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It was only December third, but the lair had already undergone a complete transformation in the spirit of Christmas. The walls were festooned with garlands of gold and silver tinsel. Rainbow lights were draped over the tunnels, and the stop sign hung up on the wall now wore a Santa hat. Their tree was set up beside the boxy frame of the TV. It had been a group effort. Donatello located the perfect tree and transported it to the lair. Leonardo trimmed it down with expert katana slashes. Raphael and Michelangelo decorated it, albeit without the planned popcorn garlands, as Michelangelo kept eating the popcorn instead of threading it through the string. Master Splinter fashioned a tree skirt from scraps of fabric, and stitched the Hamato clan sigil proudly upon it.
The family was primed for a quiet day in. Topside snow was falling, but the lair itself was pleasantly toasty thanks to the heating system Donatello had fashioned for them. The turtles were currently squished all together on the couch, snuggled up beneath a heavy quilt. Splinter had drawn up another chair to join them in front of the TV, cradling a cup of green tea between his claws. He was using the #1 Dad mug that Raphael had given him; he drank almost exclusively from it.
Leonardo looked over his family, beak upturned in a soft smile. Once they had all agreed on being a proper family, there’d been a few small but significant changes at home. They were all more tactile now, assured in the knowledge that they wouldn’t be rebuffed. Splinter opened up to them, sharing family stories of his parents and grandparents, unlocking a side to their sensei they’d never seen. In his youth, Splinter was surprisingly mischievous, most similar to Michelangelo.
The bond between all of them was stronger than ever, and Leonardo would be forever grateful they’d gone on that interdimensional adventure and met the other turtles. True, they’d almost lost everything; but in the end, they gained so much.
He felt a set of eyes on him. Raphael quirked an eye ridge, wordlessly asking why Leonardo was starting off into space with a sappy look on his face. Rather than explain himself, Leonardo just nudged his little brother in the side, then settled back to watch TV.
April was giving a live report on Chanel 6. She was bundled up in deference to the snowy weather. A yellow knitted cap obscured her red curls, and wound around her throat was a white scarf. Her cheeks were pink with the cold, breaths coming out in visible plumes.
“April O’Neil here with Channel 6 News. Today a massive crowd is gathered in Rockefeller Plaza to watch the lighting of the Rockefeller Christmas tree. This tree, brought in from upstate New York, is a whopping 87 feet tall!”
The camera panned out from the close-up on April, skimming over the clustered mob of people to linger over the tree in question.
“It makes our tree look like a toothpick!” Raphael lamented.
Donatello frowned, leaning forward. He dislodged Michelangelo in the process, earning him a complaining mumble, which he summarily ignored.
“Hey, is it just me, or does the star on top of the tree look kind of strange?”
True enough, rather than the expected golden star, it was bulky, and silver. A single spoke jutted out, almost like an antenna.
“Maybe it lights up in a special way?” Leonardo wondered.
April turned back to the camera. “The lighting ceremony is starting! In 5…4…3…2…1!”
The dark spruce was illuminated by rows upon rows of dazzling lights. At the very top, a red light glowed on the tip of the strange star. The crowd below cheered.
“And there you have it folks. The Rockefeller Christmas tree is…is…” April’s eyes fluttered. A blank expression stole over her face. Behind her, the mob also fell eerily silent. “Must…obey…Shredder….must…obey…”
April dropped her microphone and walked out of the shot. The camera man also dropped the camera; the feed fizzled out for a moment before stabilizing again. It recorded the shuffling, robotic movement of people’s feet. As one, they all mumbled:
“Must…obey….Shredder…Must…obey…Shredder…”
The news report warped and changed to show Shredder himself, cackling maniacally.
“Christmas is officially cancelled! As I speak, my mind-controlled minions are on their way to destroy every toy in this city! This holiday season there will be no peace, no joy, and absolutely no presents!”
The screen cut out abruptly to a frozen “signal lost” screen. Wordlessly, Michelangelo got up and shut the TV off.
“He puts the Grinch to shame,” Raphael remarked.
Splinter looked at Donatello. “Your intuition proved correct. That star seems to be the source of Shredder’s nefarious scheme.”
“Do you think you can disable it?” Leonardo asked.
“I’ll have to get a proper look at it to know for sure,” Donatello shrugged. “If all else fails I can always try giving it a good whack with my bo.”
Michelangelo held up his comm. “I tried calling April, but she isn’t picking up.”
