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Chapter Text

If he was forced to choose only one thing among his many talents to be something truly impressed by, it would be his amazing sneaking skills. He continued to crawl forward, ignoring the cold touch of the damp vent walls squeezing his sides. Last year’s growth spurt made it hard to shimmy through the lab’s regular sneaky spots, but at least he still fit through here. Even if oozing vines dragged against his plastron. 

Draxum really underestimated his will to be an inconvenience if he thought anti-portal wards could keep him out. No, he’d claw and yowl at the lab doors if he had to. Only if he had to, though. It wasn’t nearly as fun just Knocking at someone’s door. Even if he was invited! He pulled at his cloak to wipe off a glob of ooze sticking to his stomach. Ugh, Draxum really needs to prune his plants better.

Yelling echoed through the dark and he knew he was getting close. There was the familiar drawl of good ol’ Barry Draxum, but he couldn’t make out the words of the others. They didn’t sound like very happy guests.

At the next left turn he shielded his eyes from bright red light bleeding from the generator room’s grate. A smirk split across his face as he reached forward, grabbed a slimy bar with one hand, and pushed. It wouldn’t budge. The smirk fell as both hands pushed, yanked, and pulled at the stubborn grate. Then he saw the screws on the corner. So maybe Draxum didn’t underestimate his sneaky skills and his resolve to not use the front door. But really? Resorting to re-screwing all his vents when he went through the pain-staking process of unscrewing all of them? He probably made Huginn and Muninn do it. Well, whatever. Like a couple of screws could stop him. He painfully twisted and squirmed until his feet were pointed to the grate, and kicked with all his strength. It popped off with a satisfying crack! One of the screws came flying towards his face, but bounced off the beak of his mask instead. That better not have chipped again , he thought as he dropped out of the vents.

His feet were met with the cool platform of the generator room’s upper level. The voices here were louder. Wiping the remaining ooze from his plastron he crouched to the edge of the platform until one of his legs was hanging off. The scene below could only be described as something… absurd. Three green odd-looking yokai were barreling towards Draxum with something just short of grace as they ran down his thick purple vines. And then there was a human girl traipsing through the air with a neon green club hitting, biting, and kicking poor Huginn and Muninn.

Humans in the Hidden City were unheard of. Let alone in the lab of the great warrior-alchemist Baron Draxum, who did nothing to hide his dislike for humankind. He didn’t really get the whole hating humans thing, despite hearing upwards of a million billion monologues from Draxum of the sins of the human race. But he appreciated the current balance between humans and yokai. They were easier to use that way. 

Huginn and Muninn dipped up and down as the girl continued her energetic assault. Well it looked like she was winning this fight, no way those little shoulder pads could match that spunk. The yokai on the other hand… 

Something had to be said about their natural strength, but that didn’t mean much if they didn’t know how to apply it. 

Draxum tossed out some more of his weird alchemist seed-thingies that burrowed into the ground. Before the building even trembled, he scooted back from the edge of the platform and braced himself as a giant made of flesh and metal burst out.  It took the purple vines and whipped them–sending the yokai flying until they fell harshly into the rubble.

“Capture those specimens!” Draxum commanded the giant with a sweeping arm. 

The giant didn’t need to be told twice as it lurched forward, fist in the air, but the yokai were quick to meet it. They dashed forward, the red one saying something about cows , and sloppily dodged the giant’s punch. The red one dived for the giant’s back foot, wrapped his arms around the ankle, and groaned as he twisted from left to right.

He dragged a hand over his mask. Throwing off the balance of an opponent that large would take more than that natural strength. It was fun to watch them fumble, though. The giant roared as it struck a fist down, splitting the floor into more rubble.

The little orange one weaved through the flying rocks and mimicked the red one’s idea. He laughed and whipped his kusari-fundō until it was snugly wrapped around the giant’s other ankle, and pulled. This time it actually stumbled.

This gave the purple one the opportunity to zip up close. He leaned forward as the purple one swung around a strange shifting bo-staff transformed each end into opposing rockets. That then forced him to spin like a fan until he let the weapon go in a glowing purple streak.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

It flew past the girl, still energetically swinging around, and hit just below the giant’s chin forcing it to flip and crash into the ground. He guarded his eyes until the gust of dust settled down. The giant lay flat and unmoving–the yokai draped and panting over the remains.

Impressive!! Or well it would be if they shaped up their form a bit and relied a little less on blind luck.

The yokai continued their assault against Draxum through disorganized punches and kicks, but a spot of yellow caught his attention within all the chaos. At the bottom of the glowing tower of mystic tech were some bulbous cages. One of which held the agent thrashing his tail from side to side. He pulled himself to his feet and clapped his hands together. Seemed that Draxum didn’t need as much help as he had implied in that rather bossy message. Theoretically his portaling should work now that he was inside the lab. He drew out his odachi just as the girl plummeted from above, chewing on Huginn and Muninn like dog toys. They squeaked accordingly.

Draxum shot out a waxy cocoon from his flesh gauntlet that hit the girl, saving Huginn and Muninn, and forcing her backward until she hit the wall. The red and purple yokai ran to cover her.

But the orange one yelled out, “You did Not just do that to our friend! Hah!” Orange threw out his kusari-fundō. The chain stretched out past Draxum’s head as he leaned away from the attack, but the spinning weight suspended in the air, keeping the chain taut. That was the only warning before the weapon erupted in flames and giggling and zipped off, dragging the yokai along.

He lowered his odachi as the world’s most dangerous game of pinball bounced from side to side of the lab. Laughter bubbled out as the yokai whizzed on by, and for a moment their eyes met. Seeing one up close he finally noticed their shells. Ah. So they weren’t yokai after all. The kusari-fundō dove towards the tower’s power source, and ripped it out of place as it sped on by. Angry crackles of light reacted to the disturbance. Oh boy, that can’t be good.  

The orange turtle nearly slammed into Draxum on his way down, but instead skidded against the uneven floor until the giggling died out. 

“Mikey, that was awesome! How’d you do that?”

“I don’t know, man. I was just swinging around my weapon like this–but hol’ on a minute! I saw this weird bird dude up there!” The turtles clamored together, waving around their weapons carelessly. 

“Well let’s get the sheep dude first!”

He backed up as the tower’s crackling became more demanding, and whipped his head around surveying for an exit for Draxum. Who apparently was busy letting the turtles run at him and test their mystic prowess.

The red one knocked himself out in a flash of red sparks, and the orange one was being pulled up and down by his weapon again. The purple one was more direct with his approach, flipping his bo-staff against Draxum’s gauntlets. They danced and weaved around each other until the purple turtle shifted the top of the staff into a rocketed fist. Draxum leaped forward, a spiked gauntlet aimed for the turtle’s neck. Purple dodged in a crouch and swung the metal fist into his face. The impact knocked him off his hooves.

Purple leaped with a victorious smirk. “Just like I planned it!”

“Whoa! Look out!” Until he was tangled into the chaos of the orange one.

Draxum adjusted his mask and glared. “You fight like untrained buffoons,” he growled, a familiar tone of disappointment lacing his voice, “but under me you could become true warriors!”

He dropped to the platform beneath him after the lab began to shake with a slight tremor. Maybe playing with turtles wasn’t the best idea right now, Draxy. They needed to get out before this whole place exploded. Again.

Draxum cocooned the rest of the team, taking them out of their state of chaos. 

“Turtles, why are you trying to stop my plans? We are all in this together!”

Oh here we go again. He jumped down another level. Better grab him so he doesn’t get exploded mid another one of his long and boring speeches about uniting yokai and blah blah blah, humans bad.

“Ah, hey I don’t know if this is part of your plan, but the lab’s about to explode.”

The tower gave out. Red bulbs burst into shards as the power source ignited the vines above. It split in half, releasing a swarm of incubating mosquitos. The ceiling crumbled and a chunk came plunging towards Draxum, who was stock-still.

Thankfully, he was faster. As soon as his feet met the floor he sprinted forward in a blur, and took Draxum by the waist.

“Hey look it’s that bird guy I was telling you about!”
“Mikey! Not the time!”

In a slash and flash of blue they were gone before the chunk hit the ground.

—

In the distance the lab was shrouded by plumes of dark smoke. He wondered how long it would take the Hidden City enforcers to take care of the fire. Draxum’s glowering squint suggested he was thinking the same. He shoved him off his side into the yellow grass.

“Hey! What’s the big deal? That’s no way to treat your one and only savior,” he squawked as he struggled to regain footing.

“A savior who could have intervened earlier, Two ?” Draxum said flatly.

Two waved a hand. “Did I really need to? You pretty much had those bozos handled, and well as for the agent…”

“Retrieved by my usual bounty hunter associates,” he clip-clopped to the ledge of the cliff hanging over the city, “no thanks to your lateness.”

Two rolled his eyes, not that Draxum could see, and followed to his side. They say New York never sleeps, and Two would like to think the same of the Hidden City. There were no rays of sun or beams of moonlight down here, yet everything was still so bright and colorful and strange. Yokai of all types littered the streets and floated through the caverns. It would be nice to live down here again.

Two rambled, “Okay, but you do know that I have a very busy schedule now, and that me even taking the time to come out here to do an innocent little favor for Barry Draxy says something about our relationship, right?” He leaned on the hilt of his odachi and tilted his head in the perfect picture of earnestness. Draxum didn’t give him the attention of turning his head, but instead sighed.

“Never address me by that ridiculous title again, and we both know that your favors are anything less than innocent!”

Two clicked his teeth. Keep your patience. Dealing with Draxum’s stubbornness wasn’t anything new. One just had to know where and when to twist, and when to let go.

“Okay, you don’t have to humble me Mr. Grumpy Baron,” Two tilted up his mask and whispered as close as he could to Draxum’s flicking ear, “but you know I gotta ask, whose the one that blew up their lab and whose the one with a secret HQ free from the eyes of the ever-watching Three Heads?”

“Baron Draxum was not responsible for the destruction in the laboratory! That guilt can be attributed to those three incredible specimens…and their Human,” he finished with a scowl, crossing his arms.

Two swung his odachi. “Well Papi, obviously specimens you made! Lemme guess, One, Three, and Four?” At the twitch of his lip, Two knew he had won. So he pushed, “C’mon we have an open bunker room. It’ll be perfect for your brooding.” Without waiting for an answer he tore the space in front of them with an efficient slice.

Draxum hesitated in the bright blue light. “I am not entirely too fond of your associates, or that hole you call an ‘HQ’,” he said, turning to face Two.

Two shrugged. “It’s better than the alternatives. We both know that.”

Draxum paused at this. His piercing orange eyes looked him up and down. Two remained steady and still. He had nothing to hide here. Without a word the great and mighty Baron Draxum whirled around, the back of his tunic whipping into Two as he dramatically stalked through the portal.

Two shook his head and began to follow. Wait… were Huginn and Muninn okay?

Chapter Text

Beverly drummed her nails on the slick surface of the diner’s counter, clicking louder with each repetition. These days young bosses really had no respect. She twirled around her empty mug, resisting the temptation to snap her fingers at the waiter for a sixth cup of coffee. If humans got one thing right, it was definitely coffee. She turned to look at the clock behind her. It was one of those stupid cat ones from the surface, with the eyes that move from side to side. Tacky is what it was. This whole place was tacky. From the high stools at the counter where her legs dangled, to the red booths with trembling customers who didn’t dare look in her direction. Beverly scoffed.

“Boss, I don’ think the guy’s gonna come,” one of her ogres said. She pulled out a stool next to Beverly. “Might as well get breakfast and bounce.”

Might as well. This whole meeting was doomed to failure from the moment she agreed to the whole arrangement. But not much you can do when you are backed into a corner. She really didn’t want it to come to this, but every day the idea of calling that snake Bruce became less and less revolting.

She set her cup on the counter. “Naw, I give ‘em another fifteen. If he shows up I’ll put my fork in his spleen.”

Her guard only grunted. 

A bell warned of the door opening. This time Beverly didn’t bother casting a glance. That was until her other ogre covered her back with her palm.

“Boss Beverly!” Blue Karma strode in, followed by his beefy rhino with the tattoos and the pig with the collection of piercings. “I hope you ladies weren’t waiting too long.”

Ah. There was the thorn in her side. She allowed him to take her hand, yet he didn’t take that stupid bird mask off to kiss it.

“Ya have a lot of nerve showin’ up this late, boy” she growled. The pig huffed and the rhino squinted. She returned them a glare and a wrinkle in her nose.

Karma returned her hand. “And I offer a thousand apologies, but really… uh don’t we have more important things to attend to?”

Her guards bunched to her sides. Usually if someone came late to an appointment there was little mercy to offer. However, as much as she loathed to admit, Karma may be right. She dragged a hand over her face. Seriously, no respect.

Beverly snapped her fingers. “Waiter!”

A young buck abandoned a family in a booth, galloped over, and tore a new page in his order notepad.

“Y-yes. Yes, Boss Beverly?” he stammered.

“Gimme a bagel with extra schmear, swamp sausages, and some simurgh omlettes for my girls here,” she ordered and lifted her mug, “oh and be a dear and pour me another regular cup.”

The buck flicked his ears and gave a cursory glimpse to Karma and his buffoons, who were wandering over to the jukebox and digging through their pockets.

Karma tilted his head. “Uh, I’ll have some. Um, wheatcakes with bananas. And that’ll be all my guy,” he said.

The buck finished scribbling the orders and galloped off. Blue Karma grabbed the backrest of the stool one of her ogres sat at. She gave him a nasty scowl. Karma didn’t loosen his grip. Beverly waved a hand and the ogre slowly stood up. Karma settled quickly, his feet swinging back and forth, hitting under the countertop while he stretched his arms behind him. He was relaxed. Good . Beverly slipped off her fur coat and handed it to the ogre on her opposite side. She opened her mouth, but Karma beat her to the punch.

“How about we cut the small talk and get straight to the point, Boss Beverly?” he said, propping up his cheek with an arm against the counter.

She smirked. “For the love of brutality, I absolutely hate that type’a chit-chat.”

Blue Karma let out a hearty laugh.

Their buck returned from the swinging doors of the kitchen with a pot of steaming coffee. He made little eye-contact as he poured into her cup. Beverly took the pot from his hands and set it down on the countertop and shooed him off. It sent the buck skittering away behind the counter.

The jukebox shuffled its CDs and an upbeat jazzy swing tune filled the diner. The pig swayed from side to side, resting an arm on top of the machine, while the rhino wandered from table to booth sneering at the customers. She brought her cup to her lips.

“I’m glad you agreed to meet me here,” Karma paused, “I’m not exactly allowed to have negotiations at… Run of the Mill after what happened last time.”

Beverly snorted, “Hueso is a piece of work for sure, but don’t play dumb with me, boy.” She guzzled down the rest of her drink and reveled in the burning feeling in her throat. She slammed down the empty cup. “We both know this isn’t a negotiation .”

The door jingled as a group of yokai rushed out the door. The cat clock’s eyes shifted back and forth.

Karma began slowly, “Hm… if I didn’t know better that would have sounded like a threat, Boss Beverly.”

The rhino was now licking the plates of escaped customers clean, but his ears were pointed to the conversation at the counter. Beverly gave a subtle nod to the ogre holding her coat.

“Me? Threatening you? Ya know I was there for your initiation, right?” Her voice lowered as her finger traced the rim of the mug, “More like the other way around. I don’t know why the Big Mother accepted ya into her ranks.”

Karma shrugged. “Probably because of my handsome good looks,” he said, tapping the beak of his mask. “But I did promise not to ruin our mood with ‘chit-chat’ , so how about we start divvying up territory, hm?”

Beverly was boiling. The buck came back with a tray full of their orders, but didn’t stay long after seeing the way she wielded her fork with her fingers wrapped tight. It shouldn’t be going down like this. She stabbed a greenish, dripping sausage. Her guards enthusiastically dug into their eggs, and Karma began cutting his pile of wheatcakes into neat little rows. Everything had been going well before he showed up. Out of the blue with a legion of followers and an insatiable greed for more. She chomped the end of her sausage, and ferociously chewed the gamey meat. She needed to show him what happens when you go picking fights in the wrong places. 

Blue Karma continued, “My crew is already occupying most of your outposts, and admittedly controlling a good chunk of your main trade routes, so uh let’s make this easy for both of us.” He finished cutting the rows and twirled the fork around. “Surrender and agree to my demands so we can return to business as usual.”

“And what would those be?” she asked, wiping the swamp grease from her mouth with a napkin.

“I’d allow you half of your territory back in exchange for a bit of your profits. Probably 70-30 I’m thinking? I’d get the 70 of course.”

The napkin crumpled in her fist. As if his flippant attitude wasn’t already a pain in the ass to deal with, but he had the gall to milk the Boss Beverly for her money? What a ridiculous notion. He went back to cutting his rows of wheatcakes into squares. She had underestimated him before, and that cost was too great. She had to be patient and careful. Two things she wasn’t known for being, but her integrity and reputation was on the line. Play along, play along, play along.

She bit into her bagel. “I dunno ‘bout that, seems a little much for a rookie to handle. How about 70 for me, and 30 for you?”

Blue Karma went stock still. A tremble shook his hands hovering above his plate, but he quickly shook it off. He skewered a brownish banana slice and set it aside on his napkin. The pig slipped another coin into the jukebox. A new poppier song began playing.

“Hm, I really thought you would be more reasonable. The… Masters of Barbarianism took less bargaining at least,” he sighed.

At this she whipped around to look at him directly. With that stupid white mask on she couldn’t read his expression, but she didn’t think he was lying. It would explain why she hadn’t seen Bruce’s slithery thugs around lately. Before Karma came around it was Bruce and her that used to do this little dance. A feud between the two gangs that had lasted for generations. He made fun of her one eye, and in return she took one of his. If it had only taken a little more than a year for him to overpower The Masters of Barbarianism, then The Makers of Brutality were in bigger trouble than she thought. She set her half-eaten bagel back on the plate. 

“Blue Karma, we’ve seemed to haves a miscommunication here. Ya see, I am not like those pathetic whelps of The Masters. I will not simply roll over and die on command like a dog.

“You’ve disrespected me by occupying my territory without permission, forcing my girls out of my fronts, and you have the gall to ask to meet and then arrive late.

“I will be returning to my business, you however…” Beverly snapped her fingers and her ogre slipped her coat back on. “Are done. Whack this guy,” she ordered the ogre looming behind his stool. 

She grabbed him by the neck so quickly the hood of his cloak fell to his shoulders. His legs squirmed as he clawed at the meaty green hand that wrapped around his neck. The guard’s face split into a toothy smile as he wheezed out for help. The bell at the diner door rang and rang as customers flooded out.

“P-please–I’m no–” he gasped in a panicked pitch as the ogre tightened her grip. Beverly took one last bite from her bagel and licked the excess cream cheese off her fingers. With one last strained yell he fell limp–feet dangling just above the checkered floor tiles. The ogre dropped him.

Beverly jumped down from her stool. The clack of her heels drowned out by the jukebox’s song. She walked to the corpse’s side and stopped at the head. He had miscalculated in inviting her to meet with him in person, but she wasn’t complaining. A vicious smirk pulled her lip up. The cat’s eyes darted back and forth. She leaned to take off his mask.

