AUTHOR'S NOTE

Years and years ago, I remember that there was a one-page comic within the comic book/gaming magazine Knights of the Dinner Table called "Fuzzy Knights of the Dinner Table." It featured several stuffed animals photographed atop a dining room table with a GM screen, dice, pencils, and papers around them as though they were playing a tabletop RPG. The creator (I don't think it was anyone at KenzerCo) then photoshopped dialogue balloons to bring the stuffed animals to life.

That stuck with me.

And when I realized that I loved scripting comic books but sucked at drawing the final product, I thought back to "Fuzzy Knights." I thought that perhaps I could photograph some of my kids' toys and photoshop dialogue balloons to make them little comic books.

I wanted to create an original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle storyline for my kids, and I thought I could get a few of my own Lego sets and scratch my itch to write and build with Legos at the same time. I selected several sets and built a six-issue limited series around them.

Then I realized how expensive all of those sets would be, particularly the PQ sets. I elected not to pursue that idea any further. I don't have the money right now.

However, I still had worked out the TMNT vs. PQ story and I loved the conflict potential between Jake Raines and Leonardo as each struggles for leadership of their small confederacy. I wanted to bring that to life. I wanted to tell this story. So I decided to adapt my outline into a prose story rather than a comic book. It also gave me the ability to share it with more people via .

So here are the results of my endeavor. I hope you enjoy the first episode. Please read & review; I'm always excited to get comments.

Two continuity notes: First, the Dark Ninja in the story is the Dark Ninja figure found in the Turtle Lair Attack set. Though the toyline states that this is Chris Bradford before he mutates into Dogpound, in this story he is a completely separate character. I wanted to incorporate The Foot Clan, but the fate I had planned wouldn't suit any established character. Therefore, I created my own. There's some homage to Bradford, but I think that this Dark Ninja is much scarier and far more unbalanced.

Second, this story would take place in the first half of season 1, while Leo is still becoming accustomed to being a leader and before the introduction of mutants Fishface and Dogpound, as well as before the introduction of Karai.

New York City: home to over seven million sentient human beings that have no idea that they are being protected from world-changing evil by a band of four mutant turtles. As if that weren't unbelievable enough, these four humanoid turtles cruise the streets in an old subway car modified by their in-house brainiac. It's called the Shellraiser. The subway car, not the brainiac.

The brainiac is Donatello. "This is the perfect time to test this," he called from the back of the Shellraiser. He indicated a box with an array of dials and knobs on the left two-thirds, the right was dominated by a circular sub-woofer.

"What is it?" asked Michelangelo, the runt of the litter. Yes, all of the turtles are named after famous artists. Mikey studied the device for a moment, applying his own peculiar brand of logic to solving the question he proposed. He noted the speaker. He noted the dials. He put two and two together, and (as usual) failed to get four. "Will it cook pizza by sound waves?"

Donnie let that sink in. "No, shell-brain. It's a scanner to monitor the police band. That way, we can easily respond to trouble."

They wouldn't have long to wait before the device chirped to life and sent them off to prevent the enslavement of every human on earth by an evil dormant for centuries.

The most famous museum in New York City is, of course, The Met. But it isn't the only museum that the city has to offer. There are many small, specialty museums that curate collections far more specific than The Met.

On the island of Manhattan, once such museum is the Hale Gallery. It sits quietly near Central Park, amid coffee shops and boutiques. It boasts a collection from the seat of civilization: Babylonian treasures, Sumerian tablets, and other relics of the Ancient Near East. The most popular attraction is an Egyptian Wing, flanked by great statues of Anubis and Horus.

At the center of this wing is an aqua-colored diamond larger even than the Smithsonian's Hope Diamond, and with a much longer and more convoluted history. The owner of the Hale Gallery, Archibald Q. Hale, recovered it on one of his many archeological digs. Hale is an Egyptologist on the staff of NYU. He also has a working knowledge of Assyria and Babylonia, hence the gallery's focus on the Ancient Near East rather than solely on Egypt.

Above the priceless gem is a skylight. It was a poor choice, admittedly, to situate a point of ingress so near to something so valuable. Professor Hale's specialty is Egyptology, not security. He didn't think anyone would actually be crazy enough to penetrate the gallery through the skylight.

Never, ever underestimate the allure of wealth.

