TMNT : Project X

This story is based after the events of the 2014 movie. There will be blood and some graphic violence. I will keep them to a minimum as I feel over-exposure of anything tends to lower the shock value…which is needed. There may also be some romance between the characters although I'm not entirely sure what to do with that as yet. I will say this though, Casey has had a gender change. I really just wanted to mess around with that.

Disclaimer: I so do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Chapter One: After the Dust Settles.

Raphael wandered the dark labyrinthine tunnels alone and muttering to himself. On occasion, a drain access hole allowed a soft beam of moonlight to squeeze into the sewer, bouncing off the glistening roaches on the wall. Raphael had seen them all before and they bothered him as much as they ever did. Their scurrying antics provided slight interest after he had grown weary of listening to his ipod – one ear only, the other free to listen for screams. All he heard now were the tiny scratching of the insects' tiny feet upon the brick. The smell of ammonia and methane filled the air as he trudged forward. It wasn't perfect but it was home to him and his family and it came rent-free. He was used to the stench as he'd grown up with it, although for the last couple of blocks he was sure he could detect the unmistakable whiff of cooked chicken trying to fight through the noxious fumes. He put it down to chilli chicken pizza they had eaten an hour ago that might still have lingered on his fingers.

He was halfway through his patrol and there had been nothing of note. He had decided to forgo roaming the rooftops and instead kept underground. He could still prowl the city as a vigilante this way and besides, the city nights were getting hotter and he welcomed the coolness of the wet underground. As a turtle, he would have been happy for the warmth. As a mutant, part humanoid, his body's temperature gauge was…complex.

As he rounded a corner, he became aware of his muscles tensing and he allowed two digits to rest upon his sai, comfortably sheathed in his wrap. Realising he was holding his breath, he gasped aloud and continued on his way. He was approaching The Site, that last resting place of Oroku Saki – The Shredder. The force of impact of his –now deceased- mighty and skilled opponent had shattered and pushed the paving stones above into the domain below and it was a reminder of how close he and his brothers came to becoming extinct. Donny had long droned on about how they were effectively a new species and although they had started out as your normal, garden variety turtles, they were now something else, something new in the chain, a man-made construct with a little bit of natural magic thrown in for good measure. Leonardo said it was fate and Donny proclaimed it was a scientific miracle. The youngest brother, Michelangelo agreed with them both, happy to sit on the fence. Raphael saw it differently. He and his brothers were freaks, nothing more and he was more than certain that that's what Humans would class them as too. There was a good reason why Splinter was resistant to their exposure and they all fully understood to a degree. Raphael certainly understood. To him, most humans were nothing more than Surface Dwellers who were terrified of anything that wasn't completely human. And yet they would never be freaks to him as he was to them. He and his brothers grew up with their culture, their tastes and desires. The more he thought about it the more it annoyed him. That he and his brethren should be so immersed in their ways and be so different, so excluded. It was unfair. April and Vernon didn't count as Raphael had decided that they were exceptions and couldn't be counted as the majority.

Raphael looked up at the shards of the old paving stones – the ones that had provided a full stop to Oroku Saki. The city council had quickly moved to repair the Shredder-shaped hole but it was a surface job only, leaving the battered remains of once was to the eyes of those who lived in the sewers. Even now, slimy bacterial growth had begun to claim the jagged stone and so life went on.

He often wondered where the authorities had taken the body of The Shredder. Each of the turtles at that time were so preoccupied by Splinter's recovery that they had not bothered to check whether the man behind the metal suit was alive but they all eventually reasoned that he couldn't possibly be. Raphael realized he was holding his breath again. There was something eerie about this place. The air was filled with a ghostly air. Out of nowhere a voice shattered the silence, causing Raphael to jump and grab at his sai.

'Raph, do you copy?'

'Donnie! What the Hell are you playing at? I almost jumped out of my shell. I could have been engaged in combat or sneaking up on perps,' Raphael growled.

'You wouldn't have your Talkie on if you were stalking crims. Besides, you're still underground. I can see you on screen.'

Raphael sighed. Donnie was forever experimenting with his new gadgetry on his brothers. 'Have you put another tracking device on me, Don?'