“Let’s see how ugly ya really are,” she laughed, her guards joining in heartilly. The sight was underwhelming. It was just a frog yokai with bulbous glazed eyes from being squeezed out of air.

“Whoa! Bev, gotta warn you touching the mask is very much a no-no!”

Beverly froze and looked up. The stooges… they were still screwing around. The rhino was now trying to throw dirty plates at the other, while the pig was fiddling with the jukebox again. Why hadn’t… She spun around. Rising from behind the counter and dusting himself off was Blue Karma.

“I really wish you hadn’t chosen the hard way.”

The mask in her hands clattered against the tiles as a plate shattered against the wall just shy of the pig, who had lowered his head and lifted his visor to read the music choices better. Her guards slid away from the counter defensively, one positioned between Beverly and Karma, and the other facing the idiots.

“Boss, what’re your orders?” the front guard urgently whispered.

Beverly’s eye darted around. The obvious exit was blocked by the rhino and pig, who seemed to have finally become aware of the tension in the room. The rhino moving his back to the front door. All the customers had left somewhere between them ordering and choking out the imposter. There would be no audience for what was to come next. They could make a run for it through the kitchen. There should be an emergency exit somewhere back there. All that stood in her way was… Blue Karma.

Who was digging into the abandoned plate of banana wheatcakes, slipping the bites under his mask. 

“Yeah, Bev, what’re their orders?” he mocked between mouthfuls. 

Her fists tightened. “ You –”

“Were here the entire time!” he interrupted, throwing his hands up. He twirled the fork in the same manner the imposter had. “Heard some really nasty things about my liver–oh Bebop do me a favor and put on some Bowie or I’ll stab it with my own fork, m’kay?” 

The pig snorted, “My bad, Boss!”

Karma continued at rapid fire, “I’m sorry about them. They’re big and useful, but a little dull. My buddy Charlie on the other hand,” he whistled, “guy is an improv genius. Too bad about what you did. I promised to forgive that mountain of debt we dug out of him.” He took another bite.

Beverly could only assume that the song that played now was one of “Bowie’s”. Blue Karma pushed away his plate and bobbed his head to the music. Now was her chance. She took the dead corpse of Charlie by the wrist, swung it around, and let it fly towards him. It hit her target.

“Wha–agh eugh ew gross! Why!” 

He collapsed in a tangle of limbs. The diner shook as the pig rushed forward, squealing in a high-pitched rage. Her guard cannoned into him. They stumbled and grappled together. She smashed her forehead against his snout that resulted in a resounding crack. 

“Agh!”

“Bebop!” the rhino called out.

Beverly trusted her guards to deal with them as she jumped from stool to counter, grabbing the coffee pot on her way up. Blue Karma pulled Charlie off and sat up. She smashed the pot against his chest, and skittered past him through the swinging kitchen doors. Hearing the howling of Karma brought a wicked smile back to her face. She wanted the glass to dig deep into his skin. The melting coffee to mar those “handsome good looks”.

Bowie began his chorus.

The kitchen was a maze of shining sterling silver countertops and racks for kitchenware. Behind her the doors swung open, which sent Beverly clambering upon the first thing she saw. Over the stove, and the sink, and under the cupboards. She heard haggard wheezing behind her, paired with slow and evenly paced footsteps. Without even looking she grabbed one of the pans above and threw it over her shoulder. The impact it made caused a clatter, but the footsteps continued. Methodical clacking against the hard surface of the kitchen floor. The pace of a predator stalking its prey. She heard the cat’s eyes ticking back and forth. Damn, she should have brought her knives. Fuck their negotiation . 

Like an angel sent from the heavens, an exit sign shone brightly above a thick steel door. Beverly stumbled down a pile of dirty bowls, leaving their shards in her wake. She launched herself at the door, and hoped her weight would be enough to open it. 

Her first warning was the smell of copper. The second was the blue light blooming in place of steel. Before Beverly could stop herself she hurled through the portal and skidded across the dining room tiles until her head hit the jukebox. Bowie’s voice crackled as the CD skipped a few lines. Vertigo overcame her senses as she struggled to stand on her two feet. The heels were certainly not helping. Something wet was on her face. Blood? The black and white tiles began to spin. She brought a hand to her face, but shakily retracted it when she felt something sticky. Yes, that was blood on her green fingertips. And blood staining her fur coat hanging off of her shoulders. And blood pooled on the ground.

The trail led from one of her guards lying motionless. Where an eye should have been was a gaping hole. A few similar punctures were in her chest and abdomen. Her arm was bent in the wrong way with the bone sticking out towards the flickering ceiling lights. A single eye stared at Beverly. Glazed just like Charlie’s. 

A cold and plunging fear brought her back to her senses. She started forward towards the front door, but was met with the sight of her other guard stumbling back and forth between the punches of the rhino and the pig. Both creatures were splattered in blood and grinning with jaws full of misshapen teeth.

A punch and she swung to the right.

“I haven’t had this much fun in a while, Rocky!”

A punch and she swung to the left.

“Right? Bee? I’m so glad we got to go with the Boss this time!”

A punch and an ogre’s canine flew through the air. And landed just before Beverly’s feet.

Bowie’s haunting voice faded and the jukebox clicked the CD back into place. The scraping of metal against tile startled her enough to take the chance of looking behind her. Blue Karma took one easy step at a time, dragging a long blade behind him. Eyes. Tick back and forth.

“Okay, I really do have to give it to you, Bev, you put up a much better fight than that stinky old dragon did,” he said.

She took a step back, her heel twisting, leg twisting underneath her, and all of a sudden she was down.

“Color me impressed! Or well you tried to color me coffee,” he gestured to the dark stains on his cloak. “You know how hard it is to get coffee stains out?”

She scrambled back, vaguely aware of the thud that meant her final guard had fallen. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, why did you have to not only pick the hard way, but piss me off, Bev.”  He crouched in front of her. As many times she had tried, she had never been able to see past the dark depth of the black eye sockets in the mask. In this moment they seemed depthless. His voice lowered, losing the tone of false sympathy, “Why, couldn’t you have settled for the 70-30? It’s so much harder to get blood stains out.”

She squeaked, “Y-yes! Yes I! I agree! Ple–”

Blue Karma held a hand up and she shut her mouth. He rose to his full height, twirling the sword at his side like he did with the fork.

“My integrity and reputation are now on the line, Bev. You went after a made man. I always hate this part… but you understand right?” he asked. The way his head tilted. It was almost genuine. Almost childlike.

Like a monster could ever be a child.

Beverly gulped, “Who are you?”

Blue Karma answered with a swing of his sword.

—

Back at the start choosing a base had been a hassle. There were so many things to do in the first place, and so many uncertainties to overcome. And all the connections he had made led him back here. It was one of the earlier jobs near the outskirts of the Hidden City. Offering a marshy rural village some protection from this weird cave underground. Something about a group of young alchemists setting up research, it going all wrong, and then weird noises and disappearances years later. A lot of superstitious junk that was enough to deter the curious and shelter the desperate. Far from cops and Big Mama’s train route too. Who cared about a couple ghosts! Not like they existed anyways.

“You two better hurry, I don’t know how many portals I have in me today!” he called behind him. Blue light wavered, the strain of it burning hot in his chest. Why did those idiots have to go running back to the mess they left behind? The takeout bag at his side began to leak. “Okay guys, it’s closing time. Kicking you outta the shop. Don’t lose your tails on the way out!” he warned, drawing his odachi.

Rocksteady and Bebop squeezed and wormed out of the shrinking portal tumbling into one another as they made it to this side. Behind them it shrank into nothing in a soft zap, and he sighed as the weight in his chest released along with it.

Rocksteady roughly shoved Bebop off his back. “Watch where yer landin’, Bee!”

Bebop flailed for his balance. “Sorry man!”

Rocksteady offered an arm out for him. “Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it man.”

“Aw, I love you man!”

“Not as much as I love ya!”

He snapped his fingers. “Hey, hey, hey!” Rocksteady and Bebop swung their heads toward him, Bebop’s visor sliding to the tip of his snout and Rocksteady’s backpack sloping to one shoulder. “Okay, hate to ruin the moment guys, but wanna tell me what was so important you ran back into a burning building for?” he hissed. A short trickle of red ran down from the takeout bag.

Bebop patted a smoking shoulder pad and nodded to his partner. Rocksteady slid the backpack to his front, the pink tassel zippers jostling in the motion. It had been his old backpack from his days exploring the streets of the surface. Faded pink and blue unicorns decorated the front. He missed running his claws through the patchy sequins on the sides, but under his henchman’s care most of them had flaked off. Rocksteady riffled through his supplies of grenades, guns, and ammo until he pulled out a dark shape. Bebop snatched the object and presented it to him with the charisma of a five-year old showing their mommy and daddy their macaroni art. 

“The… clock?” he asked slowly. 

Rocksteady wrestled it back away from Bebop’s grip. Their rough handling made him nervous for the item they went for all the trouble of getting. 

“Ey, ‘ey, back off!” Rocksteady snorted at Bebop, his nostrils flaring and sharp teeth flashing. Bebop’s ears fell back and he put his hands up in surrender. The rhino turned pleasantly back to him, the clock cradled in his arms and the backpack loosely hanging at his side. “But Boss, it’s not justa clock! It’sa kitty clock!”

Bebop nodded vigorously. “Yeah! Yeah! C’mon Boss, you’re always complaining ‘bout how we’re always late!”

“And the kitchen wall is pretty bare right now,” Rocksteady chimed in, shaking the clock back and forth making its eyes shift. 

He turned around and started up the slope to the base entrance. Standing in the marsh’s mud for so long really hadn’t been all too comfortable. The feeling of warm wet dirt between your toes? Not great. It didn’t take long for the ground to shake with Bebop and Rocksteady’s rush to catch up with his quickened strides. 

“C’mon Boss–everybody likes kitties!”

Those alchemists must have been worried about someone poking around their work, otherwise they wouldn’t have made it such a hassle to find the entrance. He kneeled down under the outcrop of jagged dark rocks and peeled off a glove before groping at the ground. At least the dirt here was more dusty and less muddy, but that didn’t stop it from getting stuck under his claws before he found the lip of the buried cover. He dug down and lifted it up, disturbing the camouflage of dirt and dry grass. Underneath it sat a large and gaping black hole.

This was his favorite part. Sliding down the cold rungs of the bolted in ladder, glove back on and handles of the takeout bag tucked under his arm. It made an uncomfortable sloshing sound, so he knew he better hustle. It was dark down here. Off-putting the first time he came exploring, but the familiar green veins in the cavern’s walls gave enough light to see where you’re stepping. He flinched at the thud and tremor that came from Rocksteady slipping off the rungs and landing on his ass. Bebop snorted and squealed heartilly as he unsteadily swung down, nearly slipping off himself.

“Hurry up you two, chop, chop,” he said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t need to wait long to hear the echo of their clumsy footsteps following behind him. Things like that were louder down here. Draxum said it had something to do with the smoothness of the stone. They rounded a curved corner. All the curves and passages were the same, as if someone had taken a giant scooper and dug out smooth tunnels like he did with strawberry ice cream tubs. 

The yellow light at the end of the path revealed the tall and open space occupied by rows of lamp posts and small shabby buildings. Another thing they had those alchemists to thank for. He really didn’t get how someone could abandon such a nice setup because a handful of spooks. He started down the carved stairs, and two of his bulkiest guards, decked out in the full blue uniform, turned to acknowledge him. Not so long ago he’d tried to see if Bebop and Rocksteady were useful enough to stand guard over the site, but he found a bored Bebop and Rocksteady posed more of a threat than some nosey jerk finding them. Well you gotta learn from your mistakes somehow. 

He hoped there wasn’t a trail of red dripping behind him from the bag. Blood was always so difficult to get un-stained. Bev’s whole mess had seeped into the front of his cloak, and splattered sticky splotches on his open plastron. Underneath the mask his beak twitched at the awful bitter and iron-y stench that now cloyed to him. Ugh, he needed a shower now or his mood was doomed to sour even further. 

“Blue Karma! Sir!” a sudden voice called as he stepped down the last stair.

Dammit. 

Blue Karma whipped his head around for the perpetrator, his gaze landing on the yokai that looked like a tumbleweed of colors scurrying towards his direction. He could already feel the headache coming in.

“S-sir! Whoo lemme catch my breath,” the yokai panted, holding one orange tendril up for pause.

What was this one’s name again? Sesame? Seeya? S’more…

“Seymour?” he asked.

Seymour bobbed their head. “Yes, Sir. I’m s-sorry to approach you like this, but…” they leaned in to whisper urgently, “i-it’s Leatherhead, she’s not being very—well she’s causing a ruckus with the storage crew.”

Blue Karma sighed, “Alright kid, I got this.” He whistled shortly three times before he heard the alerted grunts of his two dumbest thugs.“Okay guys head to the mess hall or kitchen to hang up the clock thing or whatever–don’t go anywhere else without telling someone!” He waved a hand in the general opposite direction of where he needed to go. 

Rocksteady let out a joyous yowl and bounded down the rest of the stairs, and Bebop gave a quick salute that nearly knocked off his visor.

“Won’t let you down, Boss!”

Hm. Debatable. 

Blue Karma let Seymour guide him even though he knew the area better than them. He followed at a leisurely pace, forcing his shoulders to relax, and trying not to think about the takeout bag. Every yokai they passed, whether they were tussling with someone else, kids playing a game, or carrying stacked boxes, gave a warm greeting.

“Hey Boss!”

“Morning!”

“Mr. Karma, Sir.”

He returned them with a wave or finger guns before a weight settled on the shoulder of the arm that had the takeout bag handles wrapped around it.

“Heya, Blue. I take it brekkie went well,” Huginn commented with his usual playful lilt. On his other side Muninn bobbed up and down, struggling to fly with the weight of the roll of caution tape held between his little claws. Blue Karma raised a shoulder in offer, and he was quick to scramble on.

“Not really…where are your regular broad shoulders to perch on?”

Huginn waved a little hand. “Oh you know, regular Evil Boss stuff. We’re running errands while he’s trying to relax about being stuck in this ‘filthy hovel’ .”

“We like your shoulders better anyway!” Muninn chimed in.

Blue Karma hummed. Seymour was getting further ahead than he would have liked. They were almost to the other end of the site, where the second tunnel lay. Why would the storage be hanging around there? He tried to keep most of the crew from wandering back here for two reasons: it got a little loopdedoo kind of disorientation thing going, and most of the area was Leatherhead’s territory.

Huginn poked the side of his mask. “Hey, what’s up your turtle butt? You took that praise like it was salad not candy.”

“Yeah why so blue, Blue?” Muninn giggled.

He scowled, those two had a nasty habit of ganging up on people. It was usually fun… At least when Draxum was the victim.

“Blue’s kinda in my name, so why are you surprised,” he dryly answered.

There weren’t any stairs here. The tunnel just sloped downwards. His knees buckled as he trotted down the incline, while Seymour smoothly slid from tentacle to tentacle. Muninn clutched tighter to his shoulder as the lamplight began to fade away. Blue Karma could hear Leatherhead’s low growl, and the telltale high screech of Crystal. He quickened his pace.

“C’mon Little Buddy, why aren’t you being any fun? You’re the fun boss!” Huginn pushed, repeatedly tapping the side of his mask.

Blue Karma chewed on his words carefully, “I am being fun! I’m just being busy right now. Lot’s of work to do. Things to fix!”

A loud thud reverberated through the dark, green light flickering. Probably Crystal hitting the wall. They really needed to talk about that anger again. Maybe set her up with some professional. Seymour led him through the next fork.

“Yeah, but like. If you’re not having fun you totally have the option to just. Stop doing all this. You know that, right?” Muninn offered obliviously.

Seymour was far enough ahead for him to shake the two gargoyles off without noticing, sending the roll of tape Muninn was holding rolling down the slope like a racecar. 

“Hey! Our ‘don’t touch’ tape!” he squawked. 

“Okay you two, it’s time to go and bother Draxy instead. I have some serious, serious business to attend to,” he shooed them off. “Now go on, go!”

Blue Karma didn’t have to tell them twice before they heard a second louder thud–this time they were close enough to hear Crystal sneering–which sent Muninn zipping off. Huginn gave his shoulder one last apologetic tap before he joined the other gargoyle.

It wasn’t long until they found them. Seymour waited outside, nervously looking back and forth between him and the tunnel. Leatherhead’s lantern bathed the walls in a sickly green, making the veins look dimmer.

It had been about a week after discovering this place and doing renovations on the buildings left behind by the alchemists that Blue Karma first met Leatherhead. As squatters go, she was intimidating to look up at. That imposing height paired with the snout full of sharp “I could eat you” teeth. Not to mention the countless scars and that one milky, angry eye. All it really took was complimenting her battered old hat to get on her good side. They had come to an understanding. Leatherhead had been living down here longer than them, and she knew these tunnels better than anyone. Blue Karma wasn’t going to just kick someone out of their own cool hidey hole, but they could cohabitate so long as no one bothered the other. For the most part Leatherhead was a chill neighbor, she didn’t care much for the police either.

“I’m givin’ ya one last warning, Old Hag! Leave us alone!” Crystal roared. Her quills flaring out as she stalked forward.

“Child, I mean you no harm,” Leatherhead hissed gravely. Her nostrils flared, her one good eye faced Crystal, and her tail was lashing back and forth. 

Before the porcupine could actually lift her fist to uppercut Leatherhead on the snout, he cleared his throat.

“Well, what is going on in here!” he said with all the peppiness he could summon, bouncing on his heels. 

All eyes were on him. The two yokai too afraid to approach Crystal in fear she would lash out at them, and Seymour peeking from around the corner. Leatherhead’s stance relaxed at the sound of his voice, but that didn’t stop her tail from lowly whipping around. Crystal on the other hand froze up. Her eyes going wide and her quills falling back down.

“Boss!” Crystal eventually spat out. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, shoulders exaggeratedly rising with the action. “Boss, t-this–this bitch won’t let us put our shit ‘ere!”

A gray yokai stepped forward gesturing to the boxes. “What she means is that we’ve run out of room back at the site and–” Crystal knocked them back with a harsh smack. The yokai curled back into himself.

She snarled in Leatherhead’s direction, “What I means is that we need ta put this–”

Blue Karma held up a finger and she fell silent.

“Ah, bup, bup, bup! Hold that thought.” He twisted his heels so he was facing Leatherhead. “So, Old Girl, why are these kids bothering you?”

Leatherhead huffed, “You have much flippancy, as usual, Little One.” The lip of her snout curled as she turned to the boxes. “The underground does not like the stench of those items, it upsets the balance…” she trailed off while Crystal crossed her arms. She faced him with her good eye, the slit of her pupil thinning. “I cannot allow these children to keep them here.”

“I’m twenty-eight!” Crystal spat.

Leatherhead raspily laughed, “Yes, children.”

Blue Karma let the two posture each other while he moved over to the boxes. The gray yokai shuffled to let him pass. He shook a glove off his free hand to tear through the tape’s seam with a claw. He couldn’t smell it like Leatherhead could, but he could still feel the warm ripples of cursed energy. Leatherhead hissed. Blue Karma whirled around and smacked Crystal with his glove.