Leonardo placed his hand on Michelangelo’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll save April, and everyone else under Shredder’s mind control.”
Raphael sighed, and finally extricated himself from the warmth of the blanket, standing to join the others. “I suppose it’s too much to ask for a normal week, isn’t it?”
Donatello, brow wrinkled in thought, made a beeline towards his lab. “I think I may have something we can use…”
His brothers followed him into the disaster zone that was his lab. The tables were overflowing with various bits and bobs, tools and junk and half-finished machines. Donatello rooted about in his closet, tossing stuff behind his head as he searched for whatever he was looking for.
“Donatello, you said you were going to clean your lab up weeks ago!” Leonardo cautiously poked a slice of pizza that had been forgotten behind one of the computer monitors. It was fuzzy with three different types of mold. Even so, he still had to slap Michelangelo’s hand away so he wouldn’t scarf it down.
“Found them!” Donatello said, completely ignoring his older brother’s chastisement. He held out two sets of ear muffs that were enhanced with his tech. “These are my noise-cancelling earmuffs. I made them for when I’m working with super loud equipment. They should be strong enough to block out the signals from the mind control device and let us get up close. But I only have mine and a spare.”
“Do they really work?” Raphael asked, skeptical.
In answer, Donatello fit a pair over Michelangelo’s head, then asked: “Hey, Michelangelo, do you want to go out for pizza instead of fighting Shredder?”
They all watched. Michelangelo didn’t react with rampant enthusiasm, but instead blinked at them in confusion. Loudly, he asked: “What’s up? Is there like, something on my face?”
“It works.”
“Okay. We’ll split into two teams. Donatello and Michelangelo—you take down that star and disable it. Raphael and I will save the toys.”
“What?” Michelangelo yelled. With a sigh, Donatello tugged the earmuffs down so they rested around his neck instead.
“With all the wind and snow, we can’t fly the blimp,” said Donatello. “We’ll have to take the turtle van.”
A rare mischievous expression flitted over Leonardo’s face. “Alright fellas—let’s show Shredder this is snow laughing matter!”
Raphael groaned. “Leave the wisecracks to the professionals, would you?”
The turtles bid their father farewell, then raced out of the lair to hop into the turtle van. Leonardo slid into the driver’s seat, and Donatello claimed shotgun, leaving the other two to sit in the back. As Leonardo turned the van on, Donatello was quick to crank the heat up all the way. Michelangelo rattled in his shell, and Raphael chafed his freezing hands. Turtles weren’t meant to be out and about in such cold weather!
Leonardo took the fastest route out of the sewers, and soon enough they were topside, barreling down the streets of Manhattan. When they were still about ten blocks from Rockefeller Plaza, Leonardo had to jam on the breaks. The street was totally gridlocked, car doors hanging open, as if everyone had just gotten out of their cars and ran off.
“This must be the outer radius of the mind control device,” said Donatello.
“Okay, you and Michelangelo stop that machine. Raphael and I will head to the big toy store near Times Square.”
Leonardo parked the van and they all piled out. Michelangelo and Donatello fit the earmuffs over their heads, then continued to head uptown towards Rockefeller Plaza. Leonardo watched their retreating backs, twisting his hands. He never liked splitting up the group—they fought best as a four-turtle unit, after all—but they had little choice.
“Keep worrying like that and you’ll give yourself wrinkles at the ripe old age of sixteen.” Raphael nudged him. “Come on. We’ve got a holiday to save.”
Their feet crunched over the fresh layer of snow as they ran towards the shopping district. The Toy Chest, an extravagant, tasteful toy store just off of Times Square, looked like a hurricane had ripped through it. The front doors were almost torn off their hinges. Mind-controlled New Yorkers were carrying out toys by the armful and dumping them in the middle of the street, constructing a makeshift pyre. Together, they chanted: “Must. Obey. Shredder. Destroy. Toys. Destroy. Christmas. Must. Obey. Shredder.”
A large fellow lumbered towards the heap of toys, lugging a full gas can.
“Oh no you don’t!”
Leonardo cut the supports of a storefront awning, dumping all the snow that’d accumulated on top of it onto the wannabe arsonist. He grunted, unable to free himself from the mini avalanche.
“Uh, Leonardo?”
Leonardo whipped around to see Raphael struggling against the brainwashed mob. He attempted to wrest a doll away from a deceptively strong old lady. When he finally took it from her, she hissed, and lunged at him. Raphael yelped, dodging her by the tails of his red bandana. He held the doll above his head, just out of her reach, while pushing her back with his other hand.