'Had to check out the upgrade. It's working great. There's just a few bugs to iron out. Um… '

'What is it Donny? I know you're up to something. I can hear it in your voice'

'Nothing much. Are you going anywhere near 15th?'

Raphael groaned. 'I'm not picking up mucus for you.'

'It's not mucus. It's an organism that I'm sure has never seen before and it's growing here, where we live.'

Raphael heard the growing excitement in Donatello's voice and cleared his throat in order to distract him from the inevitable scientific rant.

' Er…anyway, I saw some on my last round. I just didn't have any petri dishes on me.'

'And what makes you think I have any?' Raphael hissed struggling to keep his patience in check.

'I taped a couple on your shell when you weren't looking. I knew you wouldn't take 'em willingly.'

Raphael frowned and grabbed at the side of his shell. He wrenched the tape off and held the bag holding the petri-dishes aloft. He had wondered what that clinking sound was for the last couple of miles. He was almost speechless…almost.

'DONNIE! When I get back there, I'm gonna shove…'

'Ohh, scchrruuu shhhh, I think the signal's going. Sscchhhh! Don't forget the sample. Oh, wait a minute, Mikey wants to speak to you.'

Raphael rolled his eyes. He knew what this was going to be about.

'Dude! It's your favourite bro here. What's up.'

'Forget it. I'm not looking out for porno magazines for you,' Raphael hissed.

'Aww man, you must think I have a one track mind. No bro. I need you to check out that new pizza place on Fulton. Oh and see if Vincent's around. He needs feeding.'

Raphael shuddered. Mikey had befriended a stray feline during the last few weeks and despite protestations from all sides, he had decided to adopt it. The cat had grown to trust Mikey but hated every single one of his brothers. All of them had come back at one time or another with scratches on their arms and cat spittle on their faces. Raphael had even once suggested that Mikey rename the cat Shredder Junior much to everyone's' pained nods of agreement and Splinter had steadfastly refused to let his youngest son bring the feline home for obvious reasons.

Raphael gave a low growl. 'I'm not feeding your cat again. Besides, I don't have any food on me,' he reasoned.

'Yeah you do Dude. I strapped some chicken on your shell when you weren't looking.'

And so the mystery of the strange aroma of chicken in the air was solve. Raphael felt the colour rising in his cheeks. 'Right. That is it! Just you wait until I get…Mikey? Hey numbnuts! Damn.'

Oh there would be Hell to pay when he got back. In the meantime, he had a cat to feed and goo to collect. Raphael shoved the chicken in the bag with the petri dish and with a world weary sigh he continued on to Fulton Street.

….

It had been a long night for Lucio. Friday nights often were. Once the bars and clubs had ejected their loud, unsteady and hungry patronage, the run was on. After a few months, juggling toppings and flinging cheese on a thin bready base became second nature to him and although the warmth of the kitchen ovens had become unbearable in the current heat-wave the city was suffering through, Lucio's business venture was proving lucrative. Caprioli's had only just opened their pizzeria and to his and his brother's joy, the demand for their cuisine was high. It also helped that his restaurant was in spilling distance of the great City's nightlife. In spite of the late night to early morning rush, as tiring as it was, Lucio knew it was all worth the hassle. Lost in thought that perhaps one day his restaurant would become a chain, Lucio locked the side entrance to his pizzeria and started down the long alley toward the street, happy in his daydreams. He was halfway down the path when he became aware of figures lurking in the shadows ahead of him. Their silhouettes were barely visible in the gloom of the alley, but Lucio could count three figures huddled together. He stopped dead and hoped that he hadn't drawn their attentions, but as the mumbled conversations between them hushed into silence, Lucio knew that any luck he felt had taken a vacation, scarpering into the shadows with its tail between its legs.

'Hey! What you lookin' at? '

Lucio was not sure which of the figures growled the question, but he could understand the tone in the questioner's voice and he knew he was in trouble.

'Sorry, it's nothing, it's nothing', he whispered. Lucio turned and slowly walked back down the alley back toward his restaurant. He remembered something his father had said about keeping your head high in times of confrontation and to never, NEVER show your fear. It was sage advice to hear when sitting on a sofa in a place you felt safe but Lucio had two large walls either side of him and was flanked by three would-be muggers, or maybe they had something more for him in mind. Yes he was frightened. Still, he kept his pace and in deference to his father's advice, he didn't speed up or break into a run although he desperately wanted to, but continued toward a safer place as though he was avoiding a flooded street. When he heard footsteps behind him, he took a deep breath and winced. He could feel his pulse pushing against his neck as the footsteps behind him got quicker. Lucio was quite a way from the door into safety and knew that the odds of him escaping his pursuers weren't in his favour, so he stopped, and turned.