It was child's play to cut the alarm wires. The beefy burglar known as Earl then only had to lift the pane of glass straight over his head. The greasy, black-haired bandit known as Slick then slid underneath like a predatory snake, lowering himself by rope down to the gallery below.

They had prepared for this job well enough to know that there were no laser beams of any kind, no pressure plates in the floor, nothing like that. Despite the expensive holdings in the gallery, it appeared not to have the cash flow needed to invest in such extravagances.

Therefore, Slick was able to alight easily on the mirrored obsidian floor, secure in the knowledge that no one was wiser to his presence. Yet. As he gains his footing, he suddenly finds himself spreadeagled on the ground, jaw pressed tightly to floor, wind escaping his lungs in a gasp. Something large and heavy landed right on top of him.

"Slick?" Earl calls out. "You there?"

A groan is all the reply that Earl gets. "Slick!" Earl exclaims, scrambling to his feet, realizing that he nearly crushed his partner.

"Idiot," Slick finally manages, as Earl hauls the greasy bandit to his feet. "You could have killed me!"

"Sorry," Earl said with downcast eyes. "I was too excited to wait for your signal so I just ..."

"I know, I know." Slick heaved a sigh. "I think we should call you Lenny sometimes, you big, dumb oaf."

"Lenny … ? I don't get it."

"Read Of Mice and Men sometime. You will."

Slick turned his attention to the task at hand. From his bag, he produced a long, black flashlight and flicked it on. The sparkling, aqua crystal on its pedestal both scattered and reflected the light from Slick's flashlight, producing hundreds of dazzling shards of light. One expensive disco ball.

A smile crept into the corners of Slick's mouth. "I can't believe there's actually a buyer for this thing," he said to no one in particular.

Slick reached out with outstretched, gloved hand. Was it really this easy? His fingers curled around the large diamond. No alarm yet. He lifted it from the pedestal.

Silence.

He paused. He looked around.

He had done it.

"All right, Earl," Slick commanded. "Let's load this stuff in the van!"

The thieves worked quickly. They moved the most expensive things first: The aqua-colored diamond, several Egyptian-themed statues, an ankh that was obviously quite old, and an out-of-place a modern-art sculpture that Earl thought was "cool."

They stacked it all near the door. They would move it to the van parked out front in short order.

Slick deftly moved the tumblers on the lock of the front door, and pushed it open. A soft breeze blew into the stuffy gallery. Slick enjoyed the feel on his sweat-slick skin, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

But, the task wasn't over yet.

"Let's load it up, boss," Earl motioned for Slick to follow as he hefted a couple of statues and walked out of the door.

Alarms, alarms, alarms. A cacophony of bells and sirens erupted all around Slick and Earl. It appears that, while the gallery owners didn't install much interior security, the front doors had some super-spy laser beams that crisscrossed invisibly, an unseen dragon guarding the threshold.

Slick silently cursed himself for not thinking of it. Then he verbally cursed Earl for being dumb enough to set off the alarms. From the pile of antiquities, Slick plucked the aqua-colored gem they'd been hired to retrieve as well as a few incidentals that he knew he could carry.

"C'mon, you big lug," Slick yelled. "Let's get outta here!"

"... the Hale Gallery. Repeat, all units respond to alarm at the Hale Gallery." The dispatcher's voice went on to list an address.

"Well, looks like your gadget works, Donnie," Raphael said as he clapped a congratulatory palm on his brother's shell.

Ill-suited for it, but assigned to navigation duty anyway, Mikey stared at the location of the Hale Gallery on the map and compared it to the flashing dot of the Shellraiser's current position. "Dudes, we are not far from it."

"Then let's shell out some justice on the grave robbers," Leo said.

There was a simultaneous facepalm from the other three turtles, and Leo's smirk faded into incredulity. "What? That sounded cool!"

In the haste to load some of the pieces into their van and salvage a job gone wrong, Earl dropped a small bust of the Egyptian god Horus. The head of an eagle situated atop muscled shoulders, Horus was the son of the chief god Ra and heir to the throne.

The bust dashed to pieces on the street, as if it were made of china rather than solid stone. Earl once again found himself on the wrong side of Slick's cursing. But Slick stopped mid-sentence, as he spied something among the debris. Something that archeologists must have missed when they excavated this piece.