“How exactly are we supposed to stop them? I help old ladies across the street, not punch them!”
“We shouldn’t fight them—let’s just try to keep them out of the store.”
The two turtles pushed their way through the throng and into the Toy Chest. A frazzled cashier was huddled beneath the counter, clutching his head in his hands and mumbling to himself.
“Forget minimum wage, there’s no maximum wage they could pay me to deal with customers this crazy!”
A once-proud Christmas tree in the center of the room had been felled, shattered glass ornaments scattered around its bulk. Half the shelves were ransacked already. Two boys were gathering up train sets, their eyes glassy, their motions robotic. Leonardo grabbed them up by the hoods of their jackets and lobbed them into a fluffy snowdrift outside.
Once they cleared the room of crazed citizens, Raphael slammed the doors shut before anyone else could get in. He pressed his shell up against the doors to brace them. The doors bulged and groaned as the crowd outside attempted to break through.
“I’ve heard of doorbuster deals, but this is something else! Tell me you have a plan here, fearless leader.”
“I’m…working on it…” Leonardo’s gaze landed on a stack of snowboards and skis. He grabbed a few, and snatched up hammer and nails that’d also been conveniently left out by the maintenance man.
Together they boarded up the front door with the snowboards and skis, then stepped back. The people continued to push and heave, but the fortified door didn’t budge. The brothers shared a triumphant smile.
The sound of shattering glass made them both just about leap out of their shells. Someone had lobbed an icy snowball through the window. The stray glass was cleared away by an old woman’s cane, and then people started to crawl through the new entrance.
“Must. Obey. Shredder.”
“Oh man,” said Leonardo. “I hope the others are having better luck than us!”
~*~
The total silence the earmuffs provided, while necessary, was also sort of eerie. Donatello never realized how much he relied on his sense of sound until it was gone. Michelangelo evidently felt a similar unease, as he didn’t stray very far from Donatello’s side as they approached the Rockefeller Christmas tree. The plaza had mostly cleared out, the people dispersing for every local toy store. At the top of the tree, the mind control device continued to broadcast, light blinking red.
But how to get it down? Donatello didn’t relish the thought of climbing up that high without any supportive gear. As the solution came to him, he smirked. If they couldn’t get to the star, they’d just have to bring it to them instead.
He turned to Michelangelo, who had his tongue out to catch snowflakes. He grabbed his attention with a tap to his shoulder. He mimed his plan to his brother. It took a few repeats, but at last Michelangelo nodded and flashed him a determined grin.
Michelangelo brandished his turtle line and tossed the end towards the great tree. The grapple snagged in the branches. Donatello grabbed the line as well, and the two of them pulled hard. The tree didn’t budge.
“Come on, Michelangelo, put your back into it!” Donatello said, though he knew his brother couldn’t hear him.
They dug in their heels and heaved, until finally the tree tilted, falling towards them. They let go of the line and sprang away from it in opposite directions. The tree’s lights flickered and went out. The tip of the tree landed in the ice rink below. Donatello peered down to assess. While power had been cut to the regular tree lights, the mind control device was still active, self-sustaining. It had hardly a scratch on it from the heavy fall. Donatello frowned. His backup plan to just smack the crap out of the device with his bo wouldn’t work this time.
He hopped down to the ice rink, Michelangelo following. His balance wavered as he stepped onto the ice. He kept his hands spread out as he slid and shuffled towards the mind control device. Michelangelo, used to balancing on surf and skate boards, had an easier time of it, sliding across the ice with grace. For his part, Donatello was glad to stop moving once he reached the device. He pried open the front panel to scrutinize the circuitry inside. It was more complex than he expected. Shredder and Krang were obviously utilizing the advanced tech from the other dimension. A pity he hadn’t much time to look over his counterpart’s work. Perhaps he should rig up his portal on a stick again, and pay them a friendly visit sometime when they weren’t busy saving Christmas and/or the world.
Frantic waving from Michelangelo made him look up from his work. Eyes wide, Michelangelo pointed over Donatello’s shoulder. He whipped around to see several brainwashed people barreling towards them. And leading the pack was April!
Donatello readied his bo, but then froze, indecisive. These people weren’t evil goons or robots—they were innocent civilians. And one was his friend. How was he supposed to fight them without hurting them?
Michelangelo led a few of them away. He hooked his turtle line around the railing and held it taut, tripping them up. They slid across the ice, limbs flailing.
