"We Are the Chosen"
By Donny's Boy
Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the plot relating to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I am making no money from this story. I mean no harm.
Warnings: Mentions of violence, but nothing much more serious than what was in the actual movie.
Author's Notes: This is in answer to Hunnam's fic challenge on Stealthy Stories to rewrite the third movie to make it "appealing." This story is set during and directly after the events of Movie Three. While I've tried to keep everything reasonably in canon, I've also taken a few interpretive liberties to present a more serious, introspective version of the story we know and love(?).
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Prologue
"A long time ago on a continent far, far away, an evil emperor (was) set on destroying all that (was) good.
All hope was lost.
Then, there was a blinding light and stepped forth the chosen ones, the ones that would restore peace, the greatest heroes of all time …"
—Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 3, DVD introduction
I. Uncaged
Steady thumping, a flat palm on a timpani drum. Every hit of the drum echoed like a thunderclap. With every heartbeat, someone slapped the drum—and the thunder resounded, over and over, in his brain.
It hurt. Not just a migraine, no, but a migraine of utter doom and destruction.
Summoning hidden reserves of willpower, Michelangelo forced open his eyes. Immediately they protested, and he blinked rapidly against the sudden influx of light. Then he sucked in a sharp breath at the pain. Hadn't had a headache like this in a while.
Giggling. Giggling?
Mike whipped his head around towards the sound and instantly regretted doing so. Ow, yelped his brain in angry reproach. Ow, ow, ow, ow! But even so, Mike managed to muster up a smile for the small Japanese children who were peering in at him. He didn't get out much more than a simple hello, however, before they took off.
Strange. Cute, but strange. Shrugging, Mike took the opportunity to look around at his surroundings. "Where am I?" he muttered in confusion. The small room, constructed of solid logs, held various odds and ends. Sky and earth were visible outside. A storage area? A smoke house? A tool shed, maybe, or …
Suddenly, fiercely, Michelangelo frowned.
… or a cage.
Mikey had always hated cages, hated confinement. In fact, the first time Casey Jones had ever gone into the sewers with them, he'd empathized with the human's discomfort. As Donny had snickered in wry amusement—"You're a claustrophobic!"—Mikey had found himself wondering who wasn't, deep down, at least a little claustrophobic. Who wouldn't crave the fresh, open air above the streets, where one could run and stretch and breathe?
Looking around again, Mike felt an itchy nervousness make its way up the back of his neck. The room was too small. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn't—the room was just way too restrictive. It became a chanting, jeering voice in his head: The room is too small. The room is too small. He took a deep breath and tried to center himself, like Splinter had taught.
Open meadows. Long, flowing streams. An endless expanse of blazing blue sky.
The room is too small.
Frantically he glanced around. The logs weren't logs anymore; they were bars. Mikey jumped up and began pacing, feeling his pulse quicken with every step he took. Bars. Trapped. In a cage. Just like when he and his brothers were little, before the mutagen. Just like a lab specimen. Just like—
Gunfire derailed him from his train of thought. Gunfire? They had guns in feudal Japan? Surely that couldn't be right. He'd have to ask Don about it, when he found his brothers again.
He steadfastly refused to consider that it might be a matter of if he found them again.
Then Mike heard the sound a second time, and it was definitely gunfire. He perked up. Guns didn't usually mean anything good, but at least guns meant something different. And different was good. Almost anything was preferable to being in a cage. Peering through the slats between the logs, he looked out at the village beyond. It only took a few moments before he spotted the first of the men with guns.
Showtime. Quickly Mike scrambled to position himself by the door. If an escape opportunity was to present itself, no way did he intend to miss it. And, sure enough, before long he could hear the clattering of people trying to open the door from the other side. Finally, blessedly, the door swung open.
"My heroes," he greeted enthusiastically—only partially joking—as he stepped out into freedom, only to be greeted by screaming Englishmen.
Then he found swords and, after that, everything got a bit crazy.
Much later, after Clint Eastwood and horseback-riding lessons, after meeting Yoshi and meeting Mitsu, Michelangelo stood on top of a hill and watched the sun set. The hill where Mitsu had prayed for the safety of her beloved Kenshin. But Mike stood alone now. While Mitsu had left when the air began to turn cold, he'd stayed to watch the sun set. He'd never watched a sunset before—not from start to finish, anyways. He decided he liked sunsets.
Climbing down from his hill, he walked back towards the main village. The evening's darkness surrounded him like a protective blanket. As he entered town, people stopped to give him a smile or a wave. It was a bit jarring at first but, after a while, Mikey began smiling and waving back. Like with sunsets, he decided he liked when people didn't run away shrieking in fear from the very sight of him. Liked how he could walk anywhere and everywhere, without skulking in shadows.
Finally his leisurely stroll took him back to his brothers and April. With a sigh, Mike realized they were arguing. He loved his brothers—no doubt about it—but sometimes, they could be total downers. Here they all were in paradise, a place where they were respected, a place where they could be free, a place with sunsets right out of an oil painting … and they were arguing with one another. About something.
Probably something silly, too, thought Mikey dejectedly. His sunset-induced good mood began to fade.
"Hey, look who decided to finally put in an appearance," Raphael called out as soon as Mikey was within hearing range.
Putting on a grin, Mike replied, "What's the haps, bros?"
"Well, the blacksmith finally finished our brand new time scepter." Don held it up then sighed. "But not quite everyone is convinced that my blueprints are theoretically sound." He looked pointedly at April, who just rolled her eyes in response.
As far as Michelangelo could determine, that actually seemed like a valid point. Thoughtfully he frowned. He'd seen enough sci-fi films to know that there must be a host of dangers involved, so he carefully ventured, "What if this doesn't work, dudes? What if we make, like, a cosmic U-turn and end up back in Godzilla land?"
It was Leo who provided the reply, in that familiar, take-charge tone of his: "We don't have a choice. Unless you wanna stay here."
Mike began to open his mouth, to answer that of course he didn't want to stay—but then he paused and thought twice. He thought about their home, about the sewers, and realized that regardless of how extensive the underground tunnels might be, the sewers were a cage. They always had been, and they always would be.
"Well," he said at last, looking Leonardo in the eye, "maybe we should."