He snatched the parchment. It was carefully folded, and though obviously ancient was preserved well enough that Slick didn't have to take the normal precautions meant to prevent accidental obliteration.

"Seriously, sorry," Earl began.

"Shut it," Slick spat. "Just start driving. Cops'll be here any minute now."

Slick hopped into the back while Earl slid behind the wheel. The van roared to life and Earl floored it, leaving the cacophony of the alarm bells behind. Moments later, the modified subway car known as the Shellraiser raced by.

"That's probably them," Leo said coolly. "Ready the weapons, Raph."

"My favorite words," Raph said as he cracked his knuckles.

The Shellraiser steadily closed the gap with the getaway van. Powered by alien Kraang tech, the Shellraiser far outpaces any earthly vehicle. Blissfully unaware of his pursuers, Slick had spread the map on the floor of the van and was studying it.

"Earl!" he said. "We just hit the mother load of treasure!"

"How's that, boss?"

"This map will lead us to the fabled treasures of Amset-Ra!"

No response.

"Haven't you heard of Amset-Ra?" Slick asked, irritated.

"Uh ..."

Slick groaned. "Amset-Ra was a brutally evil pharaoh from ancient Egypt. Supposedly, he concocted this scheme to live forever ..."

As Slick explained the legend of Amset-Ra to Earl, Raphael took aim with the garbage canon. He fired, and a ball of trash arced through the air, as if in slow motion, and struck the back of the getaway van.

Earl spun the wheel and sent Slick spreadeagled against one of the walls of the van. Earl over-corrected the opposite way, turning the wheel hand -over-hand, causing the van to spin like a top. Slick hit the floor, nose on the map.

Earl attempted to get the van in motion again.

Slick's fingers closed around the map. He knew this was more valuable than the rest. Above all, he must preserve this map.

Outside, the four turtles approached the van from each cardinal direction. Leo gave a hand signal to be ready for anything, while Raph gave a small thumbs up without losing grip on his sai.

The engine obviously wasn't starting. With irritation growing, Slick growled at his less intelligent counterpart. "C'mon, Stephen Hawking, let's go." Earl unholstered a .22 caliber handgun, opening the safety with an ominous click.

"Stephen who?" Earl asked, puzzled.

"Just be ready with a beat down. I'm not going to jail tonight."

Mikey approached the front of the vehicle, while Donnie guarded the driver's side. Both spotted Earl as he slid out of the vehicle, and ran toward him. Mikey was a flurry of nunchukus, while Donnie's staff spun in endless, fluid circles.

This didn't phase Earl. He faced Donnie with an immovable marble facade, and simply stuck a meaty hand instinctively behind him, palming Mikey's face like a basketball. He lifted Mikey off his feet with practiced ease.

He hurled Mikey overhand, in a perfect baseball pitch, directly at Donnie. Donnie sidestepped to the right, with his right knee bent and left leg extended. Trash cans clanged as Mikey struck them. It sounded like a cartoon stock sound effect, complete with a cat excitedly screeching.

Donnie slid without losing sight of his opponent, his eyes never wavering from the beefy bandit. The blade extended from the tip of his naginata, and Donnie's eyes narrowed to slits.

Earl just shrugged. His demeanor and body language asked pointedly, "Was that supposed to impress?" The hulking mass of muscle lumbered toward Donnie.

"I'm okay!" Mikey exclaimed. Some additional trash fell off the pile as Mikey attempted to regain his footing.

From the rear of the van, Slick emerged brandishing his gun. "What is this?" he asked no one in particular. He clutched the butt of the gun tighter, and his eyes narrowed as he regarded Leo in front of him, and Raph behind and slightly to the left.

"Turtles!?" he exclaimed. "They weren't kidding."

"Who wasn't kidding?" Leo asked.

Slick shrugged. "No one you need worry about," he said casually. He fired twice in Leo's direction, as Raph leaped into the air, sais pointed up.

Leo spun in cartwheels sideways, sideways again weaving around a third shot, in the air to clear a fourth. Slick spun 180 degrees as he brought his gun arm in a roundhouse motion. He looked up as he raised his gun and took aim.

Meanwhile, Raph reached the apex of his jump and brought his sais to bear, handles down as began a new trajectory toward Slick. His face was hard determination, but slowly morphed to concern as he noticed the gun was coming around from Leo, up toward him. Terror filled his face as he zoomed in tight on that trigger finger.

