In Darkness Dwells
~ The Chelonia Saga ~
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The title may not make it clear; this is a fanfiction piece on the world of the Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles. It depicts them in a little more mature manner, but given as turtles develop faster than humans do, it's reasonable to assume they're still only teenagers. It's important to note that the follow work is entirely unauthorised. I am making no profit off of any of it, and I own none of the contained characters. Aside all that, I hope you enjoy.
PROLOGUE
Nightfall in New York City. From the smog-shrouded atmosphere hanging dauntingly close to the skyline, the lone moon strives to be a beacon, a wonder worthy of the praise of passersby. As the pedestrians pass, however, the only handiwork they note is that of the massive concrete precipices constituting the manmade canyon they call "home".
Within the bowels of those cold, cubic walls, though, there are those who can sort the confusion from the truth. The mess that really is. The city is in a state of rapid detriment. What once was the hub of urban development and social expansion is becoming the prime target for corruption, anarchy and conspiracy.
It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. It only takes vigilance, something the people of this age have forgotten about. And, when the worst has come and their chance to respond comes and goes in a fleeting moment, they resign. Enforcement is becoming less and less effective, the truth is hampered and rumours are spreading. A society that once relied on a system of prompt updates, quick access to solid knowledge and fresh information is now being reverted to a primordial group of hapless civilians - waving fancy titles with nothing to do with them.
Crime is only the beginning. Crime is a joke. A petty, easily squashed rebellion against the established order. But when there is no order to be reckoned with... that's when crime becomes irrelevant. That's when anarchy flourishes.
In the dimly lit, sparsely partitioned floor of a backwater office building, a man sits in a leather office chair and sighs. A floor-to-ceiling display of Plexiglas windows outline the better part of one entire side of the storey, a computerised tint neutralising the harsh glow of the city. Rays of brass, blue and red play off the walls and his shirt.
On his desk, a nameplate reading "Mr. Trach" solemnly rests. Neatly stacked documents surround a dark computer screen. By the keyboard, an open book written in strange characters. On it, something else: a knife.
Trach breathes slowly. Two gloved hands, each with three fingers and a thumb, come together in a point before his face. He runs again a series of codes through his brain: chemical formulas, genetic readings. Science is his consolation and his boon.
Silent minutes pass. He allows himself to face the city again, cursing himself inwardly. His mind wanders in leagues at a time and he will allow himself not to consider the hell of a world he lives in at present. The city is getting worse. The rumours are growing more wild; the truth, smaller by the second. Swiftly, his hand closes around the hilt of the knife on his desk. He twirls the blade in his fingers. Aims. With a perfect throw, it sticks into the window frame with an even amount of surface on either side, doesn't even vibrate.
Mr. Trach closes his eyes. Leans back in his chair.