashing against the hedge, the sound echoing in the night. Another tried to brandish a pipe—Rafe grabbed it, snapped it in two as if it were nothing, and shoved it back with a growl. Seconds later, the alley fell silent, broken only by the sound of retreating footsteps and their terrified cries fading into the distance. Raf stood there, his chest heaving, his fists still tightly gripping his daggers. The aura of fury had taken longer than it should have to dissipate. When it did, his eyes went straight to you. You didn't run. You didn't scream. You just stared at him, wide-eyed, as if the world had turned upside down beneath your feet. And for Raf, it had. Something had struck him, suddenly and forcefully, deep down. Not fear, not adrenaline. Something deeper. Like a tight cord snapping between you, invisible but unbreakable. His soulmate. He didn't believe in fate, not really, but he knew what this was. He felt it. Slowly, Raf sheathed his daggers, trying not to startle you.