It squeezed, and a shot fired.

The bullet passed Raph's cheek, whizzing harmlessly into the night air. Slick didn't have time to aim properly, and Raph was relieved. The determination returned to Raph's granite face as he smashed the handles of his sai into Slick's head. Slick crumpled to the ground, rolling quickly away from Raph.

Leo, meanwhile, landed nearby and swiped at Slick's gun hand with a katana. The blade burned Slick's wrist, and he felt the warm trickle of blood as he involuntarily released the weapon. Leo sweep-kicked the gun, and it clattered useless away toward the other side of the street, behind Donnie as he swung an arc with his naginata toward the beefy Earl.

Earl's oversized pink hands gripped the end of the staff moments before the blade would have filleted his cheek. Donnie, now slightly off-balance, was easy to manipulate and Earl hauled the turtle closer to him.

Nose-to-nose.

Earl snorted. "Outta my way, freak," he spat as he snapped Donnie's naginata clean in half with one hand. He balled his other hand into a fist and jabbed straight at Donnie, slamming into the turtle's mouth with incredible force.

Donnie spun in a half-turn, and went down like a ton of bricks.

From the void that Donnie used to occupy, a blinding flash of orange and two whirling nunchuckus appeared. "Boo-yah-a-kasha!" Mikey screamed.

Between the sudden appearance and the weird battle cry, Earl was caught off guard. He felt one wooden stick slap against his temple and another slam into his side. He instinctively raised an arm to stop a second slapshot to his face, but still received a second body blow right in his sternum.

Earl ducked as Mikey's nunchuku arced into view, and it passed harmlessly over the bandit's head. Earl delivered a roundhouse punch into Mikey's side before returning to his full height, and jabbing straight into Mikey's chest. The turtle lost his balance and stumbled backward, though he didn't leave his feet. Years of ninjitsu training no doubt gave him a great sense of balance.

Earl immediately doubled over, sinking to one knee. Mikey had done significant damage. Earl had the wind knocked out of him, and he sensed a few cracked ribs. His right arm dangled uselessly by his side. A fractured ulna, probably; it was a hairline fracture from blocking Mikey's nunchuku but turned into a full-blown break when Earl punched the turtle straight in the underbelly.

Earl rose to his feet and decided a tactical retreat was his best chance. He backed away first, ensuring that Mikey and Donnie were both too busy licking their own wounds to follow him.

Earl sprinted into an alleyway and vanished from sight.

Meanwhile, Mikey had at last regained his footing. He tended to Donnie, who lay on his side.

On the other side of the van, Slick was pinned by Raph's foot and his gun was well out of reach. But, he had one more trick up his sleeve. His hand shot out, grabbed Leo's ankle, and pulled.

An adrenaline rush gave this desperate move more effectiveness than it should have had. Leo went down on his shell, a hallow thump like an eggshell hitting the kitchen floor. Raph was surprised enough that Slick could rise halfway on his elbows, and spin right-side up. Raph stumbled backwards, and Slick was on his feet in an instant. His hand dipped to his ankle, and the glint of a small double-edged knife caught Raph's eyes.

Slick knew that he was outmatched by the warrior of the turtles, especially with the leader struggling to his feet. A tactical retreat was his only option.

For good measure, he backed slowly toward Leo, occasionally swiping the knife at Raph. He plunged the small blade into Leo's shoulder, and then ran like a caged animal for an open door.

He weaved between Mikey and the incapacitated getaway van, and slid into an alley on the opposite side of the street from where Earl had ducked.

Police sirens were close now.

"Leo?" Raph asked.

Leo's fingers curled around the dagger. He squinted his eyes tightly shut, so tight tears trickled out. He pulled the dagger out of his arm and bit his lip to hold in the cry that wanted to burst out of his lungs.

Instead, a stifled groan lingered in his throat.

He threw the dagger to the concrete, and it clattered underneath the getaway van.

"Ill be fine," he said, waving at Raph to keep his distance. Meanwhile, he clutched his arm where the dagger had been embedded. Blood oozed between his fingers and fell in drops to the pavement.

Sirens suddenly got really loud.

"Turtles, retreat," Leo finally managed. The four brothers hurried to the Shellraiser, driving quickly to a hidden entrance to their underground lair.