She flinched. “Agh! What was that for?” 

His glove was now stuck on her spines, but he paid it no notice.

“Crystal, please tell me you didn’t know these boxes were full of the sweet stuff we got from Big Mama’s latest auction,” he spoke through his teeth.

Crystal blinked and turned to the gray yokai to the snake yokai on her other side, one of the guys they’d poached from what was left of The Masters of Barbarianism.

Blue Karma pinched the ridge of his mask. “Okay, let me remind you again. We don’t keep sweet stuff at HQ, that’s a big rule–have no idea how you forgot that. Secondly, if we run out of room for food and stuff to store, just tell me. Or Tigerclaw at least. He’s competent.”

He rapped his knuckles on the box. “Alright, Crystal, Seymour–yes you I know you’re listening–and uh…” he cleared his throat and waved at the general direction of the two yokai, “you two. Let’s haul this the heck out of here. I probably have another portal in me.”

Crystal grabbed his wrist as he took a step to leave. The gray yokai gasped, and the snake looked back and forth between them. Her grip tightened when he didn’t turn to face her.

“But–I mean. Blue Karma, sir! What so we’re just gunna let this old lady tell you what to do?” she whined.

The tension in the air tightened like a cord the longer he stayed silent. Mulling over his words. Despite her bruising hold he shook off her hand quite easily.

“Crys…do you remember how I found you?” Blue Karma prompted.

Her brow furrowed when he tilted his mask towards her. When she didn’t respond he brushed his ungloved hand against her quills. The focus was now on him and her. She carefully leaned into his touch, overly aware of the sharpness of her spines. 

Blue Karma hummed, “On the streets, alone, with no one to look after you. A lot of us came from that same lonely place. Leatherhead came from that same place.” He now tilted the mask towards Leatherhead, and Crystal’s gaze followed. She watched the two of them, nostrils flaring. He ignored it.

“So we gotta look out for each other, right? That’s why we all came here,” Blue Karma laughed gently. Crystal followed along shortly.

The cord snapped.

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

He gave her arm a pat. “Then I’m counting on you, Crys.”

Crystal nodded.

Too bad he had this mask. He couldn’t count on his winning smile. Usually that won everyone over from the first look, but who was he to turn away from a challenge? Besides he didn’t really consider wrangling the unruly ones a proper challenge anyways. After all, under a little attention Crystal’s confidence in him bloomed.

Leatherhead followed them back up with the light from her lantern. They didn’t really need it with those veins in the wall, but the extra light did seem to help those carrying the boxes to keep their footing. Yellow light clashed with green. As they approached the exit, Leatherhead wrinkled her snout.

“Hm… Little One. You smell of Ogre, among other things,” she snorted.

He blinked. “Hm? Oh yeah,” he laughed and held up his bag that was now leaking a steady red dribble, “I got some takeout from our breakfast outing.”

His laugh was cut short at the familiar click of a lighter. At the exit Seymour waved a tentacle around the box they held while talking to a cat yokai in a grayish blue suit. The cat’s cream tail flicked at whatever babbling Seymour began to nervously pour out. He lit the cigarette between his lips. Looked like someone else was in a bad mood.

The cat yokai ears twitched in his direction as he approached, and those warm yellow eyes had never seemed colder.

“There you are, Kid,” he blew out a puff of smoke.

Blue Karma dismissed his troops with a wave of his hand. Crystal was the only one who spared him a glance over the shoulder. Leatherhead took her chance to slip back into the shadows. The bag dripped.

Hob tucked his lighter back into his blazer pocket before he could make a comment about it.

So instead, he gloated, “You must be pretty pissed if you came all the way down here just to see me.”

Hob’s jaw clenched into place and he closed his eyes as the movement of his tail became more agitated.

Oh, boy. This is gonna be a doozy.

“Can I at least hand off Bev’s head first? We need to put it in someone’s bed like the ‘Godfather’.”

—

They retreated into his office. The sounds of laughter were muffled beyond the door. Hob sat on the edge of the desk, his taut back turned to him. Blue Karma spun in slow circles in his seat. He didn’t need to be the first person to speak to control the conversation. Hob’s ears flattened as the chair continued to spin and squeal.

He twisted to grab the back of the seat with a firm paw and jerked Blue Karma to face him. Yellow eyes narrowed into slits. Blue Karma planted his feet firmly against the floor and returned the hostile gaze with an uptilted head. He was let go. The wheels on the chair slid him back towards the wall behind. Hob straightened to his full height until a neutral expression melted away those angry wrinkles. Still he dug through his pocket for another cigarette and his lighter.

“Kid, you really are more stupid than I thought,” he drawled after a long drag of smoke. 

Blue Karma’s shoulders tensed, so he crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back. Even with a mask the smoke permeated his senses, and his eyes watered at the familiar warm sting. He refused to cough. He’d tried telling Hob not to smoke in his office before, but well there wasn’t an ashtray on the desk for no reason. 

Hob grunted. “Hm, not talking? That’s a first.” He pulled away from the desk. “Ya know by now I’d think you’d already be chatting your ass off with excuses and promises, because somehow you think you’re invincible!” he hysterically laughed. He waved the cigarette around, a thin trail of smoke following the movement.

Blue Karma rested his legs on the desk. “Well, I’m still here, aren’t I?” he snarked. That wasn’t the right answer, but it was definitely fun to watch that tail flick back and forth.

Hob looked up to the ceiling as he took another puff.

“There it is,” he gruffly snorted.
And he mocked, “What is?”

Hob hissed and stabbed a cigarette butt into the ashtray, harshly snuffing out the embers. Something weak in him squirmed at the negative attention. Usually Hob’s yelling sessions wouldn’t get to him like this, but he already had a headache and the smoke wasn’t helping. He focused on that tension. Molded it. Let it solidify and give him the strength to snap back…if he needed to.

Hob sighed, “Wanna tell me why one of our diners was burned to the ground?”

Yeah. That whole situation. Hob’s whiskers twitched forward as he batted his lashing tail away. A lie wouldn’t be useful here. Blue Karma tipped his mask up so it was sitting on his forehead, the beak pointed to the ceiling.

He lazily blinked and shrugged. “Well we needed to dispose of some bodies.”

Truly, an unfortunate set of circumstances. He tried not to think about the dry blood caked up in the curves of his plastron. 

“We?” Hob pushed. The fur on his brow smoothing down as his ears flicked up in interest. A muffled crash interrupted the faint chatter until an uproarious cheer sounded. Blue Karma threw a hand out to the direction of the chaos and gave a crooked smirk.

“Bebop, Rocksteady, Me. You know, the original trio. The negotiations with Bev and her guys went sideways. So…” he trailed off, twirling his fingers around each other and pointedly avoided eye contact.

Hob carefully leaned away from the desk and tucked his arms behind himself. He paced in a slow and careful manner from corner to corner of the room. Blue Karma knew the man liked to work with puzzles just as much as he did. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come knocking on his door asking to be part of this. It made it a little harder to control him. To get him to stay pliant in his hold. No matter what, the old cat seemed to squirm and weasel and complain. So, Blue Karma ran around him enough until he started chasing his own tail. That had yet to calm down. It twitched back and forth.

“Ya know you have to tell me you’re going to do these things before you do them,” Hob grumbled, “ya shouldn’t even be the one doing them!” His paws frantically shook towards him.

Blue Karma kicked his legs from the desk and rearranged himself to sit criss-crossed. The movement sent the chair rolling right into the wall, which rubber-banded him forward again.

“Oho, you think I can’t handle myself?” he teased, palm raising to support his cheek.

Hob rolled his eyes. “Kid, ya can handle yourself too well. This just isn’t a small operation anymore. We can’t risk losing you if we want to win.” He pinched his brow. As tempting as it was, Blue Karma didn’t comment on the amount of teeth grinding. 

Instead he let out an exaggerated yawn, “So what would you have me do? Sit back and twiddle my thumbs? No, I’m not lame.”

Hob didn’t take the bait.
Instead he nodded. “Sure, why not. Let Tigerclaw or Alopex handle the small stuff. Hell, even that little agent of yours.” His shoulders rose up and down with a deep and practiced breath. The tail stilled. The slits of his pupils eased into ovals. He tilted his head towards him. Blue Karma leaned back in his seat until the chair leaned back dangerously.

Hob sighed, “Ya need to focus on the big picture now. Take a break, or at least take a shower…” At that pink nose twitching, Blue Karma scowled and slammed the wheels of the chair down with a harsh thud.

Before that judgey old fart could open his mouth to say something more stupid and boring and stupid an obnoxious jingle of chiptune xylophones sounded off like an angel from the heavens. There had never been a moment he had been more grateful to hear his nokia screaming at him for attention. Especially after struggling to change his ringtone to the Lou Jitsu opening from Punch Chowder, and settling with the default. He groped his pocket for the easy excuse, and held up a finger.

“Hold that thought, I gotta take this!”

Hob’s eye twitched as he flipped the phone open in a smooth motion, the hello kitty charm swinging in the movement.

“Yello?” he answered sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes at Hob, who was standing stiffly, focused on the watch on his wrist, and pretending not to be side-eyeing him.

A gravelly voice squealed from the other end, “Boss! I know you said not to call, but these turtle guys have hijacked our mascot scheme! We were doing fine at the dancing part, but they’re putting up a pretty good fight and all this money…”

“Mhm, mhm, mhm,” he nodded along. Turtles, huh… 

Hob put his hands on his waist. “Kid–”

Blue Karma wagged a finger at him and responded quickly, “Okay, yes this does sound important. I’ll be there shortly.” After flicking the phone shut he jumped up and gave his mask a light tap and it came sliding down back into place. Hob made an attempt to grab for his sleeve as he vaulted the desk, but he easily circled around him and swung the office door wide open. Bebop and Rocksteady’s chortles weren’t guarded anymore, and they filled the small space just as they did in the mess hall.

Blue Karma joined the laughter, “Hear that, Old Hob? I gotta split! Buh-buh-buh-bye!” He saluted, drawing his odachi. 

He didn’t bother shutting the door behind him.

—

This! Wasn’t how the plan was supposed to go. Well he knew it was a bad plan when he put on the hippo costume (she gave him too much power), he should’ve told Donnie no this is a bad plan! Daylight made him nervous. It made Pops nervous for a reason he had to trust, but these days he seemed pretty lax about them exploring. Not that he knew what they were up to right now. Because of the plan. But he was the biggest, and he had to fix this.

And the fixing had been going pretty well actually. Smashing always fixed things if he hit hard enough, and he was hitting this weird cockroach guy pretty hard. Blegh, cockroaches. From the corner of his big brother vision he saw Donnie scaling a building after a scuttling Atomic Lass, and Mikey whipping around some vampire fella. Nothin’ to worry about over there. His real problem was about to get away from him with all his hard earned money. From being a well-respected meme mascot of the people. Well, he could show this bozo what true heroes of the public are made of.

Raph threw his whole weight into his punch, which landed squarely in that fraud of a sailor’s ugly mug.

“Boom! HaHA!” he crowed, as the cockroach flew backwards into the rest of the stumbling stooges. Raph put his foot on the pile of defeated bugs–you know like those cool hunting photos you see in movies–and reassured the audience with a loud laugh, “Thank you, Times Square!” The hippo head full of cash lifted aloft in his palm. The sun had never felt more gentle or warm as they were applauded.

Then why did his feet feel so cold?
“Uh, hey Raph?” Mikey giggled warrily.

Raph turned to look at him, and oh. He and Don were sinkin’. Raph looked down, and oh. So was he. He let out a hysterical yelp as he stumbled over to his brothers to tackle them out of whatever this was.

The last thing he heard before a blue brightness overtook his everything was Donnie’s yell, “Oh my rosen bridge!”

The first thing he felt was the ground. Harshly. They were dropped fast. Raph brought his brothers closer to the soft mascot suit’s chest as they skidded across the ground. Mikey held onto him tight and Donnie went stock still. They finally stopped when his head collided with a brick wall. Everything went black. The shock of it had him squeezing tighter, and somethin’ squirmed out of his arms. Hazy voices… Some mumbling in the background. Some yellin’ at him.

Raph realized his eyes were open so he blinked. And then again.

“Ra– stop I need– concussion–”

Raph’s eyes fluttered again as a bright light was shoved in his face. He batted it away–accidentally sending Donnie back to the ground, the flashlight rolling away.

“Knock it off Don...” he groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“Raph this is serious! I need to check your condition! What if you have brain damage?”

“I dunno, Raph’s hit his head lotsa times, Donnie.”

“Multiple concussions doesn’t build immunity, Mikey!”

“Ohhhh!”

Colors were coming back. He sluggishly moved his head from side to side. Were they in some kind of alley or somethin’?

“Hey, hey focus!” a new voice called for their attention. A dark figure, covered in blue, crouched on the top of a dumpster a few feet away. The cockroaches hovered around him nervously flicking their antenna. Mikey shifted behind Raph, and Donnie supported his arm with his.

“Big Guy. Tell me what happened.”

Atomic lass stepped forward. “Boss I’m sorry, we were handling it, but–”

The figure interrupted with a wagging finger, “Ah bup, bup, bup! Did I say lackey?” He pointed a white beak towards down. Towards him. 

Raph sat up, guarding Mikey with his shell.

This guy seemed like bad news… Raph’s hero senses were tingling in all the wrong directions, and the throbbing in his head didn’t help the tension building or the nausea. Big and round black eyes bore into him. The beak tilted to the side and up again. Come on, say somethin’ . It was saying.

Raph put a hand over Don’s tight grip on his arm.

“We were just tryin’ to get our wallet back,” he growled simply. Each word fell out thickly like molasses. He had to really work his mouth to say what he wanted.

Apparently it was enough. The figure snapped his fingers and the roaches scrambled to produce the hippo head– oh that’s where it went –and present it. He rooted around it, crumpled dollar bills falling over the edge. Several wallets were passed over, but the figure chose the red one. With the skull on it. He rose to his feet, tucking the head under his arm, and casually tossed it into Raph’s lap.

“Guessing that’s the right one, am I right Big Guy?” he asked, a hand on his hip.

Raph rubbed thumb over the yellow lettering, and checked inside for their allowance. At that the figure clapped his hands.

“Well henchmen what lesson did we learn today in thieving one-oooo-one!” The figure ignored their stammering and barreled on, “Don’t steal from guys who’re gonna give you more trouble than it’s worth. Now come on, Boss needs a shower.”

Raph jumped to his feet–dragging Donnie up with him on scrambling legs–as the figure drew out a long evil-lookin’ sword. The sword sliced through the air in a dramatic swipe. It could be the hit on his head, but fancy little blue sparky things fire-worked from the movement. And then nothing. The figure repeated the same movement, and the same thing happened. His grip on the sword dropped.

He let out a slow laugh, “Eugh boy, okay! Well that was embarrassing! Guess we’re traveling economic style! Vamonos!” 

Raph stumbled forward, his jaw tight and brow furrowed, but before he could throw any punches the figure was scaling up the fire escape and disappearing over the roof. The roaches all shared a look, and then followed suit. Raph ran to jump the top of the dumpster, but Donnie pulled him back by the arm.

“Donnie–our money!” he hissed, and threw the arm holding him back away.

Donnie shook his head. “We have our allowance back, and with that we can still secure the purchase.” Raph panted and searched Donnie’s face for answers. He was met with a cold and calm stare. “Let them go, Raph,” he said quietly.

Raph growled. A shaky fist clenched, and before he knew what he was doing the dumpster was dented inwards sharply. What the hell had just happened? His breathing evened as he shook the sting away from his knuckles. A tap on his lower shoulder startled him enough to yelp, and he whipped around to find a sheepish Mikey.

“Alrighty, I know this is a bad time, but that was literally the bird guy we saw at that sheep guy’s,” he said softly. One foot lifting to scratch the back of his other leg. 

“What–Mikey, what are you talking about?” Donnie sputtered, adjusting his goggles. 

His little brother puffed up. “The bird guy! Who’ve been talking about for weeks by-thee-way!”

They squabbled back and forth, but Raph was stuck in his head. He lifted the wallet back up. How did the bird guy know which one to pick?

Chapter Text

This. Was the worst thing that could have ever possibly been burdened upon Donatello Hamato. Everything hurt and the world had never seemed more cruel. He sniffled, clung the blanket holding him together tighter, and dug his snout further into the limited comfort of his pillow. Sometimes when his brothers got too loud, or his head became too heavy, he would come and hide from everything. Seeking solace in solitude. Other times solitude became a monster under the bed that drove him mad. Something in him must be broken. Like the toaster oven Papa struggled with during breakfast. He had a part missing and it gummed up his insides and burnt all the Donnie toast.

Donnie sniffled again to keep his snot from dribbling too quickly. He wanted Raphie. Raph always knew how to hold him tight enough to forget about that missing part that sat in his stomach like a greedy, mean, blackhole. Or when he couldn’t sleep at night. That invisible monster under the bed would make him want to scream and cry, so Raphie and Mikey would offer their presence–fitting together in one bed like a puzzle. But right now they weren’t allowed to. Papa said so. He was banished from their room to wither away and die. Donnie whimpered as another shiver worked its way through his body.

A knock echoed through the pipe. The sound worked its way into his murky head and hit all the corners that made him cringe. He curled into a tighter ball, too sore to hide in his shell. 

“Mm Purple, are you awake?” Papa murmured softly. At the warm sound of his father’s voice Donnie bolted upright, scrambling to keep the blanket from falling off his shoulders.

Papa gave a quiet laugh. One gnarled hand covering his mouth, and the other clutching a tattered quilt they’d found from the last dumpster diving expedition. Donnie wearily blinked.

“Not feeling good, are we?” he asked instead.

Donnie’s beak crumpled at that and let out a whine. The sound scraped against his throat, in which he immediately dropped the blanket to clutch. Papa pattered over, throwing the folded blanket to the side of the mattress. He brought a hand to his forehead and gave him a reassuring rub before feeling for a temperature. 

“Still hot,” he clicked. The sides of his mouth pulled down. Donnie nuzzled into the sleeve of his robe.

Donnie would like to explain that yes he still had a fever, and yes everything hurt, and of course he was still nauseous. But his body had betrayed him in ways he forgot it could. Having a sore throat really was the worst punishment it could give. He rubbed his snot off on Papa’s sleeve.

Papa’s yellow eyes twitched. “Well Purple, tomorrow I promise to bring you some Hot Soup! for breakfast!” he chuckled to himself. When Donnie tapped his throat he responded by raising a bushy brow, “Yes, and some clean water for you to drink. For now I brought more blanket.” He grabbed the quilt he had thrown down and unraveled it with a flourish before tucking him in tight. Patting each corner carefully. Just how he liked it.

Where the blanket had been now sat a red box. It looked as if something in yellow had been printed on the top, but had faded with time. The corners were natural cardboard brown and frayed. Papa didn’t notice his curious glances so he made a point of smacking his arm and nodding towards the anomaly.

Papa addressed it,“Ah, yes the game!” He picked up the box to offer a closer look. “I know those picture books are not as fun for you as they are for Orange and Red, so I tried to find something Purple would like, he, he, he,” he explained.

