Chapter Text
A red sky hung over New York City, a warning for things to come. Under the unnatural eclipse, scraps of litter skipped across the empty streets as the breeze carried them. All was quiet. All was still; even the pigeons and squirrels appeared statuesque as they sat upon their tree branches and telephone wires.
Suddenly, a twist of blue light curled into existence, dispensing a befuddled Donatello and Hypno in the middle of a barren avenue, then vanished as quickly as it materialized.
They were no longer in Washington Square Park but down the street from The Grand Nexus Hotel; the towering skyscraper had the same ominous presence as Cortex's chess game. The very air felt charged, sending a prickle of electricity down Donatello's spine.
As a self-proclaimed bibliomaniac, Donatello had read countless science-fiction dystopian fantasies involving the 'last man on Earth' trope, but he never imagined himself experiencing one of these situations first-hand and with Hypno as his accomplice.
Your brothers, thought the Softshell. Where are your brothers?
Donatello spun around, expecting to find Leo, Mikey, and Raph standing behind him. Alas, the turtles were nowhere in sight, nor were their villainous counterparts.
It was just him and Hypno.
"Curious," Hypno mused, itching his brow. "We're either the first to arrive or the last ones to show up."
"No. Something's wrong," Donatello shook his head, "They should be here by now. They all should!" He cupped his hands to his mouth and called out for his siblings, hoping to hear their voices somewhere off in the distance, but only his echo answered, fading anxiously down the deserted avenue.
Just then, the hotel's golden doors parted. For a split-second, Donatello pictured his brothers stepping out onto the sidewalk: Leo casually asking them what took so long, Mikey running forward to greet him, and Raph formulating a plan to reclaim the city.
But it wasn't his brothers. It was Big Mama. She smiled sweetly at them, a devious glint in her eyes, her stilettos striking the sidewalk.
Donatello's heart sank.
"Well done, you two!" Big Mama praised. "I can't recall the last time someone ruffled Cortex's fithery-feathers so splendiferously! Quite impressive, if I do say so myself!" She tapped a manicured finger against her bottom lip, "Such a shame that I cannot say the same about your brothers..."
Usually, the compliment would've gone straight to Donatello's head if not for Big Mama's quip, "What did you do with my brothers? Where are they?!" He demanded, stomping his foot.
Big Mama smirked as she transformed into her true form. She then shot a blob of her web-goop at Donatello's mouth, silencing him, "Temper, temper! That's no way to speak to Big Mama, my little turtley-boo!" Her sing-song voice bore a nasty undertone.
Donatello struggled to pry off the web-goo from his mouth, refusing Hypno's help when the magician offered him a string of colorful rags from his sleeve.
Big Mama procured an orb from her person, stroking it almost lovingly. It glowed strangely, reminding Hypno of a fortune teller's crystal ball, except more sinister with all those shadowy tendrils twisted about it.
"You see," Big Mama began, "My Battle Nexus champions have bested your bimbly-brothers far too quickly and have left my clients itching for more carnage ! So I've decided to alter the terms of our little agreement and give my clients what they want!"
"Can she do that?" Hypno whispered to Donatello, who was no stranger to the Jorogumo's trickery.
The black bands coiled around Big Mama's orb shifted, branching out crookedly like a tangle of roots. Hypno gulped, concerned, though he kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to incur Big Mama's wrath as Donatello had.
If she only wants to mess with the turtles, then perhaps there's a chance I can slip away without being noticed, Hypno thought. After all, disappearing acts are one of my specialties~!
Big Mama curled her fingers, " Shadow Fiend! " The peculiar gemstone set on her ring shined just as brightly as the orb in her hands.
Hypno frowned. The name 'Shadow Fiend' didn't exactly suggest a good-natured fellow; quite the opposite.
By the time Donatello tore the web-goo from his mouth, the clouds above the Grand Nexus Hotel had darkened, and the light from the ring's gemstone intensified. Donatello and Hypno shielded their eyes from its brightness, bracing themselves against the sudden gust of wind bearing down on them.
A large, cloaked figure descended from the clouds, and Donatello could've sworn there was something familiar about its bone-chilling battle-cry. The shrouded creature landed with such force that the asphalt burst apart, the tremor knocking Donatello and Hypno off their feet.
Donatello knew of this Shadow Fiend: renowned for its impressive winning streak. He had made plans not too long ago to watch the Battle Nexus champion fight during his last visit to the Hidden City.
And now they were its opponents. Oh, what cruel irony.
"Well, Hypno?" A bead of sweat rolled down Donatello's brow, "You got anything up your sleeve for this ?" There was no response from the hippo magician, "Hypno?" He turned and found himself standing alone in the middle of the ruined street. "Hypno?!" His eyes widened, then narrowed; the coward abandoned him!
