AN: this will probably end as a oneshot, unless a lot of people want to see it followed and I find the extra time to write. A little what if regarding the April clones from The Kraang Conspiracy

The redheaded girl walking along the street looks as if she's been run over by a truck. Her clothes had been white not too long ago, but now they are ripped and smudged, covered in a black goo that drips on the pavement around her. She has lost her white headband, and bruises mingle with the freckles on her cheeks.

Her memories tell her her name is April O'Neil, but her memory tells her a lot of things. Images of a huge, manlike bat float up every now and then, and she knows they should make her upset. The memory of her sure was. But no matter how much she tries, she can't feel distressed, or even concerned.

Because she isn't April O'Neil.

It's strange, having all those memories but knowing only the last few hours of them truly belong to her. Seeing her sisters being slaughtered, seeing those she asked for help run off, not even looking at her a second time. Thinking she was dead, just like everything else she has ever known.

Those are her real memories. They are hers.

And no matter how much they make her hurt inside, she wouldn't give them up for all in the world.

The girl who isn't April doesn't know where to go or what to do. She knows the layout of New York, all the little hideouts April and the turtles have ever used, but what good does that do her? It's not like she can go there, not like she knows anyone to ask for help, anyone to beg for mercy, a place to sleep, or even just a mouthful of food. She has April's whole life inside her head, and she can't even use it.

She has a funny feeling inside, and she's spent the last half an hour trying to put a name on it. It's like she's boiling, like her stomach is bubbling, sending hot acid into her head.

It's the fourth actual emotion she has ever felt.

The first one was confusion. The glowing liquid that had encased her for all her existence was flushed away, leaving her alone in a tube, trying to figure out what was real and what wasn't. Realising the Kraang were her enemy, because she is April, and April hates the Kraang, and then realising they weren't, because she isn't April.

The second feeling was relief. She saw four green creatures running towards her, and knew from deep within her that they were her friends. They could get her away from this place that was both her home and her prison.

The third was fear. They wouldn't help her. Instead they killed her sisters and left her alone on a floor covered with their black blood.

And now she just realising that she's having her fourth emotion.

She is angry.

She didn't choose to be created like this. She didn't choose to be a copy of someone else, someone who's real while she isn't. She didn't choose to have her mind filled with images of friends who are actually her enemies, and enemies who see her as property to use as they please and then throw away. All she wanted was help to get away, to be free. She has that right, hasn't she? Clone or not, she will not be someone's possession, and she will not be chopped up like an animal on a butcher's bench.

It's already dark out, and her memories tell her she shouldn't be on the streets at night. She ignores them and keep walking, her anger fuelling her feet. First when a man steps into the street in front of her does she stop, and that is only so she doesn't have to run into him. He is tall and skinny, wearing a west and sporting a tattoo of a purple on one of his arms, and the girl who isn't April recognises him immediately. His name is Fong. And he isn't alone.

As two other men join him, smirking at her and closing their hands into fists, she experiences her fifth emotion since she first opened her eyes.

Glee.

Because she isn't April, and she can do things April can't.

The first man is down before he has the time to blink. The other two are faster, and now they are warned of what she can do. Fong dodges her punch and jabs her in the stomach, sending her back a few steps and making her gasp for breath. A foot catches her on the thigh and she staggers to the ground.

It feels good, this pain. It's hers and no one else's, and she is going to own it.

She lunges back to her feet with a roar, raining kicks and punches over the two men still standing. Fong covers his face with his hands, stumbles back and then falls fully when she plants her foot in his head.

The last man attracts her attention by putting a knife in her arm. It takes a moment for the pain to catch up to her, and then she does something she has never done before. She screams, screams so loudly her lungs might burst. The man stumbles back, staring at her with wide eyes. Black blood bubbles from the wound as she pulls the knife out, and his eyes grow even wider. The girl grips the knife tightly, liking the feeling of a weapon in her hand. He makes a low, strangled sound, eyes the black blood pouring down her arm and makes a run for it.

The girl stays where she is, knife still in hand, anger and adrenaline pumping through her veins. Everything hurts, but she embraces it. She drops the knife and puts her fingers on the wound on her upper arm. Pushes harder, fingers slipping in the black goo. Pain throbbing through her arm.

She is real.

She is real.

"Wow," a voice says from behind her, and she spins around.

A girl is standing there, watching vigilantly with her hands on her hips. Her hair is cropped short and black, and there is something ruthless over her face. She tilts her head to the left and smiles.

"You aren't April."