Donnie began to slide off the top of the box, but Papa’s tail twitched and hit the floor with a loud fwap! Causing the lid to fall from his claws. Papa’s eyes widened as he snatched his tail and gave it hurried strokes. Donnie squinted and hunched his shoulders. He wasn’t sure what to make of what just happened.

Although, it wasn’t exactly uncommon for their Father to falter in his actions. Sometimes an ear would twitch and he would pat it down with a huff, or his whiskers would twitch and he’d scowl. Donnie didn’t know what it meant, and as far as he knew neither did Raph. And well, Mikey was a baby. He tilted his head at him. Papa gingerly let go of his tail to hold his hands up.

“Oh Purple, it’s okay! My baby needs his rest to get better again, and we can play in the morning, alright?” he huffed out. Donnie bared his teeth and rolled his eyes, an expression that caused Papa to exclaim, “Where did you learn that!” The fur on his cheeks puffed out, and if you asked him he couldn’t explain why, but Donnie laughed.

And then immediately grimaced. The consequence of forgetting one’s limits.

Papa shook his head and wagged a finger. “See, Purple! We do not make such faces like that for a reason, mhm!”

Donnie trembled before it hit him. The full body cough in which (if he didn’t know any better) would fear hacking out his lungs bloody onto the quilt Papa just straightened out. He trembled when it finished passing through him. A line of drool spilling from his beak as he sniffled loudly and his throat ached. He stared at the box harshly. This really wasn’t fair! Providing him with a distraction from the torture of being stranded alone in his uncomfortability.

He looked back up when Papa scoffed. His shoulders deflated and his tail lazily swayed behind him.  Pink knuckles rapped the box lightly.

“Okay! One game and then bed for you and me!” he sighed.

Donnie leaned forward as Papa pulled apart the contents of the box. He was immediately handed the instruction manual as Papa went to work setting up the board. Unfolding the scratched checkered space and organizing chipped dark and white pieces. Some of the words were too smudged to properly read, but bringing it closer towards his snout made some more enhanced. Others simply bled into one another. Probably from some type of water damage. 

The rules seemed simple enough. Each piece had a name and a role, assigning them a sequence of squares they could move. And you lost when the “King” was captured by your opponent. When he handed the wrinkled instructions back, Papa had finished setting up the board.

He gave a wink. “I’ll let you be white this time.”

Donnie plucked a pawn and placed it two spaces forward.

They ended up playing four games before Papa noticed the bobbing of his head. He could only grumble when he was gently pushed back into the pillow as the game pieces were put away. Despite his best efforts he couldn’t keep his eyes fully open as he watched Papa humming and straightening out the blankets. Chess was a fun game. Losing the first time hadn’t been fun, but he had a better understanding of applying strategy midway through the second time. He didn’t lose after that. A small smile made its way through his beak, and Papa gave him a light pat on his stomach. His guffaws in reaction to Donnie’s ruthless Queen did prove to be a good distraction for the unrelenting throbbing in his throat.

Papa pushed off the mattress, the disappearance of his weight stirred Donnie out of his haze. Oh. He didn’t really need anything else, but he didn’t like seeing Papa putting the game box under an arm and slinking away towards the black opening of the tunnel. Not knowing what else to do, Donnie reached out for his tail. Touch indicates a need, something he learned when playing with Raph. Sometimes Raphie would tackle too hard, so Donnie would tug on his tail. Papa turned around, doing nothing about the flicking of his ear. His brow wrinkled.

“Is something wrong, Purple?” he asked.

Donnie hesitated. This would be easier if he could talk it out. Explain to both of them why his gut turned uneasily. But he didn’t want to talk at the risk of wanting to claw his throat out. So he shook his head, and brought the tail to his forehead. At least Papa understood, because he came and sat next to Donnie again.

“Hm, I can stay with you until you fall asleep and then I need to check on our little Orange,” he said.

Well. Everything still hurts. And it was unfair to keep him from his brothers, even if he understood it was for the sake of their health–especially Mikey. It was so unfair that he was the only one who ever got sick like this. Papa already fretted over his shell, making him tie a pillow on whenever they played. And still. Maybe it wasn’t as good as a turtle pile, but Papa’s soft lullaby loosened a tightness in his chest. He sniffled one last time into his pillow. Maybe in the morning he’d have two functional nostrils.  Donnie held onto himself as his mind drifted off to Papa’s fading words. Somewhere he felt that broken piece do the same.

—

When Donnie woke up Papa had left. However, he was not, in fact, alone. Mikey wasn’t exactly subtle about dodging his head back and forth from the edge of the pipe. Donnie cracked his other eye open. No sign of Raph tailing him, so everyone else must still be asleep. He patted the edge of the mattress, still too sleepy to go packing around his little brother. Also probably too sore, so therefore not a good idea.

Mikey tottered forward, dragging a stuffed animal behind him. Donnie sat up in case he needed help clambering over the edge, but let Mikey do the work as he wormed and wiggled his way, puffing his cheeks out. He gave Donnie a toothy smile when he made it up. Cleverly, he had used the game box as a stepping stool. The game! 

Donnie reached to grab it as Mikey squired closer. He sacrificed one hand to push his brother back while the other pulled the box up. Only for the bottom to clatter against the floor leaving him with the lid raised in his hand and a whimpering Mikey. He set the lid down as Mikey began to chitter. Donnie clicked. It was the easiest sound he could make without setting his throat on fire.

Thankfully, Mikey responded. Settling into place a safe distance away, and giving up fighting against Donnie’s hand. He looked at him with watery brown eyes, so he looked at the game pieces lying on the floor, flicking his eyes to the side to make sure Mikey followed his gaze.

Mikey pointed a small claw at the box and exclaimed, “Pah!”

Donnie didn’t know what “pah” meant or entailed, but he nodded nonetheless. Here was the tricky part. How to explain the rules of a game to someone with no reading skills while being unable to talk. Usually Mikey was a pretty good listener, even if he wasn’t entirely sure if there was any understanding under that watchful gaze, but keeping his attention using only gestures quickly became exhausting. Mikey seemed more intent on copying him and giggling when Donnie would flail his arms in frustration.

And it also quickly became apparent that giving him the pieces to examine was just as disastrous. As soon as a pawn was in his grubby little paw he tried to eat it. It took a quick snatch from Donnie–that sent him reeling back from the ache of a sudden movement–to keep his little brother from dying from asphyxiation on a dingy little mattress. 

He cast the pawn down quickly after feeling the layer of spittle Mikey had supplied, and whined as he furiously wiped his hand on the blankets. It was stupid to try and teach a baby chess! Babies were stupid. The pawn made a quiet clink! As it rolled out of the stupid tunnel his father had put him in stupidly to quarantine or whatever. At the tap on his arm he whipped around and wrinkled his snout.

Mikey drew back his arm and blinked slowly. Maybe his way of apologizing. He tugged the stuffed animal from behind him and presented it. Oh. Bella. A sheepdog Papa had sewn him out of socks after Donnie had singled it out in a picture book. He had left her behind when Papa herded him back here. Her single button eye gleamed at him with kindness. Mikey pushed her into his arms.

“For you,” he firmly said.

Donnie squeezed her to his plastron and nodded. For him.

When Splinter woke up he found Orange curled into poor Purple instead of in their usual bed. And when Orange woke up again, he had a fever too.

—

Teaching Raph chess proved to be more difficult than Donnie initially imagined. With his voice back he should be able to explain the rules as thoroughly as he wanted. Unfortunately, his words went in one ear and out the other.

“An’ this one’s a bus ship?” Raph asked, holding up a black castle.

Donnie snatched it away. “No, no, no! For the last time, that’s a rook!” he groaned when Raph only tilted his head. He set the piece back on the board and shifted it four spaces forward. “See, look. Rooks can move vertically like this.” He shifted it to the left another four spaces. “Or, horizontally like this.”

Raph scratched his head, forehead wrinkling with concentration. Donnie let him sit with the idea while he focused on relaxing his shoulders. A difficult task to accomplish when there was a steady drip from the ceiling of their little sewer home. He had asked Papa about fixing it once, but he said he didn’t know how. Which baffled Donnie. Papa was supposed to be able to fix everything. His shoulders hunched and shivered as another drop plopped into a puddle of sewer water.

“Raph thinks he gets it,” Raph growled, rubbing at his face. His tail met the floor in a steady fwap, fwap, fwap.

“Oh great! Let’s play!” Donnie chittered and clapped his hands together. He leaned forward and decisively set his pawn forward with a clack.

On the other end of the board a pudgy hand danced over the pieces. Reaching forward, withdrawing back, the classic signs of Raph hesitation. Donnie leaned back and huffed out. A slow pace like this wouldn’t be fun. It was engaging to be set up against Papa, who understood his pieces and strategies. Raphie on the other hand… He grimaced as he carefully pinched the knight piece between thumb and pointing finger.

Donnie leaned forward. Interesting…

Raph had the piece held delicately, unlike his earlier grip on his rook. Maybe the image of a horse provoked a greater sense of familiarity. His eyes darted to each corner of the board, and then back to Donnie for help.

Donnie’s shoulders sagged and Raph’s face bloomed. Before he could open his mouth, he slammed the piece down in the middle of the board. Donnie’s jaw dropped.

“You can’t do that!”

“Horsies can! They jump things, ‘n so he can jump the little guys here,” Raph insisted, chest puffing out.

“Nuh-uh!” Donnie gasped out, indignantly shaking a fist.

Raph scowled, “Yu-huh!” He bared his sharp yellow teeth in a frown and crossed his arms. When Donnie attempted to move the piece back in a correct position, his hand was knocked away. He quickly pulled his hand back to his plastron and shot up to his feet with a squeak.

“ Papa! ” he wailed shrilly. Raph uncrossed his arms and rose to his feet, but his forehead wrinkles pinched higher. He reached forward, but Donnie dodged the touch to call again, “PAPA!”

There was a clatter before a boom! Donnie jumped and fell, landing harshly on his back. He whimpered, and he could hear the distant hiss of his father. The smell of smoke and toast snaked throughout the tunnel. Raph kneeled to help sit him up, but he pushed him away.

Papa stumbled into the room. One side of his face was covered in black rumpled fur, while the other was being prodded by a Mikey cradled one-armed into his chest.

He waved a hand in front of his face and coughed, “Rgh, ah. W-what is it, Purple?”

Donnie was quick to point and exclaim, “Raph is playing wrong! Tell him knights move in L-shapes!”

“But horsies jump ,” Raph groaned and threw his hands out.

Papa pinched his brow as Mikey began babbling and tugging on an ear.

“Look boys–”

“That’s not how it works!”

“Yeah it is!”
“No it does not–”

“Boys!”

At Papa’s loud command they both froze like statues, Raph just about to shove a finger towards Donnie’s plastron. Mikey wiggled out of Papa’s hold and began to clamber over his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his brown robe. Papa shook his head.

“Alrighty Purple I think it’s time for a nap,” he grunted and patted the charcoal from his fur.

Donnie’s fists tightened. “What! Why? That’s not fair, tell him he’s wrong!” He shoved a finger in Raph’s beak, which made him cringe backwards.

Papa crossed his arms. “Don’t argue with me,” he warned.

Donnie stamped his foot down. It wasn’t fair! Something ugly squirmed in his chest. It burned and boiled under his scales and he wanted to scream. But he was better than that. If he could just explain himself.

“But–”

“No buts, unless it’s yours in bed,” his father interrupted, pink nose upturned to the ceiling.

The pipe dripped. The stench of burnt toast was so thick now. He hated that stupid broken toaster oven. He hated only eating black toast and cold soup. He hated that no one listened to him. Donnie stamped his other foot down and stormed off without bothering to cast a glance over his shoulder. Even if Mikey babbled after him.

He launched himself into their communal nest of pillows and blankets, and snatched Bella up into his arms. There wasn’t much to stop noise from traveling down here, so he could hear the delighted cheers of Raph and Mikey. Playing horsies with Papa. He dug further into the bed and buried his snout into Bella’s soft stomach. No one got it.

—

Down here the sewers were more colorful than they usually were. A side effect of the celebrations taking place today. The radio droned on in a high pitch, not unusual to the genre of 80’s music the station it was set on, but something was garbling the words into nonsense. Donnie fiddled with the antenna again. He wanted to pry it open and spill the radio guts all over the floor, but the last time he did that with their television, Papa had been devastated. And more importantly he had been sentenced to no pizza for a week. He brushed his thumb over the screws on the side. Papa patted his shell, bursting him out of his little inner bubble. He looked up to find Papa trumpeting a party horn.

He then laughed so hard until his body shook, “Ahaha! Come on now, Purple. Time for cake and presents.” Papa wiped a tear from his eye, and pulled Donnie up with his free arm.

He dragged Donnie back into the living room where his brothers waited in the bean bag chairs Papa had recently procured. Mikey was squirming around with two party hats snug around his head. One must have been the hat Donnie shrugged off earlier. Raph pushed off his seat and rushed over with his tail wagging. Donnie let go of Papa’s hand to meet him.

“Happy bir’day, Don!” he chirped and smiled, showcasing his familiar snaggletooth. Donnie mimicked the expression, earning a faster tail wag from Raph.

Mikey chose that moment to slink off the bean bag and totter to join them. He pushed a slightly crinkled paper into Donnie’s hands.

“A present from us!” he said and pointed a finger back and forth between Raph and himself.

Donnie let out an affirmative hum and carefully unfolded the paper. It was a drawing of all of them. Together. Or at least that’s what he determined it must be, from the big gray blob he assumed that Papa was. Beside the gray blob was a squarish red stick figure and an orange scribble. In the middle of it all sat a purple turtle-adjacent thing with a shaky smile. The handwriting at the top was not at all neat, but it must be Papa’s because nothing was spelled wrong. 

He read it aloud, “Happy Third Birthday Donatello. Punctuated with five exclamation points.” He looked back up to his brothers. Mikey now clung onto Raph, who had an arm already wrapped around their younger brother.

Papa patted his shell. “What do we say, Purple?”

Donnie blinked. “Oh, thank you. I like it,” he said. Papa offered an encouraging smile. It was true, he did like it. Maybe it wasn’t the kind of art Papa liked to tell them about–the old kind in those famous museums–but it was made by his brothers. And that held more worth to him in a way. Mikey wilted a little at his dry tone, so he added, “We should hang it on the wall with our other best pictures.”

The response must have been adequate enough as Mikey began to bounce from one leg to another. Either that or he had to pee.

Papa clapped his hands together. “Alright, Purple! Now time for the big one!” He made the effort of mimicking trumpet sounds as he drew out an impossibly large box from a sleeve that was not big enough to fit it.

Donnie took the box and surprisingly didn’t stumble from the weight. It was wrapped in different scraps of wrapping paper. Some with little Santas, some with small pink hearts, and the rest of some with birds in birthday hats. Extra tape littered the surface. Unlike the hazardous wrapping job, Donnie took his time peeling the paper away. Underneath lay a plain cardboard box, and well under the lid of said box… He nearly dropped it. Thankfully, Papa leaped forward to keep it from hitting the floor with the help of his tail. 

Donnie squealed, “You got me a computer?!” He trembled with the joy exploding within his body. His knees buckled, and he began quickly digging through the contents of the box. Carelessly throwing the styrofoam over his shoulder and into Raph’s eye.

When Papa had brought back a bundle of books from one of his trips to the surface there had been a manual slipped between the stack of cardboard and picture books. It had been the most engaging thing he’d read well. Since he’d learned to read. The picture books were nice if you were more focused on the illustration aspect, which Raphie and Mikey were. For Donnie? They got boring when they were the only books around. Game instructions were a little more interesting. The language wasn’t as limited, but there were only so many times you could read a two page booklet.

The manual was more than two pages and as thick as his thumb. It was about a type of laptop. He learned about the laptop user setup, how to set up a filing system, troubleshooting strategies–etcetera! It was all so interesting. He wanted to make his own. So he gutted the television, and well his mission didn’t exactly go according to plan. Pizza had been a casualty.

Donnie beamed up at Papa, who returned him a smirk.

“Well you’re always asking questions Big Papa can not answer! Not that I don’t know everything already, hehehe. But! Computer guy can tell you whatever Purple wants to know,” Papa laughed, giving him another shoulder rub.

After the matter of cake was settled (ending with Mikey falling face first into pink and purple frosting) Donnie got to work setting up his laptop. He had complained before what a fire hazard it was to have several extension cords chained together all the way beyond the manhole cover. But Papa explained that this was how they could borrow a little electricity. It seemed inefficient to Donnie. There surely must be sources to tap into down here.

Nevertheless, here he was. Crouching beside the tangle of cords Papa had made, helping him charge his new laptop. Well, new was a relative term. The edges had some obvious wear and tear, and the letters on the keyboard were fading. And it came with no manual. Donnie never thought he’d get bored of the manual he kept under his pillow, alas impatience had been proving to be an admirable foe. He flipped through the pages without looking and scooted an inch back, leaving now about three inches of space between his snout and the black screen. His eyes followed the dots of the loading circle (or more accurately the throbber ), falling up and down with each circle.

In this state Donnie was only half aware of the chaos surrounding him. Since the television had spontaneously broken in a way that could not attribute fault to any curious turtles, his brothers had decided to act out their favorite Lou Jitsu scenes. He overheard some half-mumbled critiques from Papa, but didn’t dwell on the “clumsy form” of Raph until it came barreling his way. 

Years later there would be some debate how it all happened exactly. Either Mikey had made an impressive shove that sent Raph flying backwards, or Raph dodged too fast to avoid hurting Mikey with his weight when he twisted an ankle. Either seemed probable. Mikey was freakishly strong, but Raph was their big brother after all.

All that aside the story ended with Raph perfectly falling onto the laptop, his shell spikes puncturing the screen with a loud crack as the rest crunched under his weight. The sewers fell deadly silent. Donnie rose to his feet. Raph struggled to follow, hissing as a jagged end of plastic cut his arm. He fell back down and whimpered at the blood blooming from the wound.

When Donnie’s silent sniffling broke he opened his mouth to wail like a siren. Mikey followed, accompanied by fat alligator tears and snot streaming down his face. Raph’s whimpering shifted into hiccuping sobs as he clutched his bleeding arm to his plastron.

Papa jumped into action.

“Oh, oh my boys!”

He scooped Raph up into his arms, who buried his snout into the crook of his fuzzy neck, and quickly brushed off the remaining loose keys and chips. When he turned to reach for Donnie, he dodged out of the way. Crumpling inward, lip trembling, and still very much wailing.

Papa’s bushy brow furrowed. “Purple–”

Donnie ran. He slipped and slid on the loose purple streamers littering the concrete, but his little legs eventually took him back to their bed. He dove in, wrapped the blankets around him almost tight enough to cut off the circulation, and rocked back and forth until his wailing waned. His throat felt too dry to continue. Swallowing ached and his nose wouldn’t stop dripping. Aftermath hiccups wracked through his body. The tightness in his chest loosened, but something red and hot began to grill his insides.

It wasn’t fair! Why did everyone have to ruin everything! He must be doing something wrong, right? Wasn’t clearly defining what he wanted or what he needed. Why did no one understand like he did! Maybe he was the one who had it wrong, and everyone else was right. Maybe he was like that puzzle Mikey liked to put together. With the piece that didn’t fit anywhere because it came from an entirely different set. He hated them.