Almost as soon as he turned down this alley, Slick knew he wasn't going to escape the police. A car was already waiting on the other side. It was stupid. Whoever robbed the museum would be most likely to use this alley as an escape route, as it was one of the few that let back onto the main road to the LIE.

Slick turned off his path 90 degrees and headed to another alley, a small alley too tight for any cars to get through. New York was littered with these; the classic maze of twisty passages – all alike. Slick ran harder as he heard the pounding of footfalls behind him, and gruff voices identifying themselves as police officers and ordering him to freeze.

He poured on some more speed, breaking down the small alleys and changing direction often. He hoped to confuse the pursing officers and eventually break out onto a main drag devoid of police presence.

"Freeze!" he heard the cops behind him shout.

Fat chance, he thought.

He was losing steam from all the running. Perhaps he should have treated this like a marathon rather than a sprint; not using all of his speed in one short burst. So he slowed up a little bit, hoping that he had already put enough distance between himself and his pursuers.

He no longer heard the cries to freeze, nor did he hear the pat-pat-pat of loafers on pavement behind him. He slowed to a fast walk now, invisible hammers pounding relentlessly at his legs. Why did he try to turn on all of his speed at once? This wasn't his first attempt to evade police and he knows how relentlessly they pursue their quarry.

He saw a sliver of moonlight ahead of him. He realized that this would be the end of the maze and he would at last be out on a main drag of town. As he emerged, he silently swore at himself for not being more careful.

"Him!" a cop, decorated with the gold chevrons of a sergeant, pointed in Slick's direction. Two others with the simpler patrolman's uniform immediately drew their weapons and ordered Slick to freeze.

Slick sucked in a lungful of air as he broke into a run. It wasn't as fast, nor would it carry him as far, as his previous attempt. It was still faster than the apparently out-of-shape patrolmen. Slick said a silent prayer of thanks to Dunkin' Donuts.

Even in his weakened state, Slick managed to get out ahead of the patrol officers. But he knew his luck wouldn't last. He was destined to get caught tonight, but (if he could help it) not with evidence of guilt.

Slick patted his shirt. He felt the parchment map under his shirt, tucked into his pants, where he put it before engaging those... turtles?

Wow. He had been warned that mutant turtles might interfere, but he just took that as evidence his employer was crazy.

Slick ran into Central Park, trying to evade his pursuers. He needed to find a spot to ditch the map, a safe place he could come back for it later. He didn't want to get caught with it, but he did want the treasures to which it led. In a secluded section of the park, Slick pulled the map free and covered it with a small amount of dirt. Then, he strove to put as much distance between this spot and his inevitable arrest as he could.

He managed about 45 feet before three police officers with drawn guns surrounded him. "Freeze!" one shouted.

An unshaven detective with tousled brown hair broke ranks and walked forward. He had no weapon pointed. He simply saluted Slick, the other hand remained firmly in the pocket of his elite uniform. "You're under arrest, Slick!"

"Chase McCain," Slick grumbled as two officers came in from behind and forced the bandit to the ground, pushing his face into the gravel. He felt the cool steel of the handcuffs against his wrists, he heard the zipper-like sound of the tumblers finding the right spot.

Another cop's voice echoed in Slick's ear as two pairs of arms hauled him to his feet. "You have the right to remain silent ..."

He didn't listen. Slick knew these by heart.

The rendezvous point that Slick had previously agreed upon with the mysterious employer was a warehouse by the docks. It wasn't terribly far from the museum by car, but walking took a couple of hours. Earl, therefore, was running very late when he arrived.

Earl had never met the guy that contracted them, but knew this guy was scary because Slick got uncomfortable whenever the subject arose. Slick was never intimidated by anyone, so if this guy could manage it that was enough to put Earl on guard.

Inside the warehouse, it was a well-equipped dojo. You'd never guess it from the dilapidated exterior. It had a large, open floor covered with mats bearing several fighting rings diagrammed in clashing colors. The very center remained free for an instructor or referee to observe several fights at once. The perimeter of the rings was lined with punching bags and weight training equipment.

Several men sparred in the various rings. Earl was struck by the fact they were all dressed alike: black dogis cinched with black belts, deep gray slacks that disappear into black, split-toe shoes. Each of them wore a black mask with large protruding bug-eyes covering the owner's own eyes. They wore red headbands stamped with a stylized black foot.