Donatello used his bo to gently push April and the others back, then slid his weapon back into its holster. He gathered the mind control device in his arms, grunting at the heavy weight. He needed more time to look over the machine before he could deactivate it, but they needed to get clear of these people first.
Donatello tottered over the ice, making for the edge of the rink and the stairs leading back up to the plaza. He nearly made it when April unexpectedly pounced on him from behind. With a yelp Donatello crashed to the ice, dropping the device. His earmuffs got dislodged in the fall.
“Oh, no,” Donatello groaned. The mind control device was inches away from him, and he got the full blast of its power. The hypersonic sound burrowed into his mind. He could feel his thoughts growing thick and slow, like molasses. He groped across the ice, reaching for his earmuffs. April kicked them away, out of his reach.
Donatello caught one final glimpse of Michelangelo’s horrified expression before his mind went dark.
~*~
The sparkle in Donatello’s eyes dimmed to a dull sheen. It was one of the freakiest things Michelangelo had ever seen—and that was saying a lot, considering all the freaky things he’d experienced in his life so far. As Donatello stiffly got to his feet, Michelangelo hesitated. Did he try to shake his bro out of his trance? Smack the mind control gizmo with his chucks? Donatello, April, and the others all turned to look at him. A chill shot down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold weather.
He had to regroup with the others. Leonardo would have a plan to get them out of his mess—he always did.
“Hang in there, bro. We’ll come back for you.”
Michelangelo slid to the edge of the rink, then took the stairs up two at a time. The mind-controlled drones followed.
As he ran towards Central Park, Michelangelo pulled out his turtle comm. He didn’t dare remove his earmuffs just yet, not sure how far the device’s range extended out.
“Pick up, pick up,” he pleaded as it rang and rang. He risked a glance back over his shoulder. They were gaining on him. When he turned back to the open comm, Raphael’s face materialized, looking harried. He was saying something, but Michelangelo talked over him since he couldn’t hear him anyway.
“The plan went mondo sideways! Donatello lost his earmuffs and is acting totally bizarro. You dudes gotta get here quick!”
He ended the call, tucking his comm back into his belt. A couple kids up ahead were about to sled down a hill. Michelangelo plucked the sled out of the kid’s hands.
“Sorry micro dude, but I need to borrow this.”
He hopped onto the sled, and kicked off. He crested the hill and slid downwards. The cold air rushed past his beak as he left the crowd of hypnotized drones far behind. In spite of the dire situation, he couldn’t resist bellowing: “Cowabunga!”
~*~
Raphael stared down at the black screen of his turtle comm. Leonardo came over to him, looking beleaguered but somewhat satisfied.
“I finished boarding up the last window. That should keep them out of here for a while.”
“We’ve got bigger problems now,” Raphael said, securing his comm to his belt again. “They got Donatello.”
Raphael and Leonardo exchanged a wordless, stressed look. Losing Donatello during a mission was always a heavy blow. This was going to become much more difficult without their genius brother’s technical knowhow.
For an instant it seemed like Leonardo was going to give in to the urge to panic over their brainwashed brother, but then he straightened with resolve, steel shooting into his spine. Raphael would never admit it to the guy, but the sight gave him a measure of relief; he knew that somehow, some way, Leonardo would fix this.
“Alright. We’ll reunite with Michelangelo, then track down Shredder. We’ll make him disable the device. He has to know how, since he set it up in the first place.”
“But how the heck are we supposed to get close to the Shredder? He’s got to have his base covered wall to wall with his brainwashed cronies by now.”
Leonardo eyed the stack of wrapping paper and bows contemplatively.
“Do you know the story of the Trojan horse?”
“Eh. It’s all Greek to me.”
~*~
“Shredder!” Krang yowled over the communicator. “You tin-plated moron! How dare you steal my mind control device! We were supposed to use it to take over the world, and you’re wasting it on destroying toys!”
“You could never understand, Krang.” Shredder hissed. “You’ve never experienced the pain of waiting all year for a Christmas gift, only to open it up and find a lump of coal inside! My mother laughed at me, Krang. Laughed! It’s enough to drive a man to a life of villainy! I used that coal to stoke the fires of my hatred. If I can’t have a nice Christmas, neither can anyone else!”
“But Shredder—!”
Shredder ended the call, not in the mood to entertain a moment more of Krang’s nagging. The pea-brained slug had no appreciation for what he’d suffered through, and did not comprehend how ruining Christmas would deal a heavier blow to New York than simply flinging another generic robot or a rock general at them.