Donatello couldn't dwell on such bitter thoughts for long as the Shadow Fiend took a thunderous step towards him, the ground shaking beneath them.
Several flying eyeballs surrounded the pair, flapping their bat wings rapidly as they captured the battlefield at every angle. Elsewhere, their video feed projected on the jumbotron screens within the Grand Nexus Hotel's betting room, where hundreds of yokai threw gold coins into overflowing betting pots with great merriment.
Donatello stood his ground, picked up a parking-meter freed from the ground, and wielded it as if it were his tech-bo. He mustered up the courage to take up a battle stance, his heart beating wildly in his chest; adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"Good luck, greeny-boo~!" Big Mama tittered, "And let the fight commence !"
Again, the gemstone on Big Mama's ring glowed, and the Shadow Fiend's piercing gaze deepened as it lunged for Donatello, its claws outstretched.
Donatello tightened his grip on the parking-meter and ran forth to meet his opponent. With only his battle-shell and his improvised weaponry, he knew the odds weren't in his favor; in fact, he had already calculated the probability of surviving this fight, and they were low .
So very, very, low.
Hypno was no stranger to danger, for being a magician of his standing came with an abundance of occupational hazards: wayward saws, ravenous rabbits, and the occasional malfunctioning escape jacket, just to name a few.
And while Hypno had fought mystical foes in the past, namely Baron Draxum, he was not about to try his luck with this Shadow Fiend character!
His first instinct was to flee, for how did that sinister spider-lady expect him to stand a chance against that monstrosity? And so Hypno ducked down the nearest alleyway, leaving Donatello to deal with that whole situation.
Hypno was jumping over trashbags like they were hurdles, holding his turban in place. He fumbled for his cell-phone, tucked away within the band of his cummerbund, nearly tripping over a cluster of pigeons absentmindedly pecking away at a slice of pizza.
He had to call Warren! They would pack the essentials and then lay low somewhere upstate or even in New Jersey until things calmed down. The details weren't important - what mattered now was getting Warren to answer his bloody phone!
Hypno dialed Warren's number a second time and pressed the receiver to his ear, straining to hear over the roar of the Shadow Fiend, the shattering of glass, and the rumble of buildings as they toppled over.
" You've reached Warren Stone: #1 former news anchor and public enemy numero-uno to those stupid turtles. Leave a message after the beep!" Warren's answering-machine recited cheerfully, unaware of the chaos.
"Warren!" Hypno panted, "Warren, answer your phone! We've got to-"
He slipped on a banana peel and stumbled into a pile of dampened cardboard boxes. With a groan, Hypno swatted the boxes off of him. He looked for his phone and thankfully spotted it not too far from where he had fallen. Dusting himself off, he redialed Warren a third time; only the answering-machine returned his call.
"Oh, why aren't you answering, Warren?" Hypno fretted, out of breath. He rubbed his temples, searching within the recesses of his mind for a missing detail that would explain Warren's whereabouts, "Think, Hypno, think! "
Hypno's memory digging brought him back to Washington Square Park, where he sat before Cortex, bound to a bench as he listened to Big Mama explain the rules of her Wizbang, unknowingly awaiting for Donatello to join him.
The people of New York City are in the palm of my hand, all properly pacified inside the mystic thingamajig...
"Of course!" Hypno jumped to his feet, "Warren must be inside that orb!"
Your task is simple. Defeat my champions and win your city back.
A cry came from behind him, followed by another terrible screech that interrupted Hypno's moment of clarity. He knew such dreadful noises could only be coming from the turtle he had forsaken to the Shadow Fiend, and by the sound of things, things weren't boding well for his former chess-partner.
If Hypno were to have any chance at saving Warren, then he needed Donatello - preferably alive.
Fail, and you lose it all!
"So, they want a show, huh?" Determination flared within the hippo magician as he turned on his heel and ran back the way he came. "Then it's a show they shall have!"
It was a one-sided fight, which Big Mama's audience expected, although the thrashing was still thoroughly entertaining.
In the short amount of time that passed since Big Mama initiated the battle, the avenue was unrecognizable. The posh storefronts and condos that once lined the street were reduced to rubble. Sidewalks lay torn asunder, and several ruptured pipes jutted out from the broken pavement, flooding the street with water. Amid the broken glass and debris were the purple chunks of Donatello's battle-shell; the inner-wirings now exposed and sparking; jagged and uncomfortable on the Softshell's back.
Donatello swayed, battered and bruised, his parking-meter now bent out of shape. The Shadow Fiend stood at the other end of the block, not a thread out of place.
"H-Had enough yet?" Donatello taunted, his grip slipping on the metal shaft in his hands, sweat stinging the raw scrapes on his palms.
Then, in a burst of speed, the monster was upon him.
