A/N: Alright. Names Tri, and this is my first TMNT fanfic….EVER. I took a long time planning this, cause I wanted to do something original (or semi original…cause in fandom there is NOTHING original). Along the way I discovered that my plot was similar to a movie I'd seen some months prior. Looked at the pros and cons, cackled like a maniac, then went with the flow. It is independent of the movie, but there are too many similarities to say it is totally my idea. Actually, I think basing some things from the movie helped activate my rusty imagination and let me delve deeper into the plot and the characters. We learn from imitation, eh?
Hope y'all enjoy, and please give me some input. I always try to better my writing, and one does not learn by oneself. So speak up, tell me if something doesn't work, or if it did work well. I don't get insulted or hurt easily. My skin is too thick and my heart is too stony for that.
Warning: M for violence, blood, gore, language, perhaps even a form of cannibalism and sacrificial rituals, and some non-graphic adult themes and hints of a nonconsensual nature (therefore has nothing to do with romance).
Chapter Warning: K. This is probably the cleanest chapter I've ever written in my life.
Beta: Donnie-o
Dedicated to: Msmanga and Asprin. Without you two ladies…this would not have existed.
Disclaimers:
1) TMNT does not belong to me, never will.
2) A great part of this fic resembles the Korean movie "The King and the Clown" which I based the title from and some characteristics of the overall plot.
3) Also, some might say this prologue bears a little resemblance to Splinters "In Another's Shoes"…It wasn't intentional, but just to be safe she takes the credit for the prologue idea.
4) The Testudines and the Mercs, however, are mine. No touching without my permission. Plagiarizers…just DON'T even THINK of it. The truth is always revealed, and trust me, it ISNT worth it.
Other than that…ENJOY!!!
THE KING AND THE CLOWN
Prologue: See Who I Am
Darkness consumes. Hider and enveloper, master of secrets, father of stealth. It is the source of protection for families whose only way of survival is to stay hidden; to stay safe. Darkness is a way of life, and living so deep in the underground one cannot help but be consumed by it. Light is forgotten, and in the ever present gloom it ceases to exist.
Yet even so far deep in the underground, one can tell the coming of day. The vibrations of the surrounding walls; the churnings of the pipes that covered them; little sounds like a distant siren or the curses of a drunk all reveal what needs to be known. For so far down in the darkness, with no hint of daylight to shine and illuminate ones world, all one can trust is sounds.
In the day, large quantities of water rush down from the gutters and streets. City inhabitants flush their waste more often, using up more than needed. Habitual rats stay hidden from seeing eyes. Machines run loudly, churning and grating against each other. Distant voices are heard through the pipe ways, eerie whispers in the back of the mind.
There is a certain silence to the night. But if one just stops; cries of the destitute, sounds of the ill and lost, the echoes of violence; all can be heard if one learns to listen to the shadows.
The aged rat knew these things. Knew to trust his instincts; to listen to his surroundings, to become one with the shadows, and move undetected and unseen. It was a life that he had no choice but to lead. There was a time when he was never want for nothing, yet now he dug through trash for food and supplies, he stayed hidden and secret. Like the ever constant light he once knew and grew up with, he had to cease to exist.
For his sons, they never could exist.
"Master Splinter!"
It was a familiar wail, one filled with distraught but no real danger, fear, or pain. There was no urgency except for the one that had been insulted. The master reached down to the single candle that lit his room, pushing it aside to make space for the loud guest that was coming right toward him.
The soft yet clumsy steps of one still learning how to walk without being heard shuffled right near the entrance of his room. They were hesitant to burst in righteous fury, fearing discipline by his staff. But he knew a decision would be made within seconds. This son was not known for his indecision.
"Master Splinter!"
The curtain that served as a barrier between his room and the hallway of their home was pushed roughly aside. Had it been a door it would have been thrown open and slammed against the wall.
The old rat did not open his eyes, merely sat serenely on his knees and waited.
He did not have to wait long.
"MASTER SPLINTER!!!!!"
The small candle flickered, and his eyes snapped open to glare down at the angry ones looking up at him.
The little turtle was on his hands and knees, head craned up to stare right into his father's face. His mouth was turned down in a fierce scowl, which twitched impatiently as he waited to be acknowledged.
Ah, the rashness of youth.
The old rat sighed at the inevitable confrontation, and asked, "You called, my son?"
This earned him an even fiercer scowl, for this little one hated to be ignored with a passion, craving attention more than any single one of his brothers.
"I don't want to do this anymore, Sensei," the student begged of his master. "I don't like it. I don't. It's stupid. And it's annoying. And…I just don't want to do it anymore." His voice rose in his childish whine, the plastron that covered his chest heaved slightly in ill-contained emotion at his self-perceived injustice.
Master Splinter turned his head slightly, to give his son a more level look. The child clenched his jaw in stubbornness, but held still, waiting for a reply.
A reply, the master knew, he would not like.
"That is very unlike you, Donatello. Usually you have such well-thought out and articulate arguments when you disagree with me. Tell me, my son, are you unwell?"
Every father knows his son, and though his child's skin never really turned shades unless extremely ill, he knew that all the blood had rushed to those childish green cheeks.
