Hello everyone! This is my first Ninja Turtles story, and focuses mostly on my favorite Leo. I hope you enjoy, and feel free to review to support the story and help me fix up some things. Enjoy!

I could still remember the days when my father actually cared about me. He laughed with me, smiled at me, and was with me whenever he could. But at the same time, he had sort of a distant look in his eyes. As if he was only doing things with me for a reason.

But I was so young at the time that I wouldn't give it a second thought. I would just brush it off and smile back at him. I was so naïve.

Now I understand what my father is. He is a murderer. One who enjoys seeing pain; one who feels the need to. And I am like him. I don't want to be, I try not to be.

I try to be respectful to everyone I meet and help those who need it. However, with my father starting to act colder and rash to me I couldn't help it. I spread those same hateful feelings that he showed me to others. It's no wonder I have no friends. After all, being friends with someone who has a dad that practically terrorizes any stranger, heck even family, is not enjoyable in the least. So I got used to it.

My father was cold to me, I was cold to others, and they were cold back to me. It was an endless cycle that would never stop, and had been going on since I was seven. Now I'm fifteen.

The only times my father would ever actually spend time with now is when he forces me to train. Or worse. But he expects me to continue in his footsteps as the next to lead the Foot Clan and control his business. I don't want to, but I don't really have a choice.

My name is Leonardo. I am the son of the world-renowned Oroku Saki. He is feared by many, and so I am as well. After all, the only difference between us is his golden-brown eyes, and my cobalt blue ones. Other than that, we seem to be exactly the same with are hard expressions. I think he was born with his, but mine just happened to grow like how my hatred burns for him now.

As the founder and head person, honestly I couldn't care less what his position is exactly called; he has to travel a lot. Of course as his only son, I have to follow along everywhere.

I was born in Japan to him and an Asian-American named Teng Shin. I remember when I was still young and he would tell me about her. She had died from giving birth to me. That might be the reason, or at least one of them, of why he hates me.

For the first four years of my life, I grew up in Japan. I had started my training around that time too. It was brutal, but my father insisted it was important so I could protect my Clan. So I went along with it. I thought of the Clan as my family, even though they didn't care about me. I did say I was naïve didn't I?

After Japan, we moved to Norway so my father could establish a business contract of some sort. I know now it was signed because he practically threatened the company to do it or else. I would have signed the contract too.

Less than a month later we moved to Germany, then France, Spain, and finally the U.S. That was three years.

We still live in the U.S. today. I like it better here too. My father isn't around as much. Isn't wonderful to hear how much a child enjoys being alone? Especially the son of a monster; one who hurts his own child though I am a teenager now.

The first time he ever physically hurt me out of training was at age nine. I was being disobedient since I had just made some friends when my father announced we were moving. I yelled at him and said some pretty bad things, and his anger got the better of him. He slapped me hard on the cheek, leaving a red mark. I should have shut up, but again I was way too naïve for my own good.

I still have the faint scar on the left side of my face that runs from under my temple to my mid-cheek close to the eye. I can still feel the blinding pain from the sharp knife and my screams of agonizing pain. But the thing that hurts the most is that he seemed pleased by what he did. His words gripped my heart and made my blood run cold.

If you thought that was painful, you are wrong. The world is full of pain and suffering. You must endure it, and be the one that gives it to others. Then you will be strong. More pain worse than that will surely come soon to you.

After that incident, I never talked back to him again. Now I just speak to him with forced respect, because even the thought of trying to be honorable with the man makes me sick.

So that is how my life is. I listen and do as my father says so that I can get out of the worst from his painful torments. Never do I question or try to go against him in fear of how he may punish me. There is still the branding.

Because of my father, I am now a cold teen with a hard outer shell that I won't let anyone tear down. I will be weak then. And I cannot afford to be weak.

Every school I go to is the same. Do homework, go home, and make no connections with anyone. It'll only be trouble if I do, and besides, everyone tries to avoid me. I am too much like my father. And I will not go against my father, ever. It terrifies me that I may become exactly like him.

But for now, I am trapped. Once again we are moving, to New York City this time. Hopefully it'll be different, but that's like asking a starving lion to leave its fresh prey alone. So I'm not expecting anything than what I'm used to. Of course three brothers could change that.