Since he couldn’t remain in the Technodrome, Shredder had taken over a downtown toy store for his base of operations. He sat upon a regal-looking red and gold chair, which was typically reserved for the store’s Santa Claus.
“This might even work out better than I anticipated,” Shredder mused, looking over at that insufferable reporter and annoying turtle, both now reduced to being nothing more than his mindless servants. “The other turtles will inevitably attempt to rescue their friends. I’ll subject them to the mind control device, and then command them to destroy that rat! Won’t that be a fine Christmas present from me to me!” He laughed, then frowned when there were no expected sycophantic snorts and chortles from his two usual henchmen. “Just where in the world are Bebop and Rocksteady? Slacking off in the middle of the work day? What on earth do I pay them for? Wait—I don’t pay them.”
His monologue was interrupted as the door opened. One of his drones rolled a dolly towards him, bearing a large present wrapped in green foil, topped with a red bow.
“What are you doing? I gave explicit instructions that all of you were to guard the entrance!”
“Delivery for Master Shredder,” she said blankly. “Present for Master.”
“A present? For me?!” Shredder eagerly tore away the ribbon and lifted off the lid.
To his dismay, out of the box sprang the three remaining turtles. They drew their weapons, Leonardo insolently pointing his katana at Shredder’s throat.
“It’s over, Shredder! Turn off the mind control device—or yule be sorry!”
“You sleigh me. I hold the only way to deactivate the device, right here!” Shredder moved his cape aside to reveal the controller attached to his belt. “But why on earth would I stop now, when I hold every ace? Donatello, Ms. O’Neil, I order you to subdue the turtles!”
“Yes, Master Shredder,” they said robotically.
Donatello struck out with his bo, aiming for Raphael’s temple. The red-banded turtle twisted away with a yelp.
“Watch the face, Donatello. I’m the handsome one!” He drew his sai reluctantly and began to fight.
April picked up a heavy-looking nutcracker and advanced towards Michelangelo.
“Don’t do this, dudette! Don’t you remember your amigo? Just think of all the pizzas we’ve shared!”
April didn’t respond, and instead tried to bludgeon Michelangelo with the nutcracker.
Leonardo’s attention fractured, and Shredder seized the opportunity to knock the turtle’s katana away from him, and deliver a punch to the center of his plastron.
“Oof!” Leonardo gasped, the wind knocked out of him.
He recovered, and charged Shredder again. The duel was, naturally, uneven. Leonardo was an echo of Hamato Yoshi, but like an echo, he was weaker than the original. A student of ninjutsu, not yet a master. Still, the turtle was determined, shrugging off every blow to immediately jump back on the offense.
Distantly Shredder noticed the O’Neil girl get captured, Michelangelo tying her to a giant candy cane with his grappling hook. She squirmed and kicked, but was unable to break loose. Donatello, at least, was managing to hold his own against the other turtle. Raphael was at a heavy disadvantage, unable to get close as Donatello’s bo warded him back. Rather impressive: perhaps he would consider replacing his worthless, absent from work without so much as a phone call henchmen with Donatello on a more permanent basis.
“Enough games!” Shredder declared. As Leonardo charged him, he used the turtle’s momentum against him to throw him to the ground. Donatello swiftly smacked down the other two turtles, and the three of them were left in a groaning heap at Shredder’s feet.
“At last! This is the end for—”
“Boss! Boss!” A piggish voice squealed from the doorway. “We got youse somethin’.”
Shredder paused. Bebop and Rocksteady trotted up to him, the latter holding a present in his arms.
“And just where the devil have you been? You were supposed to be here hours ago.”
“Sorry boss. We was tryin’ ta get our Christmas shoppin’ outta da way early.”
“Only everybody had the same idea. The crowds were nuts.”
“You’d think people was possessed or something.”
“They are possessed, you blithering, braindead—wait. Did you say that present there…is meant for me?”
Rocksteady held it out to him.
“Yeah, we got it special. I did the bow myself.”
“I helped!” Bebop snorted.
Shredder eagerly snatched the present out of his underling’s hands and ripped it open. Inside was a blue toy airplane—the same model he’d asked Santa for as a boy. And now, finally, it was his!
“Bebop, Rocksteady…for once in your miserable lives, you’ve done something right. This is just what I wanted!”
“Aw, Merry Christmas, boss.”
Though no one could see it behind his mask, Shredder was smiling.