"No! No! No!" Came the outburst, angry and hurt. "That's not my name! That's not who I am!" A small yet strong fist hit the ground next to Master Splinter's knee, once, twice, thrice; before it lay there. The head soon followed, as the student touched his forehead before his master, his voice young and pleading, "Please, Master Splinter, I don't want to do this anymore. I am me…" His voice broke when he repeated, "I am me."
The father might have reached down, and patted that bowing head, to console and give in. But the Master held firm, asking, "Why do you hate this training so, Donatello?"
"'CAUSE I'M NOT DONATELLO!" Was the enraged snarl as the small turtle lifted himself up, eyes flashing. He reached back to his shell, pulling loose the bo staff strapped to his back and slammed it between him and his master. "This isn't mine!" He said angrily. Then reaching to the back of his head, he yanked at the knot that held his purple bandana, revealing his face in its enraged entirety. "This isn't who I am!" The child said, his voice lower, letting the bandana slip through is fingers to lay atop the abandoned weapon. "I don't want to be Donatello, or anyone else. I am me. I just want you to see me."
"I see each and every one of my sons," was the reply, as an old clawed hand reached down to carefully lift the bandana. "I can see who you are, very well. I have no doubts who and what you are. The question is, my son, why is it that you are so unsure of yourself that you cannot go through with this exercise?"
"I'm sure of myself," his son's small voice had become sullen and indignant. "It just doesn't make sense. And it's stupid and boring. You always tell us we should stay in the shadows, not go topside, and stay away from humans…." He looked away, looked a bit embarrassed, and not a little confused. "If humans are never going to see us, if we're never going to meet up with anyone, why should we pretend to be something we're not? What does me pretending to be Donny have to do with anything? It's stupid."
The old rat shook his head at the child, already prepared for this argument. He had not expected it to come from this particular son, but then, this one was known for his unpredictability. "Ninja are masters of invisibility," he said gravely. "We know little of their history because, to the known public, they never existed. They kept no records, no photos. They became mere myths and fanciful stories…"
"Which totally sucks…" the low growl was almost inaudible.
"So if they never existed," continued the master, ignoring his son's lack of respect for the moment, "how did they move about unnoticed? How did they get close to their quarry, their enemies? In some cases being invisible just isn't enough."
"They go in disguise," was the quick reply. It was good to know that some of his teachings could reach the rash and impetuous.
"And when disguise cannot break through their forces? Cannot breach their vast securities?"
There. The slight widening of those large expressive eyes, the relaxing in those taunt muscles; Master Splinter's words were slowly reaching him. And with a swift motion, the father firmly slipped the purple bandana right back on his child's face, tying it securely in the back and ignoring the small 'meep!' that came from tightening it too much.
Placing his aged claws on those small yet growing shoulders, the old rat leaned forward and spoke, "If you cannot get in through mere disguise, my son, you must become someone you are not. You take another's identity; you become them to fool the enemy. You have to know how to speak like them, walk like them; even think like them to succeed. It is a ruse that does not end in a moment. It takes time; days, weeks, months, some of the most dangerous lasted years before the objective was completed. But with time comes greater chance of discovery. Failure could mean capture, exposure, and death for you and your brothers. You must master this, my son. For when it is all over, you must not exist, and through that, you will survive."
"But…but master…"small three fingered hands reached to hold onto his arms, face looking up, eyes imploring for understanding. "I hate this. How can I become someone else when I am me? It…it's nothing like pretend! It's real…and scary…and I might forget! Everyone might forget and not see who I am…."
"Shh…"consoled the master. "That is why we train. That is why I am here, and I am your teacher, and you are my student. And that is why you must practice, my son. You must master this."
"But…"
His curtain was pushed aside, interrupting the two from their conversation. Another small figure entered, adjusting his red masked bandana as if it didn't fit right.
"Hey…Donny…already chickening out, you…um…you…wuss?"
Master Splinter pushed away as his son stood up, facing the insulting brother who had just entered. Carefully lifting the bo, and placing it securely on the back of his shell, the purple donned turtle gave the other a withering look. "Is that the best you can do?" he mocked. "You make a lousy Raph."
"Huh? Wait! No I do not!"
"Do too!"
"Do not! At least I'd be a better Donatello that you could ever be!"
"Watch me!"
"Oh…trust me…I'm not taking my eyes off of you!"
"Ha! Than watch and weep, brother dear, as I, the super genius of this family, fix the TV you busted yesterday when you decided to practice your round-house kick during commercials." The child turned to his master, and bowed in respect before stomping out with a personal vendetta in his eyes.
The other, too, bowed, a bit lower that the last, and immediately ran after his brother, yelling, "You wish! You're going to end up frying the whole system and then Donny REALLY is going to kick your shell! Hey! Don't walk away when I'm talking to you! I'm Raphael, remember! I…I can threaten you real bad….and pummel you! Yea, that's right, I said 'pummel'! MIKEY, DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH THAT…!!!"
As their echoing voices drifted farther and farther away, the old rat allowed a small sardonic chuckle to slip out. With a sigh, he carefully took hold of the small candle that was slowly sinking down to burn itself into oblivion.
"Kids," said the father, and blew the candle out.
Letting the darkness consume him.
To Be Continued….
Questions? Feel free to email me at In the subject please write the title of the fic or 'fanfiction'...ANYTHING to give me a hint that you arnt an evil person trying to infect my computer with a virus. State your business and i will happily reply .