Donnie choked on his spit, hacking and trembling. Kicking off the blankets and wanting to kick off his skin. Of course he didn’t hate his family, but right now he really hated something . Donnie pulled Bella out from under the pillow and scrunched her up until her one button eye was bulging out. That red, hot grill soothed into something more manageable. Like microwaved soup in his guts. His grip on Bella relaxed, and he fell back into the blankets in a big backwards flop. Bella settled in between his neck and shoulder. He pulled his legs up and closed his eyes.

That’s when Mikey decided to patter on in and launch himself at the bed. Donnie grunted at the extra weight of a little ball digging into his shell.

Mikey mumbled, “‘m sorry you sad.”

Donnie sighed, “I’m not sad.”

“Raphie’s sad.”

Donnie rolled over to pry Mikey off, who slowly blinked and reached his arms out with curling fingers. His face was red from crying. Donnie scrunched his beak.

“Is Raph okay?” he asked.

Mikey limply shrugged. “Said you won’t like him anymore.”

Donnie sat up, and his little brother groaned as he let the covers fall from the both of them. What an illogical conclusion! Raph had broken an impossible amount of their stuff, and that never deterred him from his presence. Because he knew he could fix it.

That red hot grilling dimmed with this realization. The ebbing heat still distressed his rapidly beating heart, but now he knew what to do with it. His chest raised up, and his shoulders loosened. He slipped away from bed, ignoring Mikey’s whining, and marched forward. Bella’s paw in his.

Finding Raph shouldn’t be difficult. Past patterns of behavior implied that his brother would be sulking underneath the kitchen table. The whimpering and murmurs of his father echoing from the opening pipe that was their kitchen supplied his theory with more damning evidence. Donnie marched on in, and swung Bella over his shell.

Raph was in fact under the table, where the remains of his birthday cake sat utop. Purple frosting viscera marred the surface, where Papa haphazardly placed a hand for balance as he ducked below towards Raph.

“Oh, Red. Come on out baby boy. Papa’s gotta give your boo-boos some cool teddy bear bandaids,” he beckoned.

Raph shivered and blubbed, “NO! ‘m not comin’ out!” His head hit the table as he shifted, causing him to wail with fatter tears streaming down his face. He was almost too big to fit under there anymore. Something about spurred Donnie forward. Ignoring the hand that tried to drag him away by the shoulder as he crawled under.

“Purple!”

And ignoring the frosting that stuck to his shell (even if he wanted to scrub it off vigorously in the bath). And ignoring the way Raph leaned away when one yellow eye opened to see him.

Donnie stopped a few inches before him, and took one good calculating look at his trembling brother before plopping his head against his shoulder. Raph startled at that. Actually raising his head up from his arms, hitting the table again, and tilting it down towards him.\

Donnie sighed, “Yes, I was mad at you for breaking my new baby, but no I do not hate you.”

Raph’s face crinkled. “Are ya sure?”

Donnie hummed and leaned closer. He tried not to go too frigid at the arm that wrapped around and squeezed him. Raph’s tail began to thump against the floor.

“What about yer birthday present?” he sniffled deeply to keep his snot from dripping.

Donnie handed him Bella to hold onto. Raph gently took her in his palm, and cradled her to his chest with his free arm.

“I can fix it. I’m a genius.”

After that Papa dragged them away to bed for a nap, after cleaning and bandaging Raph’s wounds with almost all the teddy bear bandaids they had. Mikey nestled back into Donnie’s shell, and Raph’s tail wrapped around them all. Both had fallen asleep, if Raph’s snoring and Mikey’s subtle twitching said anything. But Donnie, curled in the center, was still very much awake. He stroked the top of Bella’s knitted head, and thought about the leak and the electricity. Maybe that was something he could fix too.

—

Long ago Project 001 had been buried under the burden of several other projects he had taken on to make the sewers more suitable to living in. The kitchen Mikey liked to play chef in with all the pots and pans and running water? The bathroom Raph liked to take hour-long bubble baths in? The wifi that Dad languished in? It was all thanks to Donnie’s efforts. Not that he was looking for thanks. Sure it was always nice when Dad gave him a pat on the head and a wink or whatever–he was very bright for his age– but that was not the ultimate point to all this work.

Okay maybe he was looking for a little thanks and rubbing it in his brothers’ faces (even if his fixes caused minor, minor explosions occasionally and he had to rewire the oven all over again), but again: ultimately he was just tired of living in a dark, damp, and miserable place. He had hated it when Mikey would cry about his drawings getting wet, because down here there was no escaping good ol’ sewer water. That is until Donnie secured the lair in a 95.87% free-of-flooding zone.

And then eventually he ran out of things to play with. There was always the little stuff he could pull his “big boy” toolkit out on, but all the big picture stuff? Dad had taken care of it, Dad and Donnie worked to take care of it, or Donnie had taken care of it. 

And well. That made things kinda boring. There were only so many times being stuck on the losing end of skate ball and being excluded from “Raph’s Uber Duber Wrestle Mania” because of his shell he could slog through while this itch tortured him from every corner of his mind.

Donnie needed to tear something apart, and this time stripping the projector for parts might be out of the question. This week’s pizza place for pizza night was Tony Lou’s, and he did not want to miss that by testing Dad’s fury.

And in the consolation of his carefully curated habitat, he found the remains of Project 001.

It was in one of the boxes under his work table. As careful he was to maintain his own space, it was not enough to hold all his babies and trinkets. Donnie really needed a lab. He already had a blueprint ready for when Dad finally responded positively to his slideshows.

Segue back to un-tetris-ing his work area and finding a dusty box with his father’s scrawl on the side.

It read: “Purple’s first project :)”

Donnie attempted to unseal and recover the items inside, but was met with the resistance of several layers of duct tape. He stripped them away with fervor (calculated fervor with an excitement for the unfamiliar of course), and then proceeded to gnaw off the remaining bits.

And there lay Project 001. The broken bits of his old birthday laptop from Raph’s ill-timed stumble and the keyboard he’d procured from one of his excursions to the junkyard with Dad. His fingers brushed over the keys, and was surprised by how stiff they were. He dug through the box. Well it would be nice not to have to beg to break into the library after hours to use their paleolithic pcs–as much as he genuinely thrived in the academic aura of libraries.
Completing Project 001 rose to the priority position of Donnie’s exhausted list.

—

Donnie understood the intricacies of an innumerable amount of things, but computers? They were his love and lifeblood. His passion. His emotion. Circuity, hardware, motherboards, and hard drives. He understood them better than his own organs. The manual he had kept under his pillow since he was two was one of his dearest treasures. His bible, if they were being romantic about it. And the internet?

It was a terrifying wasteland full of idiots and geniuses he had been carefully exploring and cataloging since the moment he had finished Project 001, which had evolved into a four screen desktop setup and an intel core with purple flashy-flashy lights. And it posed a chance for Donnie to find a sense of community. Fellow intelligent peoples with the same vigor for science as he. Or at least something to fill that empty broken piece that’s been haunting him since birth–or whatever you call mutating into higher consciousness.

His mouse hovered over the play button. Donnie liked games. Putting together strategies was not unlike working on his tech. Logical paths and movements would secure him victory while Raph would scratch his head in confusion, and Mikey would unsubtly cheat (pulling out the puppy dog eyes whenever he was caught).

Playing video games had a different flavor of entertainment. The broken arcade cabinet Dad dragged back to the lair had fascinated him. Once they got it working Donnie hadn’t been able to pull away from the allure of the arcade stick and buttons. Neither had Raph or Mikey. And after a week of being glued to a thick and bright screen, Dad grounded them from games for a month.

Well Dad couldn’t ground Donnie from something he had procured all on his own.

He pressed start.

The lobby he was dropped in was loud. He flinched when the voice chat noticed him.

“Oh my god, finally. What we’re full with one or two more guys?”

“Dude I think that’s a noob, check out his record.”
“Fuck man what the hell.”

“Guy’s stop being shitty or he’s not gonna turn his mic on.”

One shot the last one in the foot and they dissolved into laughing and insults. Donnie rolled his eyes. He may be new to the concept of first person shooter games, but he had tested his worth solo and found the mechanics to be elementary and the action invigorating. And besides. He doubted any of these punks had a tech-upgraded console specialized for shooting preciseness.

Donnie smirked and idly nudged his joystick, waiting for the rest of the lobby to calm so they could talk about strategy. When the last player dropped in, the others were too busy being dumb and yelling. 

This new player had a… poor choice of customization. A clunky suit with stuff that looked cool but would slow them down. They even forwent the helmet to show off a pompadour. Now that was a noob.

A blue dot pinged! In the corner of his screen.

Loujitsufan1: hi :)

Before Donnie could even consider responding, the timer on the lobby came to zero and they were dropped onto the map. Donnie ignored the deep voice giving them instructions, tabbed the area map, and quickly moved for the first opposing target.

Loujitsufan1 followed.

It quickly went to shit after that. The rest of the team were brutally wiped by an opposing helicopter, while he logically navigated in the cover of the warehouse. Loujitsufan1 followed. He managed to get some nice headshots. The adrenaline of those score point pings fueling the fire in his veins. 

Another ping! Appeared at the corner of his screen. He ignored it, reloading his weaponry. A second ping! He tabbed for the map again for his remaining objectives, which were little. A third ping! A fourth and a fifth. Donnie growled and lowered the volume of his headphones, and finally relented to the pestering.

Loujitsufan1: i can figure out how to use my thing

Loujitsufan1: can’t

Loujitsufan1: oh there go one of our guys

Loujitsufan1: dropped my thing

Loujitsufan1: help? :)

Bootyyyshaker9000: Use the grenades if you dropped your handgun. Y button for the menu to select a new weapon. On the keyboard it’s the up arrow.

Loujitsufan1: alrighty tighty mr shaker

Donnie turned up the volume on his headphones for peak efficiency, as that issue had been dealt with, and took note of the footsteps and profanities coming from what he hypothesized was the hallway corner. He dodged behind a crate and readied his handgun, not paying much attention to the fumbling of his companion. Until gritty explosion effects completely took over his screen.

Bootyyyshaker9000 and Loujitsufan1 died

Donnie dropped the controller when they were dropped back into the lobby.

“Oh my gosh guys that was such a shitshow! How did the noobs survive last?”
“Tim, lay off em for fuck’s sake I saw the hit that took you out man.”
“Oh you wanna go there–”

The squabbling tuned out into mindless static as Donnie sat unblinkingly and processing of what the hell had just happened. Did. Did they really– Donnie’s hands flew to the keyboard.

Bootyyyshaker9000: @Loujitsufan1 DID YOU REALLY DROP YOUR GRENADE ON US?

Loujitsufan1: oh boy is that what that was

Bootyyyshaker900: YOU DUMB DUMB!

Loujitsufan1: :(

Loujitsufan1: that was unnecessary 

Loujitsufan1: buttface

Bootyyyshaker9000: First of all my facia is Not a gluteus maximus, second of all did you drop that grenade on purpose? I find it hard to believe that anyone could lack that amount of common sense, especially considering we were the last players left!!

Loujitsufan1: hey!!!! i have rad skills!!!

Bootyyyshaker9000: And?

Loujitsufan1: i didn’t drop the freaking bomb on purpose, but i shoulded!!!

Bootyyyshaker9000: Shoulded? That makes no grammatical sense!

Loujitsufan1: you make no gramamatical sense!!!!

“Hush, hush, hush, boys! There’s a spat going on in the chat.”
“Seriously dude?”

Bootyyyshaker: What is your problem! Why do you have to interfere with my little time of relaxation via murdering other people’s avatars on the web!

Loujitsufan1 wailed through voice chat, “M-my problem is that I-I’m six!”

“Oh my god!”

“Shit, booty made the kid cry. That’s awesome!”

Donnie hissed and turned on his mic with ferocious fervor, “I’m fucking six too, so what?”

The lobby exploded into laughter and Loujitsufan1’s staticy sobbing.

“Jesus this game’s for thirteen up, we gotta get these kids banned.”

Donnie didn’t care to wait around to find what happened next. He flung his headset off, slammed his controller on the ground, and sprang off his chair. Sometimes observation effects and experiment, and maybe the internet would clear itself of insolent punks like Loujitsufan1 without his attention.

—

Around eight months later Donnie attempted a new social experiment in a new environment, which should yield a higher chance of success in the objective: companionship, or perhaps even friendship. Apparently, under further research, first person shooter games bred “toxicity” amongst players. Donnie didn’t know what toxins had to do with gaming–or how it would enter the body to disable its functions–but he would rather be in top condition without worrying about antidotes.

This game was aimed more towards an audience of his current age, which was a bit off-putting since most content aimed towards six-year-olds was lackluster; however, there was a key mechanic of building and creation within the game. Something Donnie considered himself to be very good at.

Playing it yielded simplistic yet entertaining results, so test-running the mini games in a group seemed like the next logical option on data collection.

Although apparently the grand and expansive universe was so desperate to prove him wrong and ruin his mood in 0.027 seconds by offering a matchup that had a miniscule–no microscopic– probability of ever occurring.

The username “Loujitsufan1” hovered over the first user in a Lou Jitsu skin.

Loujitusfan1: BUTTFACE900 0?

—

This. Was the worst punishment Donnie had ever had to endure in his life of seven years. It had to be a punishment, right? Some butterfly out there flapped its wings in the precise and exact wind speed to glue Loujitsufan1 to his side in every online excursion he took. And every time that idiot would ruin his good mood with buffoonery of levels that shouldn’t be conceivable! And he lived with Raph.

At first. At first it started “accidentally”, or so it was claimed. Little accidents and fuckups that would contribute to Donnie grinding his teeth into dust and the whole team failing at whatever they needed to accomplish. And then! His detestable transgressions evolved to a more blatant forms of torture. Followed by annoying dialogue such as:

“oopsie!! my bad chief… Buttface9000 >:3c”

“wow srry abt that dude. sike!!!! get siked on idiot”

“guys lets leave Bootyyyshaker9000 behind. he’s more butt than face as a stupid buttface”

It was inane and childish humor. Mikey could do better. Not that Mikey understood any of Donnie’s ramblings on his archnemesis. Apparently it was “weird” and “unusual” to obsess about someone you had never met or seen in person before.

So logically, Donnie tried to locate Loujitsu1. There was a very nice web of games and chat boards he could follow, yet everything. Led to dead ends. Nothing about this situation made sense! No one was as proficient as him when it came to plucking out a serial number and coordinates from an annoying individual, and his antagonist here was stupid enough to leave a lengthy trail of breadcrumbs. And yet someone or something was cutting those webs he was following, leaving frayed ends and a frayed Donnie pressing his forehead to his center screen.

It all came to a head when he was finally gifted the opportunity to clash swords with his fellow foe in a competitive mini game from some idiotic penguin themed website. Donnie stared down the avatar of Loujitsufan1’s avatar from his side of the screen. A flame in his stomach fueled the ire and utter hatred he held for this stupid blue penguin with orange aviators. They were engaging in a card game format of combat, with themes of a ninja dojo. Something that should be right up his alley, as Donnie and his brothers were occasionally allowed to play with the old ninja gear. Mikey once got stuck to the ceiling in Dad’s shuko climbing claws. He readied his mouse for attack. A stiff finger arched over the left side.

Nothing in the world could have ever prepared Donnie for the absolute and utterly embarrassing defeat he was served. Maybe if he built a time machine. He would break the space-time continuum to warn his young and innocent self of the injuries that came from gaming against fools. And to list all the cards Loujitsufan1 had in his hand.

Loujitsufan1: that was fun!! i liked the part where you lost. and i won

Donnie slammed a fist against his desk just as another message bubble appeared.

Loujitsufan1: but seriously yeah, gg :)

Donnie paused, a scoff sitting in the back of his throat. Instead, he snapped his mouth shut while his fingers flew to the keyboard.

Bootyyyshaker9000: What is your problem!?

Loujitsufan1: 3 heads, i give a gg and u flip

Loujitsufan1: idk what’s UR problem

The fire in his stomach began to dim. He fought to keep it. To feed it with memories of exhaustion from Loujitsufan1’s dum dum puns. The heat of competition brought comfort to that deep hollowness he couldn’t escape. Donnie didn’t want to lose that, but he was also reaching his limit after a year of squabbling.

Bootyyyshaker9000: What cheat codes did you use to acquire those cards?

Loujitsufan1: cheat codes? why would i need those

Bootyyyshaker9000: I’m serious! >:(

Loujitsufan1: oh!!!! mr shaker is pulling out the faces

Bootyyyshaker9000: I’ll pull off your face.

Loujitsufan1: ok ok ok, i get it

Loujitsufan1: but the cards? i really dont use cheat codes. why

Donnie rolled his eyes at that. Even he used cheat codes! Only in dire circumstances, but he was not exempt from the sins of cheating. And he highly doubted that his enemy wasn’t. 

Bootyyyshaker9000: What strategies did you use then? It’s incomprehensible how someone of your intelligence could best me. How did you win? 

Loujitsufan1: oh ow i guess. but i dont really have a solid stagegy???

Bootyyyshaker9000: *strategy

Loujitsufan1: i dont really have a strategy i just know what my cards do and how to respond

Loujitsufan1: its like idk. talking with u i never know whats gonna happen next, so why plan?

Loujitsufan1: i just have an idea of what i could respond with and then i do when u say the right thing

Bootyyyshaker9000: That makes no sense whatsoever. I would like to dissect your brain.

Loujitsufan1: Ew!!

And for the first time in a year Loujitsufan1 managed to force a laugh out of him. To Donnie’s credit it was a scoff/laugh, but still a laugh. He slammed a hand over his mouth. Shame at bowing to his nemesis burning his cheeks, and yet. Something began to light up within. After hours of tracking down Loujitsufan1’s history on the internet he already knew the answer but he still asked.

Bootyyyshaker9000: Have you ever played chess before, by any chance?

Loujitsufan1: oh yeah sometimes

Bootyyyshaker9000: Would you like to play a game with me?

Loujitsufan1: :)

Loujitsufan1: yes!!

After Donnie sent the link, dodging questions on how he knew to personally message Loujitsufan1, he lost track of the amount of matches they played. No one had ever challenged him like this before, and that light in Donnie grew brighter. And at the end of the night? Or apparently morning, in which Mikey found him crouched in his seat and dragged him away to breakfast with Dad and Raph and then bed. It wasn’t all too bad. A little fun maybe if he was feeling crazy.

After being forced to sleep he returned to the screen to find one last message.

Loujitsufan1: gg ‘s :)

Chapter Text

This was about as close as zen he could get on a weekly basis. Freshly showered? Check.  In bed? Check… Well. More or less. Okay, a rock-hard mattress on the floor wasn’t exactly all that glamorous, but he’d slept on way worse before. Besides, sleeping isn’t exactly his plan as of now. An invitation from the one and only: Bootyyyshaker9000? Still waiting on that check. 

He drummed his fingers on his laptop. It was a dingy old thing covered in peeling limited edition Lou Jitsu and scented unicorn stickers, but it got the job done and he wasn’t about to let it go so easily despite the pained fans heating up his lap. Not many computers had mystic wards between the circuits of their motherboards or whatever. And it’s not like the guy remembered all his auto-saved passwords, okay?