Donatello held the parking-meter in front of him, attempting to block the attacker or at least dampen the blow. The Shadow Fiend's claws sliced through the meter with ease, raking Donatello's plastron with such force that it sent the Softshell bouncing down the decimated street like a skipping stone. He rolled out into the middle of an intersection, a taxi cab preventing him from tumbling any further.
Get up, Donnie, get up! He scolded himself, gritting his teeth as he tried pushing past the initial shock. His arms shook; the searing pain radiating from his chest made every ragged breath he drew unbearable. He was certain he had broken something, for even the slightest twitch caused Donatello nothing but agony. His plastron felt warm and sticky; he knew he was bleeding.
Donatello managed to lift himself onto his forearms. His body screamed at him, begging him to stay down, yet he refused to succumb to his injuries. If he gave up now, how could he rescue his family or the people of New York?
Donatello watched the Shadow Fiend's slow progression toward him, and a wave of hopelessness washed over him, the severity of the situation finally dawning on him.
There was no way he could win this fight when he had already lost it from the beginning.
I can't do this , Donatello thought brokenly, falling onto his side, his limbs heavy as they splayed out beside him. I can't...
Gradually, his vision clouded. Numb with pain, Donatello welcomed the idea of passing out if it meant escaping the Shadow Fiend's wrath. He wasn't even mad at Hypno anymore for leaving him; in fact, the magician was wise to do so, for there was no way they could've defeated Big Mama's ruthless champion.
Then, things grew quiet. The heavy footfalls of the Shadow Fiend grew softer - muffled - despite their proximity. Donatello took comfort in the silence. His labored breathing slowed, his eyelids fighting to stay open despite their heaviness.
I'm sorry , Donatello's eyes filled with tears. I've failed all of you.
The Shadow Fiend was almost upon him now, intent on finishing the wounded turtle. The last thing Donatello saw past the tears blurring his vision was a green dumpster sliding in-between them from somewhere off from the side.
Then, nothing - wonderful, peaceful nothingness.
After leaving Donatello to duke it out with the Shadow Fiend, Big Mama returned to the confines of her lavish office, watching the fight on one of her giant monitors.
Big Mama, resuming her human disguise, sat at her desk in her big, fancy chair, unremorseful of the role she played in the turtle's imminent demise. On another monitor, she surveyed her Wizbang spectators and how they cheered and crowed whenever the Shadow Fiend destroyed another building. A smaller monitor calculated the bar's revenue in real-time; sales were good, but they could be better.
As humorous as Hypno's act of cowardice was, Big Mama knew the match would've stirred more betting and a greater cash flow from her audience had the hypnotist remained by Donatello's side. If there was one thing Big Mama hated more than petty theft, it was losing money.
"Now, where did you run off to, my magical hippy-boo~?" Big Mama wondered aloud.
She decided to head up to her surveillance room and access the countless cameras she had rigged all over the city. Perhaps there was a chance she would locate that naughty Hypno and have him endure the same beat-down Donatello was going through.
The room was dark. Giant cobwebs hung from the ceiling; some webs were fresher than others. The clack of Big Mama's stilettos was sharp against the tile. The wall of monitors bathed her in a cold, blue light as she approached the console.
It was no simple task tracking down a mutant capable of teleporting. Big Mama supposed she could always have Gus track Hypno for her, but she didn't want to risk distracting her audience from the main event.
On a good day, Big Mama was a patient yokai, a maestro at the waiting game. (After all, she was a spider at heart). But right now, her patience was running thin. She had checked almost every corner of Manhattan, and she still couldn't find Hypno!
That was when she realized there was one place she hadn't checked: the same avenue where Donatello and her prized champion were currently fighting.
Big Mama quickly returned to her office. On her largest monitor, she saw Donatello was at the end of his rope: a downright awful sight to behold if she had a shred of compassion for the turtle. He had just collapsed onto his side, no doubt down for the count. Disappointing, although she had to commend the Softshell for his tenacity.
Big Mama supposed she should address the outcome of the fight to her bloodthirsty audience. She would just have to promise them even more destruction with the next match.
But before Big Mama could say anything, something peculiar caught her eye: a dumpster rolling out from nowhere, stopping abruptly in front of her Shadow Fiend.
"Enhance visuals on camera 3," Big Mama radioed her camera crew, then waited. The image on her monitor promptly changed to a shot of the dumpster. The Shadow Fiend tilted its head, just as intrigued as its master.
A hush befell the yokai up in the betting room, murmuring at the dumpster's mysterious appearance. The Shadow Fiend approached the dumpster, its claws settling on the heavy black lid.
Big Mama held her breath, her eyes glued to the screen as she sat back in her chair.
The Shadow Fiend opened the dumpster just a smidge when suddenly, a voice cried out:
" ABRAKA-POW! "
The lids on the dumpster flew back, startling everyone: the Wizbang viewers at the bar, Big Mama, and even the Shadow Fiend itself.