Only one person dressed differently, and Earl presumed this was the leader of the group. He had a brown martial arts uniform and gray gloves. His boots were black, like the soldiers he seemed to observe and coach, and his head was wrapped in a black mask that revealed his cold, gray eyes. On his back, two black katanas were sheathed in a crisscross.

This was a deadly man to be feared. No wonder Slick was freaked out.

Earl approached the Dark Ninja with trepidation, for he had failed at the task he was given.

The Dark Ninja spotted Earl. "The museum heist was a success, then?" he asked in a deep voice that had a velvet-smooth quality, like a radio announcer.

"N-n-no," Earl stammered. "Uh, we set off an alarm and ..."

The Dark Ninja silenced Earl with a disapproving glare. He shook his masked head back and forth. "This will not do," he said. "You were contracted to steal a diamond from the museum. You failed, yet you dare showed your face in my presence?"

"Uh, we did find something else ..." Earl let it trail off.

The Dark Ninja's eyes bade Earl to continue. When Earl hesitated, the Dark Ninja raised a single, hooked eyebrow. "Well?"

"A map in a statue of some bird dude. Slick said it showed where Armpit-Rah stowed his treasures."

"Armpit ..." the Dark Ninja tried to make sense of Earl. "You mean Amset-Ra?"

"Yeah."

The Dark Ninja's harsh gaze softened. "That would be worth much more than the diamond we sent you to retrieve. The possessor of Amset-Ra's treasures would attain immortality!"

Earl explained the prophecy about Amset-Ra that Slick had told him, as best he could at least. Earl wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. He got most of it right, but much was contorted in such a way that the canned laugh track of a sitcom would go nuts as he spoke.

All of it, even the parts Earl got right, were summarily ignored by the Dark Ninja. When Earl finished, the Dark Ninja asked where the map was now.

"Slick grabbed it when we ran from the turtles."

"The Turtles?" It had the upward inflection on the last syllable like a question, but it was really more of a scolding. "The Turtles have the map?"

"Nah, they didn't know we had it. Slick still has it."

"And where is Slick?" The Dark Ninja grew tired of interrogating this imbecile.

Leo, Mikey, Donnie, and Raph entered the Lair triumphantly.

Sort of.

Leo and Donnie were both hurt. Splinter helped dress their wounds, though neither were hurt seriously. Leo's wound was deep, but he would recover and be at full strength quickly.

"These two weren't trained in the arts of ninjitsu," Leo said as the foursome gathered in the common area.

"Sure weren't," Raph agreed.

"But they were more violent than anyone we've ever fought." Leo just couldn't figure it out.

"The ninja is trained in discipline and control," Splinter said. "These thugs displayed neither in their fight with you. That is why they were more violent, why they injured you more than your more disciplined opponents."

The four turtles meditated briefly on that.

"They are willing to go to lengths you are not. Even that The Foot Clan would not."

"So if The Foot wanted to get a job done, and wanted to stop us cold while doing it, these would be the guys to use," Raph said dismissively.

"I fear that this is exactly what The Foot did," Splinter said. "This isn't over."

"Arrested?" the Dark Ninja's already deep voice lowered pitch into a growl.

Earl was terrified as the Dark Ninja approached him. The soldiers that were training had all stopped, moving silently and parting for Dark Ninja like the Red Sea for Moses. Earl was rooted to where he stood. He couldn't muster the courage to move away from the imposing man.

The Dark Ninja drew a katana. "Well, if they arrested Slick near the museum, he'd be taken to Police Substation B for booking, fingerprinting, etc."

With a single deft motion, the Dark Ninja cut through the air with his katana in a wide arc, slicing through Earl's neck and separating the thug's head from his body.

"This guy has a long rap sheet. They'll transport him to Police Headquarters for holding. Higher security there."

Earl's head hit the mat with the sound of a ripe head of lettuce hitting the kitchen floor, a sort of splish-thump. It rolled out of sight as the body fell on its side. As all that happened, the Dark Ninja quickly brought his bloody katana in front of his own barrel chest, handle in front of his eyes, blade pointing to the ground.

"I have an idea."

The Dark Ninja extended his blade sideways, into the hands of a Foot Soldier. The soldier dutifully wiped the blood off the obsidian blade, and handed it back to his master. The Dark Ninja sheathed the blade.

"We free Slick – without stopping the prisoner transport!"

TO BE CONTINUED...