Anyways. The point was that our dearly beloved, Bootyyyshaker9000, was late. Something said dearly beloved had chewed him out on before after that whole unpleasant block of two year silence. So here we are, faced with an anomaly. Of course he could send the invite instead, but that really took the fun out of it. He never reached out first. It drove Bootyyyshaker9000 nuts, and that truly was one of the gifts of life. So here we are, simmering in the August heat with a slowly but surely melting laptop and a barely functional fan shuttering around on the windowsill. He really really needed his weekly dose of zen. That’s two reallys! 

Look after days of nonstop work and hassling around places for his kids to live, unable to even return to home sweet home (that is if you consider a two-hundred square foot apartment with a crack in the ceiling “sweet”, but hey at least he’s got his own private bathroom in the closet), everything was beginning to be a bit… “wow that’s a lot of shit to do”. And as much as he hated to admit it, Hob was right. He needed a break. Especially after days of going without a shower because of nonstop work and the hassling. Oh boy the cloak really didn’t help with the sweat and stink.

Maybe he needed a summer fit. Something better than these basketball shorts and a worn childhood hoodie. He chewed on a drawstring. Not much he could do about the total coverage–he’s proud of his stripes, but they’re pretty easy to identify. Maybe a lighter material then. He rubbed his arms. Maybe Bootyyyshaker9000 forgot that it was Saturday. They could miss one gaming night. It was fine. Maybe cotton or linen… 

Just as he was about to bestow mercy upon his laptop and plug it in to charge, a mail notification interrupted the corner of the darkening screen.

Bootyyyshaker9000 has invited LouJitsufan1 to a match

LouJitsufan1 smirked. Check! Here comes the zen. He pressed “accept”. A chessboard filled the screen. LouJitsufan1 clicked Bootyyyshaker9000’s icon, a purple geometric D, to chat.

Bootyshaker9000: Greetings, LouJitsufan1. What’s the haps?

LouJitsufan1: ur late!!! (╮°-°)╮┳━━┳ ( ╯°□°)╯ ┻━━┻

LouJitsufan1 watched those three little dots dance, but it wasn’t really hard to guess his internet companion’s response. They had already started the game, and Bootyshaker9000 was always efficient with his offense and overly aggressive with their defense.

Bootyshaker9000: I am not late!

LouJitsufan1: u am too!! i was waiting like two hours dude ( `ε´ ) 

Bootyshaker9000: You may find it’s “you ARE too”, but nonetheless you are wrong and I Will defeat you once and for all. So HAH.

LouJitsufan1: kay you can try if you want to I guess but dont be disappointed ☆⌒(≧▽° ) <3 

Bootyyyshaker9000 was always fun to play with. He had played chess casually before. Finding it little to no fun to crush guys with lame profile photos or little kids. There was only one other person who had given him this kind of challenge, but Bootyyyshaker9000 made the swoop in his stomach actually feel exciting. He’d draw their games out, letting his companion start out with aggravation. “Control the center of the board” is something that’s been drilled into his brain since he was a baby, but Bootyyyshaker9000 was certainly more well versed in traditional chess strategies. That’s why it never failed to make them screech when Loujitsufan1 won.

Bootyyyshaker9000: You FIEND!1  

LouJitsufan1: ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

Bootyyyshaker9000: Stop that. 

LouJitsufan1: No. (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ 

Bootyyyshaker9000: Looong sigh. One of these days, mark my words, I will! Defeateth thy in combat!!! But alas, today I must retire to bed. 

Bootyyyshaker9000: Good game(s) LouJitsufan1. 

They had to be joking, right? It hadn’t even been that long, and they were late to top it all off! LouJitsufan1 typed quickly.

LouJitsufan1: wait? throwing in the towel this early??? 

LouJitsufan1 : cmon man wheres your emotionless passion!!! 

Three little dots, and LouJitsuFan1 knew he lost the battle. He slumped down from the wall to lay flat on the mattress.

Bootyyyshaker9000: As much fun as this is (genuine), I am under strict orders from my Doctor to at least get four hours of sleep. 

Bootyyyshaker9000: :( 

LouJitsufan1: fine its whatever. weird time for bedtime dont people wake up at 6 lol 

Bootyyyshaker9000: Like you ever sleep.

LouJitsufan1: just dont be late next time!!! 

Bootyyyshaker9000: I never was, and never shall be. 

Bootyyyshaker9000: Besides, why do I have to be the one to invite You? 

Bootyyyshaker9000: You know what nevermind. Next time I’ll break your Lucky streak and finally doxx you. Logging off.

louJitsuFan1: in ur dreams ☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆ 

Bootyyyshaker9000 has left the room

He shut his laptop and threw it to the side. Now what? They only played like. Three games. He blindly grabbed for his pillow behind him and brought it close to his plastron. It wasn’t new for Bootyyyshaker9000 to say they had to “go to bed” at odd times of the day. If he were to guess, they might actually be nocturnal, but who was he really to judge? He only slept when it was convenient. Whatever, it was fine. He could be bored on his day off. 

Laying on his stupid mattress on the stupid floor and staring at the stupid ceiling. Pale gray light from the window fell upon the opposite wall. He hadn’t even realized it was that late in his early morning. Maybe around 7:00 or 8:00 AM. Still it was loud, after all it was still New York. Traffic droned on. The fan rattled side to side. And the computer was still humming and recovering from his abuse. Still it was quiet. 

Ugh, he hated when he was in one of these “moods”. Antsy but lethargic in a paralyzing kind of way. Maybe he could pirate a Lou Jitsu movie, or like literally anything else. Maybe…Maybe.. Maybe… He needed to move before he got stuck.

He scrambled on his knees across to the far side of the room, where the “kitchen” lay. It wasn’t much, just a desk with his snack box, mini fridge, hot water dispenser, and microwave. The hot plate had been evicted due to reasons unrelated to the fire he didn’t frame his neighbor for. But there should be food, and food is an easy distraction because eating requires little effort. You could always count on him to slack on his own distractions. Unfortunately, where there should be food was an empty fridge and a snack box containing only a mini size of cheetos from the last office birthday party celebrating Rocksteady and Bebop’s unfortunate existence.

He let his forehead hit the top of the fridge. Ugh, he hated when he forgot to stock up!  It’s not like grocery shopping is at the top of his priorities when he’s trying to get the Hidden City under his thumb. He dragged himself to his feet, and gingerly squeezed the crystal clipped inside the hoodie.

That was the easy part. The next part never felt Not weird. His shell, blood, skin, and other organs functioned pretty well for the most part. They did their job. The magic that warped a new layer around his body squeezed in the parts that didn’t fit, like someone meticulously bubble-wrapping a package. 

Now he had bubble-wrap skin, blood, and other organs. No shell, but at least this form had hair. Thick, wavy, black ringlets that barely skirted his shoulders–interrupted by a white streak. Not exactly a fashion statement, but cool nonetheless. The vitiligo on his skin and hair was something he had been fascinated by. It had grown towards his hairline in the past year, reaching for the old wounds hidden under his hair.

When he was first given the cloaking brooch he looked in the mirror for a good hour pulling at the new marks.  A little vain in a way, but it’s not like he wasn’t doing that back when he was getting used to the scar on the left side of his face. Reconstructive surgery could only do so much after all! That one permanently blown pupil was also a lot more buggy-looking as a human than a turtle.

Leave it to him to fuck up looking like your normal and average joe, but let’s be real. His handsomeness would be drawing attention even if he wasn’t scuffed up good. 

He zipped the hoodie up, not feeling up to putting on a bra, and slipped on his sandals. It was time to go hunting.

—

As the fluorescent lights continued to flicker he pulled his hood up. Eyes squinting to adjust to the harsh indoor light. He rummaged through the chip bags. No salt and vinegar, well really that’s a bummer. 

A chipper voice brought him out of his thoughts, “Good morning! Need any help with anything?”

He looked up to find an attendant smiling a little strained. Ugh, he should have brought his headphones and discman.

He chewed the inside of his cheek. Obviously he knew he was objectively pretty, but the lighting in here didn’t do much service to his looks. It drew out the dark circles, frizzy hair, and the pattern of old stains on his hoodie. He knew he looked shadier than usual, but he really wasn’t intending on shoplifting today. He didn’t need to do that kind of stuff anymore. 

He dismissed them with a cursory wave. “Nah, I’m good, thanks.” And shot her his award-winning smile. 

She pursed her lips for a moment, but he didn’t give her the time to respond before he hurried off, hands in his pockets.

It probably would have been a good idea to actually make a list before making the effort to traipse all the way out to the Stock-&-Shop instead of aimlessly wandering around unsatisfied with his options, basking in the cool relief of the freezer aisle, and admiring the stacked can displays. He brushed his fingertips against the packs of ramen, but none were really speaking to him. Ugh, this is boring . He was going to die of boredom. His beloved followers would run around like headless chickens without him, but he won’t be able to do anything because he’ll be dead. From boredom.

Before he left this aisle behind a bright red tag caught his eye. In bold white it read: SALE!!! 50% off price. Looked like someone overstocked on Albearto head shaped macaroni. He plucked up a box and took amusement in the sound of dry noodles rattling around. Now he usually preferred the shell kind, but he could get like twenty boxes of the stuff with his pocket change. Three heads, he missed the last apartment he had. The one that came with a stove and oven thing. He could barely work it, but stovetop-cooked macaroni tasted a thousand times better than microwaved. 

He picked up another box. Now the problem was: what flavor? Classic Cheddar? White Cheddar? Extra Creamy Cheddar? Or, Albearto’s Surprise Cheddar? All could make a strong case for themselves–the countless flavors of cheese and their value is no joke. A hard decision indeed.

He took five of each. Twenty boxes exactly, but who was he to pass up a deal as sweet as this? Or well, more like as cheesy as this. With the boxes of macaroni precariously crowded between his arms he hobbled off.

And that is when he heard her.

Only freaks and workaholics like existing at 7:00 AM. Let alone on a Saturday. So, not most the people filtering through the aisles shuffled like zombies, while scruffy teens who came in to try and use the bathroom. Most of 'em people seemed content to be quiet or mutter, and let the store speakers fill the silence with the top 40 hits of 2010. Well it seemed that she wasn’t.

And she was loud. And moving close, her words becoming clearer.

“C’mon Dee, you know I don’t need any help with the groceries! Get your green butt back to bed, I know you’re supposed to be sleepin’.”

“Mhm, well I got his list right here. Stop worrying, you know I got this!”

“Really, Dee. I don’t mind helping out the fam, ‘specially when y’all are sick.”

“Mhm alright, thank you for reminding me to get Raph his antifungal cream. Now, go back to sleep, you sound like when grammy accidentally ate my cousin’s special brownie.”

She rounded the corner just as he pinned the familiarity of her voice. The turtles’ little human friend. Her phone was held to her shoulder by her chin as she organized the contents in her shopping basket. A slow smirk split across his face.

“Okay, bye Dee–AGH!”

Running into her wasn’t hard at all. He was a stumbling ball of macaroni boxes and she was absorbed in her conversation. They hit each other hard and fast. Boxes flew across in all directions, her phone and basket clattered to the floor on impact, red glasses went skidding across the store tiles, and he fell dragging her down with him. Slipping out her wallet from her coat pocket and sliding it into his sleeve was even easier.

He heard the distant call of a concerned employee, but it was the girl who was the first to react. She harshly shoved him off, making him land on his back with an “ough”, and sprang up in place with her hands on her hips.

“Watch where you’re goin’ kid!” she exclaimed with ferocity. “I nearly ran over you!”

“Sorry sister, I think your glasses went over there,” he responded, throwing a thumb behind himself. She floundered as he sat up and began to sweep his fallen soldiers back into his arms, but joined in to help pick up the remaining few.

He left before any real conversation could begin, but he did hear her calling after him. She either was oblivious to the few people who gave her a stink eye for the noise, or didn’t care. After seeing her deal with Huginn and Muninn he wasn’t sure of which. Girl was a ferocious wildcard. But he’s pretty sure there was an apology somewhere in the things she shouted. Hm, well it looked like he was getting away unscathed. Only an empty checkout line in his way.

—

This part was always kind of a hassle but he didn’t feel like scrambling up the fire escape–as he usually did–with two full plastic bags hanging from his wrists. He continued digging for his keys in his pocket–to no avail. He’d already taken out his nokia, a crushed energy bar, three crumpled receipts, and gum rolled up in its wrapper and stored them between the fingers of his free hand. It was entirely possible he left them behind. He put his forehead to the door’s window to hunt around for Mr. Garcia behind his desk. And yup. That’s an empty desk. His sigh fogged up the glass, so he pulled back. Until a tap on his shoulder made him flinch hard enough to smack his head right back into the window.

“OW!”

“Mierda! Qué estás haciendo!”

He rubbed his aching forehead, turning around to face Mr. Garcia with a coffee cup in hand and a pastry bag in the other. His bushy brow raised, so he playfully scowled in response.

“I left my keys back in my room,” he explained, throwing a thumb behind him,  “care to help me out, Señor Gar? Pretty por favor?” 

Mr. Garcia grunted. He slowly smiled in a shy kind of way. A crooked and open grin. Mr. Garcia pushed past him to deal with the door. He pumped his fist. Yes! Mission success. He was sharply whistled at when he took too long gathering up his bags.

Despite having short and stubby legs, Mr. Garcia walked like a well-oiled machine. If he was a real human, he doubted he’d be able to keep up with him. Even now he took the stairs up two at a time to follow, trying not to trip on his feet. Yeesh, why didn’t they take the elevator?

“So, you starting school soon?” Mr. Garcia asked, twirling his ring of keys on one finger.

He adjusted a bag wrapped around his wrist and frowned.

“No, I don’t go to school,” he answered honestly.

Mr. Garcia hemmed and hawed about this under his breath. He pretended to not be too interested in what he was trying to say. Chewing on his cheek when the pace slowed down.

“I thought you were like sixteen–seventeen, right?” Mr. Garcia settled on, clearing his throat. They reached the top of the staircase, leading into the long hallways of ugly orange and brown carpet.

He considered this. Usually he didn’t delve too far into personal territory with his landlords, and this was getting dangerously close. Especially since he was technically fourteen, but legally sixteen thanks to Hob’s lovely handiwork.

He shrugged. “Yeah, what about it.” His eyes darted to the pastry bagged pinched against Mr. Garcia’s empty coffee cup, and back to the floor when Mr. Garcia looked over his shoulder to smile and scoff.

“A dropout then, eh?”

He puffed up at that.

“Ohoho boy, I never said I dropped out! Huh! Maybe I graduated early! I’m taking a gap year!” he spat, waving his arms up and down. The bags followed the motion and nearly toppled him over.

Mr. Garcia only responded with that classic raised bushy brow and flat brown stare.

And he deflated at that.

The keys on his finger stilled as he wielded the bronze one like a knife. Mr. Garcia tapped it to his chin, and then waved it towards him.

“You know my hermano’s a bigshot lawyer. Said something about emancipated kids like you needing a job,” he said, getting to work wrangling the lock on his apartment. “Also told me they were offering internships to those around your age…” The lock clicked. Mr. Garcia stepped back, giving him enough space to slink around.

He cracked open the door and offered a sly smile. “Don’t worry about me man, I already got some pretty sweet gigs and a lawyer bother, ” he assured. Slipping behind the door, and clicking it shut before he could be prodded anymore. The bags were dropped to the floor so he could dig through his pockets.

Once he felt the leather (or was it pleather?) corner he whipped it out with his magician’s precision. Her wallet certainly wasn’t as hard to find as his keys. He flipped it around a couple times, thumb rubbing against the yellow bow. It was cute too. Attempting to open it resulted in the expulsion of an accordion photo sleeve directly into his face. He nearly dropped the wallet, but caught it by one of the slotted IDs.

A girl beamed for the camera. Hm, so April O’Neil was her name. He pulled the wallet up and rifled for more information. Inside was a twisted bobby pin, which he cast away, a school ID from last year, a couple twenty dollar bills, and a coupon for Mike Tony’s Favorite Lou Pizza. Ohohoho! He pocketed the latter two. Some sweet dinner plans were on the horizon.

And then his phone rang. He pinched his nose, and prayed to whoever was listening that it wasn’t Hob. The ringing went on long enough for his neighbor to hit the wall and yell something about how early it was. So, rolling his eyes, he finally took out his phone, letting the wallet drop to the floor as he flipped his nokia open. Not bothering to check the contact.

“Yello?”

He frowned when he was answered with static, but before he could ask for anything else a high-pitched distorted voice tore through his ears.

“It’s past time we make another appointment, J. Expect to receive further instructions.” The call ended with a harsh tone that droned until he flicked his phone shut.

He let himself fall back against the door, and dragged his palms over his face. So long for a relaxing weekend, huh? 

Chapter Text

Day 1 of observation

Subject 02 of 04 and Observer survived the explosion at the laboratory, caused by the uncooperative Subject 00 (name: Lou Jitsu, species: human, sex: male, age: 40, notes: powerful warrior, potential mystic capabilities, admirable buttocks). 

Subjects 01 of 04, 03 of 04, and 04 of 04 presumed dead. Subject 00 presumed dead. 

Despite the troublesome interruptions–provided by Subject 00–mutation of Subject 02 of 04 successful. On a surface level. Observer will return to the laboratory for proper data collection when the site is not crawling with brainless policemen.

Current data available on specimen:

• Species: red eared slider turtle and human chimera
•  Sex: female
• Age: 1
• Active, will not stop crawling
• Shows signs of consciousness, has yet to develop object permanence (?)
• Warmth-seeking, genetics primarily mammalian, but still cold-blooded (?)

Observer seeking shelter at nearby hostel. Heat lamps are unavailable, therefore (unfortunately) Observer is forced to keep Subject 02 of 04 at a healthy temperature through providing his own body heat.

Future note: find a separate “dog bed” for hired help. It is too crowded here.

Day 2 of observation

Laboratory materials still unavailable to the Observer. Hired help proves to be useless for anything other than babysitting. Subject 02 of 04’s continued erratic activity proving to be a hassle. Current shelter is inadequate. Exposure to the elements over time is optimal, but the strength of her immaculately designed immune system has yet to be tested on the field. Observer fears early contact with bacteria will interfere with growth of the fresh mutation. Observer blames Subject 00 for ruining his sterile environment. 

Hypothesis: Subject 02 of 04 is unsatisfied with the closed space of the environment. 

Possible solutions:

• Give Subject 02 of 04 fresh air. REJECTED– Observer is not in the possession of a leash and 02 of 04’s erraticity makes his nerves fray
• Reclaim lab with a meat gollum. REJECTED– The Three Heads are already on Observer's ass
• Find new shelter

Future note: procure food for everyone, hired help is complaining and it may ease Subject 02 of 04’s crying at night.

Day 3 of observation

Solution failed. The Observer removed himself and the Subject from the hostel. The inhabiting yokai poked their noses in no business of their own. This activity contributed to the distress of 02 of 04, revealing the subject and therefore exposing them to a potential danger. Observer does not wish to proceed in the open, but he fears this is their only choice.