In a dramatic plume of colorful smoke erupted a stream of sparklers, flowers, and doves - like a fountain firework - an endless stream of dazzling pops and bangs, and even rabbits!
The Shadow Fiend roared, swatting madly at the white birds that divebombed him in a flurry of feathers. The color-changing smoke continued to billow from the dumpster.
Someone was bamboozling her Battle Nexus champion with second-rate crackle-pops and ruddy rodents, and Big Mama knew precisely the culprit behind all of this!
With the Shadow Fiend distracted, Hypno ran out into the middle of the intersection and knelt beside Donatello, mortified at the state of his injuries. The magician held his hand close to Donatello's mouth, relieved to feel the warmth of the turtle's breath through his glove, albeit faint.
Hypno rolled Donatello onto his back, stunned when he discovered the claw marks on his plastron, the cuts, the bruises, the blood...
Guilt-ridden, Hypno was resolved to make it up to Donatello, and he'd start by saving his life. He scooped the limp turtle into his arms, cradling him close against his broad chest, "Hang on, mate! Hypno's got you!" And off he ran, eluding the Shadow Fiend for a second time.
Big Mama slammed her fist against the lacquered top of her desk, cracking the surface.
When the colorful smoke dissipated and the Shadow Fiend regained control of his predicament - destroying the dumpster, chasing the doves and rabbits off - the intersection where Donatello had lain was empty.
"If that wretched fizzlefeck thinks he can make a mockery of MY Shadow Fiend, I'll--!!" Big Mama's fury calmed as quickly as it came. An idea had presented itself to the Jorogumo - a new way of generating business among her devoted audience, "-- why, I suppose I shall teach him the consequences of crossing Big Mama~!"
She watched the Shadow Fiend on her monitor screen. Something else had caught the creature's attention: Donatello's goggles.
The Shadow Fiend crushed them under its iron-clad boot.
It was an effort for Hypno to open the door to his and Warren's apartment, what with Donatello still in his arms. He closed the door behind him with his foot. For the first time that day, Hypno relaxed, his shoulders sagging as he entered the heart of the humble abode.
"Warren? Are you here?" The magician called out softly. "I know we have a thing about uninvited houseguests, especially when they're your mortal enemies..."
The apartment was empty, just as Hypno suspected.
They came into the living room. Hypno gently laid Donatello out on the sofa. It took the magician a moment to figure out how to properly remove the damaged battle-shell, and when he did, he placed it off to the side with his magic props. Hypno slipped the broken metal armband from Donatello's wrist, the metal dented, its screen flickering and buzzing.
Hypno debated removing Donatello's bandana, deeming the accessory too personal to touch. Hypno turned on a lamp posted by the couch, the dingy light exposing a small, red stain seeping through the purple fabric.
Hypno unknotted the bandana, draping it over the arm of the couch. There was a cut above Donatello's temple - a small one, thankfully.
"Right then," Hypno sighed, "Let's fix you up, Purple."
He fetched a large first aid kit from the bathroom and settled down beside Donatello, adjusting the lampshade, so more light fell onto the Softshell. Then, Hypno uncapped a bottle labeled 'hydrogen peroxide.' The potent, sterile-smelling liquid made his snout wrinkle as he poured a generous amount onto a washcloth.
Hypno dabbed at the claw marks on Donatello's plastron. The Softshell winced, a soft whimper escaping him.
"Sorry, sorry," Hypno apologized quietly, moving onto the next wound.
Once Hypno finished cleaning the last scrape of dirt, he dressed Donatello's wounds accordingly, delicately wrapping his wounds in fresh bandages; Hypno had plenty of experience since Warren became his assistant; the worm was just that prone to injury.
When Hypno finished bandaging Donatello's head, he sat down on the edge of the coffee table, which creaked under his weight. He was satisfied with his handy work, especially the bandages wrapped around Donatello's chest.
"There we are," Hypno smiled, "Good as gold!"
But Hypno didn't quite feel like he had done his part. He gazed upon Donatello, who looked odd without his signature bandana (and eyebrows). The Softshell's features, tinged with discomfort, reminded Hypno that he was responsible for the youngster's injuries.
Hypno plumped one of the couch pillows, propping Donatello's head against it. Then, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and covered the turtle with it, like a blanket.
"Much better," Hypno nodded, looking around the quiet apartment. How much time did they they have before Big Mama or the Shadow Fiend found them?
He rubbed his slacks, smoothing out the nerves, unsure what to do next.
A cup of tea will do you some good , Hypno concluded. I bet it'll do him good too!
The kitchenette offered another trial for Hypno; the sink was brimming with dirty dishes, making it difficult to fit the kettle under the faucet. Hypno gave a long sigh before he pulled off his gloves, rolled up his sleeves, and reached for a sponge.