Dr. Weiss and his disagreeable companion could not get excused from work the rest of the week, leaving Jodi healing in the company of the turtles and Master Splinter. She was introduced to different things in the turtles lives. Like video games, a couple of Leonardo's favorite books that were loaned to her, Master Splinter's soap operas, Raphael's gore-fest marathons, and authentic brooklyn pizza. For her first pizza night, the turtles invited Leatherhead over for dinner. It was the first time the two had been in the base without one getting their senses shocked. "Hello." The scaly mutant greeted her kindly. "Greetings. I never did give yo

Leatherhead realized shortly after he was the only one awake, that he should have asked Donatello how to tell if the strange visitor woke. Her white eyes were just there, they didn't look at anything, didn't show any signs of emotion or consciousness, just white circles among the other shapes on her face. Leatherhead sat down in front of one of Donatello's computer, putting his mind toward research instead of observation. He typed in "breeds of sharks", deciding that figuring out what kind of shark she was first would be the most important. But he was distressed to learn the high number of breeds. He was able to narrow it down by her color, b

Safe from the midsummer heat from overhead, Leatherhead, Don, Mikey and Master Splinter were working on a new motorcycle in Leatherheads lair. The other two turtles had left for Casey's house for a video game night earlier. Leatherhead and Donnie worked the mechanics of the engine, Mikey painted the handlebars with green and orange racing stripes, and the elderly mutant rat supervised. Wondering why on earth the turtles needed a faster bike. The room was quiet aside from the sound of metal touching and the two self-taught mechanics picking up and setting tools down. "Aww, out of orange paint." The orange-masked turtle spoke up. "Got any red

"Amazing creatures these are." Silence was broken by a scientist in his late-thirties. He sat comfortably on a well-stuffed tan armchair, a strange object for an other-wise bare observation room above a military lab, but the short scientist liked the height and comfort he received from the piece of furniture. His only-slightly-taller co-worker glanced over at him. He disagreed with the comment, but didn't reply and continued to look on at the scene below and took notes. "It almost makes me feel weak and inferior." The deep-thinking aloud made the eleven-years-younger man feel uncomfortable. But this time he didn't disagree with the stateme