Observer will take this as a chance to take notes on Subject 02 of 04 in an open environment. The satchel his hired help “borrowed” from their room’s neighbor (ugh that Steve snored enough for a thousand yokai) is currently being used to cover 02 of 04’s presence. The bag itself is doing its job correctly; however, 02 of 04’s consciousness has not developed enough common sense to stay hidden. Either that or Subject 00’s influence over her genetic makeup was skewed in the accident. Observer plans to do more tests when he is able to return to his lab. But as of now, he will stoop to bribing 02 of 04 into silence with chunks of his sandwich.

Another object of lament is the pellets Observer dedicated his time to perfect to match the dietary plan he drew up pre-mutation. Post-mutation he is on the road with little to offer in nutrition. Sandwich bits will have to do.

Future Note: monitor 02 of 04’s feces and temperature.

Future Note 2: when the yokai empire is secured on the surface and Observer is given his rightful role as emperor warrior-alchemist, blow up the Three Heads’ laboratories and force them to eat sloppy joes on the streets. See how they like it!

Day 4 of observation

The Observer is concerned for the weather settling upon their current hidden outpost. A mist has settled within the city, sitting about 5 degrees celsius (he can only estimate without his equipment), and without a heat lamp this is potentially severely dangerous to 02’s health.

Observer has sent hired help on a run for supplies. Hopefully the items they obtain will provide comfort to 02.

The Observer believes 02’s temperature has been fluctuating as of late. At least the coolness has the erraticity of 02’s behavior dimming with the weather. This may be a note of concern if lethargy continues. Another thing for the Observer to keep an eye on.

Future Note: if weather conditions continue, Observer will be forced to move. The question now is: where?

Day 5 of observation

02’s temperature has settled, but at an unsavory highness. Hired help has yet to return, and Observer is considering abandoning their rendezvous point to acquire supplies by himself. Potential problems with idea:

• Movement may worsen 02’s condition
• The Great Baron Draxum is still under scrutiny of officers

One of which had recently questioned him on his own whereabouts without recognizing Observer's glamorous form under the ratty sack he had turned into a cloak. Observer knows that logically he will have to withdraw from the shadows and expose himself to further scrutiny on his work, but Observer does not want to lose this project. Observer will need to store 02 somewhere she cannot be found, so he can return organizing the remains of his experiment.

Future Note: more research on the strength of average children may be required, as Observer is unsure whether 02’s lax grip on his finger should crush as much as it does.

Day 6 of observation

02’s condition continues to deteriorate despite the belated help of Observer’s gargoyles.

Discharge observed from eyes (additional: showing early signs of swelling) and mouth.

02 stubbornly refuses to eat despite Observer explaining thoroughly the importance of protein.

02 has not consistently been an adept listener. This will have to be added to 02’s training itinerary. Observer would like to blame Subject 00 or the explosion, but he cannot be sure until they are in a secure location where Observor can conduct more behavioral tests. It could also be an error on Observer's genetic editing; although, considering his thorough alchemic training and history there is little chance of him to be at fault. 

However, as of his current situation. There is no way to tell. Patience is key here. Observer’s timeline has already been hastened by the unfortunate explosion caused by his poorly chosen subject, so he must proceed with a proper scientist’s caution. 

However, Observer knows he cannot continue in his current situation if he wants any chance of 02 of 04 to successfully live to her adult stage.

Future Note: there is someone he can go to, but Observer would rather not be so desperate to grovel at the knees of the Hidden City’s scum of the Earth.

Day 7 of observation

Observer has come to a decision.

There have been a minuscule amount of times he can recount decisions that he had made while being wholly unsure of the circumstances. Because unsuredness and insecurity is not a condition in which a warrior thinks.

A warrior thinks with precision and power. This is always something Observer had the comfort of knowing. That is until humans came along. And then that damn prophecy. 

There is a time and place for violence. And Observer desires that time to be now and here.

But a scientist thinks with caution and contemplation. Something that Observer is still learning.

02 will not stir under his touch. A pulse is still present, but heart rate is low. Observer is writing this entry just beyond the doors of his last resort, and he is tired. But willing to grovel. 

Future Note: Lou Jitsu owes me compensation for this whole mess.

—

Day 1347 of observation

Two has made significant progress in his physical training and motor skills. This may be attributed to Observer’s Partner, who has allowed a stimulating enough environment to support such training. And as much as Observer would like to reject the notion that he couldn’t have supplied all these materials on his own, Observer is grateful for the hand that has been allowed him and his ward. Yet, Observer is concerned at the lack of defensive strategies he has been allowed to nurture Two with.

The child is being taught how to slaughter, and to endure against slaughter. Endurance is something Observer had carefully considered when choosing his specimens species, and had made a point in his plans to execute a significant endurance training routine in their juvenile stages, but first he needs to learn how to roll and dodge. How to fall correctly and use his blades to guard himself. Instead he is being encouraged to take hits for the spotlight, and to lick his wounds in the dark.

Another point of concern is Two’s mystic capabilities, something of which Observer severely overestimated the potential passed down from Subject 00. This has been a point of disappointment on his Partner’s behalf; however, Observer already considered the unpredictably of mysticism passed down in a hereditary line before mutagen was introduced to his subjects.

Notes on Two’s Portals:

• Portaling is a common ability for yokai (and vile humans that violate the very nature of their being to claim mystic powers as their own), so it unsurprising to Observer that Two picked up on it
• Current portals get no bigger than the size of Observer’s own fist
• Distance from point A to point B no farther than ten meters apart
• Stability lasts no longer than approximately 30 to 90 seconds

Observer believes the issues in unpredictability and instability of mysticism may be caused by a faulty anchoring point. Two is not developed enough to use the self as an anchor, so Observer is considering forging a new set of blades–Two’s preferred weapon of choice–imbued with empyrean. Training wheels if you may.

As for the reckless style of martial arts training he has been limited to, Observer will have to take extra caution to teach Two to tend to his stretches and bandages. Perhaps adding a poison immunity regimen will be useful as well, if there were ever an attempt on Two’s life through more subtle means.

Future Note: hire a new tutor for Two’s schooling.

As much as progress he has made in physical prowess, social and intellectual skills are severely lacking. This could be due to being designed as a part of a four-piece weapon; however, Two should be at least able to function on his own.

As he is now, there is too much dependence on Observer and Observer’s partner. Observer suggested they introduce Two to yokai his age, but his partner rejected the notion. Observer is worried that said partner is weaponizing this dependence against him. Observer will have to tread carefully 

After failing to bring Two to an adequate reading level, Observer was obliged to throw his twenty-second tutor out of the window. Hopefully the twenty-third will be competent enough to understand basic speech therapy.

Future Note 2: hired help is also grounded from babysitting. While Two remains mostly true to his stoic pact of silence, he will call to Observer with a needy lamb’s “bah”. This is no doubt an influence of hired help, as they cannot contain themselves professionally whenever this occurs.

Observer may be a sheep, but he is a sheep with dignity. And a sheep with hands that can crush little gargoyle skulls, especially the ones of which that read Observer’s journal entries.

—

Day ? of observation

It has been an unacceptable amount of time since I have picked up these lab entries I wrote on Two’s development. The Great Baron Draxum should have known better than to surrender his hopes of this project–the security of all yokai-kind riding on the success of which–all because of a little setback in interpersonal relations, and an aggravating lapse in communication. I created Two. I should have had more faith in my design. I should have known he was alive.

Embarrassment at my utter failure to keep myself from being cleaved of contact from my own ward wounded my pride enough to hide this journal the first time. And yet even then I had not let myself fall prey to an emotional collapse of the ego, and kept my eye on the prize.

Over the past few decades, the list of which I have suffered loss from continues to grow. Humans only know how to take, and that is why I have made it my goal to stop them with all I have. Baron Draxum always has a plan. Baron Draxum always takes back as much as he desires. So I was ready to raise every kind of hell for the return of Two into my safety, and not whatever insanity my Partner had planned for him.

And then the first (and only) message of his condition I managed to finally get my claws on had been that letter from the idiotic and completely incompetent surgeon. Of course those fancy little doctors had not a single idea on how to operate on a precisely genetically manufactured chimera! No one should know how to resculpt my artistry of biology and alchemy, because everyone else who had tried was long dead before I even graced this planet with my presence. But that is not what the letter was asking, and that is not why I (infuriatingly and frustratingly) deemed Two a failure alongside the rest of his brethren.

Some sort of accident or whatnot had occurred (the details of the inciting event were vague in the most aggravating way), and this “surgeon” needed my notes to be able to successfully mend the injuries Two had been dealt (including some cranial damage). 

Fear is not something I am capable of. However, I was tentative to proceed with this situation with my usual vigor for vengeance. They had finally given me something. What if they took it all away the moment I was too unruly for them to handle, as my Partner had deemed before. I should have been the one that operated on Two. An inventor knows his creations better than anyone. Caution is a coward’s move, and I’ve never regretted anything more than not reclaiming my laboratory on my own terms all those years ago.

I was not graced with any information concerning whether the operation had been successful in reviving Two. Those years of silence were far different from any other torture I have had to endure. A sense of failure permeated my every waking, dreaming–living  moment. I nearly threw this journal away to be rid of it all, but selfishly I hid it behind the texts of my personal library. Thankfully, I was able to find it again. Here.

Starting from the ground up once again had been a humbling experience. But now I knew what the process looked like. I just had to make sure no one could take anything from me again. Instead, I would take everything from them.

So. I had (foolishly) given up on Two, and shed myself of the attachments holding myself back from saving every single ungrateful yokai on this forsaken planet (perhaps even the Three Heads, if I’m feeling generous enough the day my final success arrives).

But I would not be writing now if I had been correct in my previous assumptions in my ward’s death. In fact, he is currently sleeping in the room beside this one.

I do not believe in miracles or coincidences. But as of now, I do not have an explanation as to why the universe had perfectly placed Two for me to knock him off his feet in Witch Town’s market. I am not going to risk complaining of this predicament, and I did not waste time pulling him up by his scrawny arm and dragging him back to my laboratory.

Although, something that greatly concerns me is the state that I have found him in. A long scar snaking around his dilated left eye is an obvious impression of the accident the letter was referring to. Everything looks to be healed properly after a thorough inspection, but from Two’s stale breath and frail form it’s obvious he is malnourished. And from the human rags I found him in, I can only conclude that he has been on his own for quite some time.

For how long I have been unable to determine. Considering the exact year we had been split apart, I would estimate that he is currently eleven years old. And of course Two was too starstruck and or shell-shocked (it was difficult to tell when he wasn’t saying much other than a few stumbling words with wide eyes) to properly answer the list of questions I had asked (no matter how many times I repeated myself). It was lucky that he even recognized me after a moment of prodding, as I had been forced out of his life before he had fully reached his juvenile stage.

I am just fully rapturous that Two has returned to my station. Here we will begin his journey to fulfill destiny–to reach his full potential as the savior of the yokai, and he will be safe from those that desire to use him for wasteful purposes. For the first time in my very lengthy lifespan, I am grateful that I was wrong.

Future Note: create a food plan for Two to regain his strength, and a new training regimen, and a new curriculum considering that I have no knowledge on where my Partner left him squander on, and clear out the rest of storage so that he may have an adequate resting space.

Addendum: it seems that Two has improved on his portals between the time we have been apart. It has not even been a day and I have managed to lose track of my ward once again, because apparently he wasn’t trustworthy enough to sleep in storage and found the odachi I had specifically crafted with him in mind. And left without so much as a note.

Usually losing such glorious progress would be infuriating, and my fist would have created a new hole in the wall. However, in this case it is easy to understand that not all is lost.

Two is alive. He is alive, armed, and free. And I will find him, before my Partner does.

Chapter Text

“So, lemme guess. Feeding time?”  Blue Karma flippantly and flanderously pointed to the webs surrounding them in the dark room. Big Mama leaned back in the languish of her recent work, sending vibrations down thick webs to slightly disrupt his chair. He leaned back, letting the webbing keep him from completely falling out of his seat. 

“Why yes! Happened upon a couple of charming turtley-boos now ditzy dancing to my favorite game! Helping me ,” she crooned, clasping her two smallest hands together. 

Blue Karma laughed so hard his chair fell forward again. In a wheezing breath he pushed, “Turtles, huh? Think I know just the guys." He limply waved a hand around with a casual scoff, “But I’ve heard they’ve been causing trouble for some upstanding yokai folks, like us.” She couldn’t pluck his emotions under the cover of the skull he had chosen to garnish, but she’d entertained enough puppets to recognize a meaningful stare.

 Big Mama squinted each of her radiant red eyes at the smarmy sap she had stuck in the middle of all her webs. This meeting had been anticipated for a while and she’d rather not bump gums, but her little problem really hadn’t the faintest clue how to dry up. And her little problem already had caused such a whuckus ruckus.

She scuttled down the web and lifted his beak with a dainty claw, savoring the swallow rippling down his tiny little green neck. It would be just so easy just to reach… and snap it.

 "Hm. But they're not the only trouble makers running around are they?" she airily sighed.

Blue Karma raised his hands in surrender but didn't dare move that chin away. 

"Okay, I can explain myself. Collected evidence on my innocence. So much evidence really!" he said, words running themselves dizzy while he flapped around those hands. 

"And our dear winky, Beverly. Her unfortunate and elaborate dinky demise," she hummed, tilting her head.

He shrugged. "Self-defense. She went after me first! Even after I invited her to a negotiation with the intention of settling our conflict. Really rude of her, oh and such a pity."

Big Mama had in fact already reviewed all the trinkets and boppets Karma had to offer. The crystal recording projected on her big screens of her mini bosses scuffling about in a ditzy little diner, that poor frog’s body (what a waste of an artist, she always had a bit of a thing for nicely cut actors), and oh that one teensy testimony from the waiter. It seemed he would be arriving out of this mess unscathed. Big Mama drew back her claw, pulling Blue Karma to lean forward in the sudden absence.

“You’re really a clever little mac aren’t you! Whatever will Mama have to do!” she lamented, claw on her cheek, and crawling back into her corner. He always found a way to put her behind the eight-ball by the skin of his teeth.

Big Mama remembered the first time she had a charming little chance of meeting her little problem. Rumors of some new and upcoming star began milling about in her box socials. Big donors excitedly leaning over each other’s champagne flutes to whisper. They were waiting for her to discover him. Weave a web and snatch him up for operating without her precious permission. But Big Mama wasn’t one to cast a kitten without reason, so instead she found him.

It was absolutely-tutely not an easy feat to accomplish! Despite the talk, her mark didn’t show his little beak around much in the Hidden City, but he sure as hell left a lot of destructive impressions. And those were the real kickers! Especially when she discovered similar happenings from the comfort of her boardroom in the Nexus Hotel. Knick knack pick-pocketing, bank robberies, and the usual of course. Her mouse had hovered over the article. About some diddly darn fooligans in animal costumes. A human businessman cleared his throat for the blessing of her attention. She shot him down with a sweet smile and glowering eyes.

And there they were. On a roof with the few stars hanging above them not snuffed out by the lights below. He crouched near the edge. Too open of a position really–she could easily push him off if she wanted. She gave him ample warning with the click of her heels, but he still scrambled to keep from falling when she called.
“Too-da-loo there! Ah–watch out for the edge dearie!”

He snapped his beak in her direction. It gave her the up-and-down until it finally settled in place. The stiffness melted into something more amicable as twisted to fully face her, legs stretching out straight together as he continued to lean back regardless of her warning. She tapped her lip expectantly. 

“Big Mama,” he acknowledged. Tone flat as a board. She tried applying some pressure. Adding a bitsy of a twisty heel.

“Oh splendiferous, you do recognize me after all!” she let out a rumbling laugh, hand on her chest. The other waved towards him, all-encompassing. “We were all getting a little tizzied up about all the little witty rules bending and breaking!” 

Karma hummed and swayed from side to side, “Sure you got the right person? I spend most my days being your average everyday respectable citizen, who only sometimes tresspasses on private property!” 

Hm. So he was one of those squirmy ones? They were certainly more fun to play with than the dogs that would roll over and expose their belly after the smallest of small threats. Having a bad girl’s reputation did have its perks, but it could get boring sometimes. Maybe a good chase would bring back some buzz into her dull little office life. 

“Oh yes I’m absolutely-tutely sure you’re the big shot everyone’s been babbling abouts, hm what was it? Bluish something or something Boo?” Big Mama goaded, a finger innocently tapping her cheek.

He scowled, foot scraping against the concrete roof, “Blue Karma.”

Ah and there it was.

That had been the night she had snatched him and his little crew into her’s. All the flimsy flanty sealing of contracts was not all too official until a few fun nights later. And it had been a pleasant surprise to find that him and his little crew already had her cut of the berries for every silly business they caused, set aside.

If only her pretty prince dark horse could be as conscientious or at least subtle with his silly empire spreading.

Her assistant came forward, raising a teapot just high enough for Big Mama to see, and refilled Blue Karma’s cup on the desk. The two shared a look. Not long enough for anyone else to take a good note of, especially with their dingy masks masking any emotion, but Mama smiled as her cup on the desk was refilled a tad higher.

“Well, Blue. Looks like you’re clean as Mama’s bib,” she sing-songed, all but baring her teeth, “but don’t forget–I have eyes on you.”

And then the elevator door bell rang. Blue Karma twisted and threw an arm over the back of his chair. Her assistant shuffled back to her place, ram-rod straight against the wall behind her desk. Her lovely bellhops pooled out of the elevator, followed by her little bunny turtles.

The Red one’s face crumpled at the state of her office. 

“What’s the bird guy doin’ here!” he pointed and shouted. A fracture in his eyes. He was finally seeing past the curtains of her stage.

She huffed. Why oh of course yes her little bunny blue already stirred the trouble pot here without lifting a wibbly hibbly hand. Well alright, she eyed the jar of bugs with a lick to her lips, it’s not a trip for biscuits anyways. This little game has come to its close and conclusion with or without petty pikish disputes. 

So Big Mama preened all saccharine, “Greenie boos! Gifts for Big Mama?”

—

April really and truly was all on board for the fam’s plan to play tele tubi exterminators and chase after the oozesquitos terrorizing New York City. Because, well… They may have a bit of a part in letting them loose. But man, she really was not digging playing lookout all by herself on some stupid roof for hours on end. April let out yet another yearning sigh as she leaned forward, cheek in hand, towards the Hotel Nexus next door. She squinted and chewed on a dry lip.

The list of places April hadn’t worked for would probably only take up a mere page of space as opposed to the manuscript of places April had been fired from. After all, there is a reason she has roof access all the way up here, but the Nexus? That place had its name on that one page. So she couldn’t accurately imagine what hijinks the boys were getting themselves up to in there while completely ghosting her for three hours.

April fiddled with the settings on the purple walkie Donnie had thrown at her during their pre-game battle talk. If she had known their plan involved ditching her on a rooftop alone with only a channel of static for company (despite all of them having phones!), she wouldn’t have made the sacrifice of her last weekend of summer break. 

April shivered, “Man...” School.

Sweet, sweet summer break had treated her so well she had forgotten junior year about to pounce on her. No more cannonball days for a while with all the AP courses she had lined up. April groaned and let her forehead fall to the concrete ledge. 