Just then, Leonardo snatched the controller off his belt.
“Hey! No fair!”
Leonardo switched the mind control device off. Donatello groaned, dropping his bo staff to clutch his head.
“Ugh, I have the worst headache…”
Michelangelo squeezed him in a hug. “You’re back!”
“Did I go somewhere?” Bewildered, Donatello patted Michelangelo’s shell.
“Just took a little mental vacation,” Raphael cracked, but even as he joked, he patted Donatello’s shoulder to reassure himself.
Bebop and Rocksteady brandished their guns. Leonardo put himself between them and the other turtles, katanas raised defensively.
“Oh, don’t bother with them,” Shredder dismissed, eyes glued to his toy plane. “I have more important things to do with my afternoon.”
Shredder walked out, pretending to fly his toy around. Rocksteady and Bebop holstered their weapons and trotted after him.
“Hey boss, wait for us!”
All was quiet in their wake, until April asked:
“Uh, guys? Why am I tied up this time?”
“Funny story, April…”
~*~
Splinter often extolled the virtue of patience to his students, but whenever they went topside to fight, the rat found his own well of patience nearly dry. He knew he could not solve every problem for the boys—they could only learn what they needed to by taking on challenges without the safety net of their sensei. But still…he worried.
While his sons were wrangling with the latest crisis, Splinter tidied the lair in an attempt to distract his restless mind. He washed and dried the dishes, taking special care of the mug his sons had given him. Folding the blanket that’d been left on the couch revealed a half-eaten pizza slice crammed between the cushions.
“Michelangelo…” he said despairingly.
One of the ornaments on the tree had fallen off its branch. Splinter squatted down to readjust the hook before hanging it again. It was a few popsicle sticks glued together in the shape of a sled, handmade by the turtles when they were just children.
Growing up in Japan, Splinter had never really celebrated the Christmas holiday. But as boys the turtles were enraptured by the magic of Christmas, the stories of Santa, and of course, the promise of presents under the tree. And so, for his charges, Splinter adopted the traditions. The old rat remembered fondly those Christmas mornings where the boys would inspect the plate of cookies they’d left out the night before for Santa, discovering the jolly fellow had taken a few bites before delivering their gifts. (Donatello was the first to deduce that Santa might not exist, as “Santa” seemed to nibble on the cookies in a rather ratlike fashion.)
At last came the telltale rumble of the turtle van pulling in. Splinter met his sons at the doorway. They appeared unharmed outside of the usual bumps and bruises, but he noticed how they all gravitated towards Donatello.
“Is everything alright?”
“We need some emergency hot chocolate, pops. Stat!”
“I’m fine guys, really,” Donatello protested. His brothers pretended he hadn’t said anything, steering him onto the couch and wrapping him up in the quilt.
“Donatello was affected by the mind control device, but we deactivated and destroyed it,” Leonardo explained.
“And I’m fine now,” Donatello repeated. “No lingering desire to steal any presents, I promise.”
Even as he verbally bristled at their fussing, Donatello did lean into the contact his brothers gave him, his eyes exhausted.
Splinter retrieved the cocoa powder from the kitchen pantry and started fixing five mugs of hot chocolate. Michelangelo drifted in to help, dumping an obscene amount of jellybeans and marshmallows in his own mug. When they returned to the living room they found Leonardo and Raphael on either side of Donatello, bracketing him.
The TV was switched on, the volume low in deference to Donatello’s headache. Vernon was giving a report; April was likely sleeping off her own headache at home. In the background, a pile of toys was being loaded onto a truck.
“…thus, the Toy Chest has decided to donate all the toys that were taken out of the store to local orphanages.”
“That’s over a hundred toys. In the end, Shredder made Christmas better, not worse,” said Leonardo. He gave Splinter a nod of thanks as he was passed his mug.
“I’m sure that makes him miserable,” added Raphael. “And a miserable Shredder is the perfect Christmas gift, if you ask me.”
Donatello was half asleep, but perked up as the smell of hot chocolate wafted towards him. He cradled his mug between his hands and took measured sips.
“Furthermore, the CEO of the Toy Chest has announced that next holiday season all stores will be releasing action figures of the heroes that saved Christmas: the teenage mutant ninja turtles!”
“Radical!” Michelangelo cheered. “I know what I’m putting on my list next year.”
“If they’re using our likeness, are we getting a cut of the profits? Because if not, we should sue.”
“Raphael, don’t be such a scrooge,” quipped Donatello, and they all laughed.