She really shouldn’t have come out here, ‘specially if she was gonna be abandoned or whatever, but something about the way Raph called her up. It gave her pause. Literally, the excuse was ready to roll off her tongue! But it promptly evaporated, leaving her tongue dry, when Raph got over all his stumbling.

He told her he chalked it up to big brother paranoia (the label that Dee usually slapped over his proudly proclaimed big brother sense ), but someone had been following the boys lately. Not for every nightly outing. And they were never followed home, but apparently the big guy had been feeling eyes on him enough for it to spook. Raph needed another set of responsible eyes so to speak.

Oh she could be responsible. She could be so responsible she’d blow Raph outta the water! And she’d kick and stomp on the jerk that’s been shadowing her guys. If she wasn’t on lookout duty… April chewed on her lip and glared back at the Nexus. They had been awfully silent, which wasn’t totally characteristic of Mikey who loved every excuse to use “walkie speak”. Over, over, it’s doctor rover! Not correct by any means (especially Dee’s), but. She rolled the channel over to the orange little dot. Nothing but. Static. She really did love Mikey’s rhymes.

April gave her best thinking face to the Nexus, one eye fully shut as the other squinted. It really was a beautiful building in the way all fancy ass New York buildings are. Clipping the walkie to the top of her jacket, she vaulted off the ledge, shaking the fire escape below as she landed. This was her being responsible, like Raph needed. Least she could do as a lookout would be to look around, right? 

—

The nice spider lady’s light laughter echoed in Raph’s head. Echoed real hard. Knocked against the walls of the good ol’ chamber. Donnie was complain’ about his tech, but he could only hear spider lady humming between his ears while Mind Raph dodged away from her teeth.

Don’t worry ‘bout it big guy, we all make mistakes! Chin up and muscles out!

Yeah right. What good did his beef do when those bellhops dogpiled him the second he rushed to smash in that bird guy’s prissy little beak with his prissy little cup of tea. Raph strained against the mystic handcuff-majigs. 

“Hey Raph, do ya think they’re gonna provide us with proper face paint? Gotta be all razzmatazz if we’re clownin’ down, and you know about Don’s skin condition–”

His teeth gritted just thinking ‘bout that lazy half wave. Couldn’t even manage a good back and forth for ‘em. What a douchebag. 

“Offended gasp! Oh dear brother of mine you understand perfectly well–”

Laughter ringed on and on and on. At him. At his brothers and that conveniently placed banana peel. Wouldn’t put it passed blue bird for throwing it over his shoulder. Raph glared past the guards behind them. It had to be that guy that was following them. Big Brother sense wasn’t kicked off that easily–’cept for that nice spider lady… 

“Hey Raph, you alright?”

Here he’d been obsessin’ over this one random guy they’d barely scuffled with, and this not-so-nice spider lady runs right under Big Brother radar. What kinda hero couldn’t sniff out a bad guy?

“Raaaaaph?”

Raph had a responsibility to keep his family safe. Pops used to always lecture him ‘bout playin’ too rough with Don’s shell. He’d snap Raph’s name out and wag a mean finger. Then say something like, “Red! As the biggest, it's on you when the little ones get hurt!”

Mind Raph ducked his head from Splinter’s disappointed glare. Raph kept his eyes down. Somethin’ burned real hot right behind his plastron. His tail thrashed and scraped across the floor.

Oh c’mon no need to get down in the muck! Remember what Pops always says, what would Lou Jitsu do?

Lou Jitsu didn’t have a pops to disappoint! Brothers to lose. His soup was always hot, and he always saved the day ‘cause at the end of the day he was a true hero. Not some kid goofing around after some bugs for an even bigger bug.

Raph ran into the hard shell of a stalled Mikey, which forced Raph out of thinkin’ his thoughts. He finally noticed the light. The rumble.

“Omigosh…” Mikey mumbled.

The walls trembled as the cheers grew louder. Dust trickled downwards. The vents above creaked. Sounded larger than any wrestling ring Raph had ever been able to sneak into.

“Here we are, gateway to the Battle Nexus,” the goon sing-songed as they shuffled them along, “say goodbye to New York turtles.”

He shot a look to Donnie, who nodded back. His arms flexed against the restraints as they stumbled forwards from the impatient prodding of the guards. They were gonna get out of this mess. The portal’s light bathed them with the same yellow-green Mikey had chucked a few weeks ago. He grit his teeth as his wrists twisted. They weren’t gonna take his brothers away from him. No one left behind. 

Then the sky came crashing down. Raph was not ashamed of the shriek he let out as the vent snapped away from the ceiling—its maw jagged and open around their bug-eyed girl, crouched inside. 

“April!!” they shouted together.

Raph felt a curl of relief in his chest at her small smile, but that all melted when the seal-looking bellhop bared his teeth.

The owl bellhop tilted his head. “Nah wait a minute. What’s a human doin’ snoopin’ around ‘ere?”

April pulled herself out of the broken vent, and sprang up onto her toes. She gave Raph a wide-eyed glance, but then readjusted her glasses and smeared away the sweat running down her forehead.

“Oh my gosh, I must have taken the wrong elevator, mhm?” she hummed—hopping from foot to foot.

There was a beat. Raph could almost see those black movie bars settle on the top and bottom of em as they stared at each other in that bewildered silence. Raph vigorously nodded and grinned at her.

“Get her!” the seal yelled.

April’s shoulders fell. “Ah nuts…”

Before anyone could blink she was already rushing forward with a piece of broken pipe in hand. The pipe met the seal’s snout with a harsh crack, but then it dragged in April’s spin and she let it go flying to hit the owl. 

“April! O’Neil!!!”

Owl bellhop squawked and stumbled. April sprinted with her squeaking sneakers and threw herself at the owl in a whirlwind of punches and kicks. Mikey and Donnie cheered and whooped as she screamed, but Raph was the only one who caught the seal sneaking up from behind. His sharp and crooked teeth were stained with the blood trickling down his twisted nose. Raph dipped and swung out his tail.

Seal bellhop came tumbling down from the trip. April stomped on his head as she struggled with the owl pushing her backwards, with her hands captured in his.

Mikey launched himself, but without his arms to swing for balance he ended up flopping onto the floor. Where he started biting the owl’s calves. The owl grunted and kicked at his face, and oh that wouldn’t do.

Raph gave his best battle cry as he bulldozed. The owl’s eyes widened against his chest as he was carried with only the force of Raph running towards the portal. April attached herself to Raph’s shoulder, and cackled as the owl disappeared into that sickly light. The cheers surged.

Donnie grunted in the background as he worked on kicking the seal’s body to the portal's edge.

“I think now would be an appropriate time to incapacitate our restraints.”

Despite the weird glow to their handcuffs, they took well to the swiss army knife April had handy in her pocket. Raph was suspicious it was something Don had gifted her, since it had that familiar little “D” logo on the end.

“Guys what the hell! Y’all left me alone on that stinkin’ roof, and for what? To be captured?” April crossed her arms and shook the knife accusatorily.

Mikey bowed his head. “Sorry April…”

Raph huffed, “We’re all sorry, but we’re glad yer here, April.” He smiled as April’s brows eased up. He was so lucky for her. Next pizza night was definitely on him, but they had business to get to. He hit his palm with his fist. “But now we gotta mission to get back to.”

Donnie rapidly blinked. “Raph… Our original objective of obtaining Draxum’s loose specimens—” he raised up a finger and Raph resisted the urge to groan, “colloquially referred to as the oozesequitos!”

Raph started walking. Where was the elevator they had come down? All these hallways looked the same to him.

Donnie chased. “Has, been compromised.” The voice pitched higher the longer he droned, “The probability of success at this point in the timeline is slim to none. Slim to none! Slim to nooooooooooone—”

April helpfully interrupted. “Oh oh oh! In the vents I saw the fox guy put a glowy jar thingy in a snazzy office! Those ya bugs?” She finger-gunned at Raph, and held a bristling Donnie back by the elbow. 

“Was it neony glowy green?” Mikey chirped. He circled around to the front, so Raph let him lead them around the bend.

Donnie tore his arm free. “Raph! As your second in command I highly suggest we leave for the—”

“Second? PSH as if. You’ve never even seen second in Lair Games!”

“And how ever is that relevant to our ranking system, Michelangelo! ”

“We don’t have a ranking system chico! Relax a little won’t ya?”

“I swear to E equals M C squared!” 

“FELLAS!”

Raph’s fist felt numb with the force he had hit the wall. Silence dropped over the three of them. He winced at the way they looked up at him. Like some big scary thing. Raph puffed his plastron out, and unclenched his jaw. Now was the time to say something important.

“The oozequitos got loose because of us!” his voice cracked, and Raph ignored Donnie’s whispered “debatable.” He powered through. Stepped forward—fist drawn from the wall and to his chest. “And the good people of New York are suffering because of us. ”

Now Donnie shut his yap. He worried his beak with those straight teeth of his.

Raph shook his head. “We’ve got rad powers now, and with Master Splinter’s trainin’ that means we’re heroes. So it’s our responsibility to do the hero thing.”

April nodded, Mikey’s smile split into a grin, and Donnie kicked his foot. Raph turned and waved a beckoning hand over his shoulder.

“C’mon, we’re gettin’ the bugs.”

—

Raph decided that spiders were now the least favorite of the creepy crawlies he loathed. He could feel Donnie’s hot gaze, but he couldn’t open his eyes yet.

Don’t worry buddy, you’re gonna get out of this!

He gritted his teeth as his cheeks burned hotter. He was boiling . The punching bag of his mind was being fiercely abused. He imagined the fabric’s texture under his knuckles. Softened from all the hits it endured. Raph breathed in.

That’s right buddy, keep at it.

What was he doing wrong? To mess up over and over…

He let himself look. April was chewing on the webbing casing her, and yeah. Donnie was glaring daggers. The spider lady towered over them.

“My rule is no stealing from Big Mama!” spider lady crooned. Her sharp chin was lifted up in victory.

And then there was the bird guy. Lounged up on her desk with his legs swinging back and forth. Raph wanted to grab him by his beak and throw him out the window.

And as if the world was reading his thoughts the window shattered. Familiar purple vines burst through the wall, and in the hole left behind stood the sheep man and his giggling shoulder cronies.

“And my rule is no stealing from me!” the sheep man boomed and pointed with an authoritative finger. His head tilted down towards the bird guy, where one of the shoulder cronies began to flit towards. He nodded shortly “Two.”

“Barry,” bird guy responded. He lifted an arm up to catch the laughing crony as it landed.

April’s nose wrinkled. “They know each other?” 

“This amount of crossover between our antagonists is highly concerning,” Donnie dryly commented.

“You don’t say, Don,” Raph spat out.

Donnie only raised a brow.

“Scramulent to see you again, Baron Draxum, but you really must learn to use the dimbaly door.” Big Mama’s sweet tone dipped enough for Raph to catch onto the unsaid feud between them. Good. Raph didn’t need any big team ups like in Jupiter Jim and the Lizard Alliance.

“You must learn to use real words!” the sheep guy commanded. His clawed hand swept towards the bugs. “Those are my property! Two, employ maneuver 13.”

The bird guy hissed through his teeth, “Eugh boy, sorry Barry even if I did take orders from you, you know who pays me better.”

Big Mama nodded down to him with a satisfied smile.

“Blue, I need those bimbly bugs for all those tasty victims, they will mutate for my Battle Nexus.”

She patted his head like he was a teddy bear. That made Raph frown.

Draxum drew back into himself with a snarl, “Those were made for something much greater than your silly Battle Nexus. You’ve never had a lick of respect in handling my work! The bugs are here to eliminate the human threat forever!”

The vines exploded. Big Mama’s office descended into chaos, and Raph wiggled his best to get a good look on things.  The bellhops seemed useless against the vines, and Draxum’s little guys were being chewed on by some big puppy. He wouldn’tve bet money on Draxum, but he was standing his ground against Big Mama as she skittered about. It was a perfect brawl, and Raph was itchin’ to get in on the action. He could already feel his spikes piercing Big Mama’s webs. If he could just…

Mikey pepped up, “Mr. Bird to the rescue?” 

Raph’s neck craned over with a snap. The bird guy was slicing through Mikey’s restraints with his big stupid sword like it was a big stupid butter knife. Donnie and April were already standing up back to back.

Who the hell did he think he was!?

Mikey jumped up and crowed as he shed the rest of the webs.

The bird guy bowed to Raph. “Your knight in shining armor!”

Raph scrambled away like an inchworm. No way was he gonna take this guy’s help! He was way too shady, and they’d dealt with more than enough shady chumps today. Bird guy’s hand clamped over the lip of his shell, and Raph went still remembering the way Dad used to scruff him. The webs sounded exactly like gum popping as they split away, and then Raph was scrambling up and sizing up this bozo. The fighting became a distant backdrop. 

Raph glared downwards. He was easily a good few heads taller than this guy, as usual. But there was some familiar itch that made Raph tingle with the urge to sock him. Maybe it was those hollow black eyes. Only Mrs. Cuddles looked that dead in the eye. It was puppet-like. Raph sniffed. He didn’t trust it.

He poked him in the chest, but bird guy didn’t budge. Which made Raph poke even harder.

“Who’re you anyways?”

“I’m a man of many names.” He shrugged and batted away Raph’s hand. “But right now I’ll allow you to call me Blue Karma.”

Raph stuttered out a laugh, “What kinda—”

Draxum’s voice boomed, “To the roof! Time for us yokai to take over the surface!”

Raph leapt backwards. He twisted his head around, counting heads. April clawed and chewed as vines attempted to wrap around her. Mikey was yo-yoing his kusari fundo around like a tennis ball, aiming for Draxum’s cronies, and cackling as that giant puppy stumbled over itself to chase it. And Donnie was twirling his tech-bo around every obstacle on his way over to Raph.

Time to round ‘em up big guy!

The building shook as Draxum’s vines punched a hole through the ceiling.

“We need to get up there!” he shouted to Donnie, who nodded.

An arm wrapped around his. Fabric snagged against his scales the wrong way. Soft and worn. Like a punching bag. Raph sneered down at Blue Karma. 

“Great idea!”

Brilliant bright blue enveloped them. His muscles ached with the cold they were plunged into, and then he was being dumped into a pile of limbs on the harsh concrete roof. Draxum whipped around to the pair, and squinted at them as his hand rested dangerously on the top of the jar.

Raph shoved off Blue Karma, whose protests slid over him, and rushed forward with his tonfas— ready to punch big time. Draxum waved a careless arm, commanding the vines to latch onto him, but Raph grinned. He dodged. Over and over as the vines weaved towards him.

Sparkling red took over his fists in flame as he made impact with Draxum’s raised gauntlet. He rushed to make a second hit lower. To the stomach— make him spew chunks! Draxum twisted his waist and dropped the jar into his vines in a fluid motion. Before he could swing again, he grabbed Raph by the tails of his bandana and threw him. 

Raph spun almost enough times midair to make him two layers of green, but his magic sparky fists grew and he grabbed for the roof until those magic sparky fingers were cracking into concrete.

As soon as he found his footing he was running again. Draxum met each flurried blow with his own. The casualness of his movement made Raph growl as he put everything into the next punch. It met with Draxum’s center, who went flying to the next building over. The sheep man’s impact cratered, and the building’s windows shattered. Raph almost dropped his tonfas.

Blue Karma whistled, “Thanks, Big Guy!” His foot was lifted up to the edge of the building. The jar of oozequitos under his arm.

“Raph didn’t mean to help ya! Stinkin’ birdbrain!”

Draxum peeled himself from the crater and screamed, “Your lack of loyalty and interference is most irritating, Two! Join me and we shall descend our justice upon those who are deserving!”

“Eugh, this one. I swear to three heads…” Blue Karma threw a thumb over his shoulder and shook his head at Raph like they knew each other. He yelled back to Draxum with one cupped hand, “For the umpteenth time Barry, stop making speeches at me!”

It was then that Raph put one and two together. See. He was good at math. He pointed from Blue Karma to Baron Draxum.

“You’re together!”

“What?! Did you just not hear a word of our conversation, or is your head really that thick?”

Draxum’s screaming continued, “And you , turtle. When will you accept the mantle I have gifted you and your brethren!”

Raph ignored him. He wasn’t important. He didn’t have the jar. He wasn’t the one egging him on like some uppity bastard.

“I won’t let you get away with this!”

“Oh great, and now he’s saying movie lines,” Blue Karma scoffed. He gave a salute—body leaning over the edge. “Thanks for the help! Buh-buh-byyyyyyye!!!”

He fell.

What happened next was a series of movements Raph would later not be able to explain with words. But there were sensations. His feet skidding across the paved concrete. The wind against his face as he plummeted. The only thing that was on his mind were the faces of his family still stuck inside.

April, Donnie, Mikey.

He couldn’t let them down.

April, Donnie, Mikey.

He had to save them, to protect them.

April, Donnie, Mikey.

He had to be big enough to keep them away from the people that wanted to hurt them.

April, Donnie, Mikey.

He was angry. Still angry.

Raph held Blue Karma in his palms. Raph blinked. He was big. Bigger than usual. Red, and electric, and powerful. He clapped his hands together as Blue Karma tried to stand, and they plummeted down.

The next thing he woke to was inside the indentation of a car. Raph groaned. He sat up. Arm warm and tingly. He scrambled to his knees when he realized his fist was still in sparky mode. 

“No, no, no!” Blue Karma’s legs kicked and flailed. With the way he spat, Raph had to resist the urge to drop him.“Idiot! Do you know what you’ve just done?”

Raph shook him a little and chortled,“Yeah, I’ve got Draxum’s goon in my hands, and I’m not gonna letchu get away.”

Blue Karma laughed, “Hah! If anyone’s the Baron’s goon it’s you !” He spoke like Big Mama, with that stupid syrup tone, “I’m sure daddy’ll be glad to take you back with wide open arms!”

Maybe his heart stopped for a moment. Did this guy know about Pops? His head pounded. The fall probably gave him another concussion. They could tally that in the double digits now.

You know Pops would be proud! Look at us, savin’ the day. We should get our brothers now.

 Raph wanted to agree, but his fist tightened. Blue Karma remained steady even as his bones audibly cracked. 

He shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

At this Blue Karma actually snorted, “Of course I do, it’s just that you’re not picking up what I’m putting down.” He shook his head slow and condescending. In the way Donnie would when Raph couldn’t pick up on something he was explaining. “Draxum created you! You and your brothers, you’re all his! He made you to destroy the world.”

Something small and fast whined past his ear. Raph turned to see an oozequito, fat and bulbous and green. He looked up. They were flying into the sky like shiny bright shooting stars. He looked down to his opposite hand. Bleeding red… From a glass cut. The jar lay shattered beside the car. From where he had dropped it.

“You’re… You’re lyin’! Lyin’ scum, ” Raph choked out. His throat wobbled.

“And after letting all those bugs go, I say. You’re doing a pretty good job.”

The fist encircling him flickered for just a moment. If Donnie were here, Raph was sure he could accurately record the amount in half seconds. It was enough for Blue Karma to squirrel away, and disappear again into that blue light.

He really did beef it.