'I don't have anything on me.' He said in a voice that trembled.

'Hey, Paison, we didn't ask. Did we ask,bro?'

Now that Lucio could see the figures he knew he was in deep trouble. He'd read about them in the papers and seen the reports of the growing crime waves by these people but he never imagined he would become one of their victims and yet, here they were, standing in front of him. Their hair was braided tightly in the back and on their faces above the eyebrow was the mark of a simple 'X'. It was drawn on with what the media had reported as 'washable ink' with the teenagers that had been in custody. The marks on the thugs in front of him looked permanent, deep. He was in danger.

'Please…'

Lucio's voice was merely a whisper now as his father's advice crumbled around him. As the head X Thug headed toward him, Lucio lowered his head and gave a silent prayer to whatever God might be listening. He couldn't think of anything else to do. That's when he heard a painful yelp echo in the alley. Lucio lifted his head and watched agape as one of the thugs fell to the dry pavement, clutching his temple. The lead thug stopped his reach of Lucio, his hands suspended in the air like a dummy without the wires, turning to see what ailed his partner in crime. Lucio heard a whoosh of air and the second assailant was down clutching his temple, echoing his friend and rolling on the floor. Both Lucio and the lead X watched as the stone rolled across the ground.

'What the Hell!' Roared the lead thug, his head twisted back, scouring the alley.

Silence lingered for a tense few seconds before a voice filtered through the night sky, making Lucio and his attacker wilt.

'Hey Scum. Pick on someone your own size.'

The voice was metallic and rasping and heavy with threat. Lucio was relieved and at the same time, there was something in that voice that made his stomach lurch.

The X that still stood, turned his back to Lucio and was desperately looking about him, trying to pinpoint the location of the voice.

'Show yourself, you piece of shit and I'll show you pain.'

Lucio saw it first. The figure dropped quietly from the top of the roof and eased its way down the exterior stairwell, keeping still and cloaked by shadow when the X glanced in his direction.

'Where the fuck are you?' Hissed the thug.

'Hey, Paison. Do you like Golf? Me, I can't stand the game.'

Lucio watched with his mouth open as the figure landed a good few feet away from X. His saviour was smaller than his attacker by a couple of inches and he had a lithe air about him. He wore a leather jacket cut by the waist and grey cargo pants which were dirty and ragged. The lead thug certainly won the battle of the bulk and there was nothing about the have a go hero that sparked confidence except for the voice and then there was the headgear the figure wore – a yellowing hockey mask with splattered brown stains across the cheeks and forehead. He stood in front of his larger quarry brandishing a long stick of metal with a bulbous head that looked to Lucio like a golf club.

X started to laugh, but never took his eyes away from the strange figure in front of him. He lazily pulled out a machete from the side of his belt and with a grin, thrust it in an arc in front of him. Lucio could see how this was going to end and gave a small whine. After the Foot Clan's rise and its subsequent disappearance, questions were raised about the police's involvement or more pertinently their lack of it. They had claimed to have brought about the end of The Foot's reign of terror but New York citizens were not convinced. They'd had the wool pulled over their eyes too often and there had been word on the streets for a while about mysterious vigilantes that had done the job the police were too corrupt and too lazy to do. Lucio had heard it all in his restaurant. There were stories about massive figures in masks prowling the city, stepping out of the shadows and stopping crime before vanishing in the blink of an eye. Then there were the theories about this group that ranged from the commonplace to the utterly insane. Lucio's favourite rambling was from a rather drunken fellow convinced that the vigilantes were a group of reptilian aliens that were sent to save New York. Instead of the wild speculations, Lucio could now see that the vigilante was in fact nothing more than a hockey fan clutching a Golf club.

'Say your prayers. You're a dead man,' growled the thug.

Lucio watched as X swung the blade with all his might against his smaller attacker who jumped back in one swift move. The blade missed his torso by inches. In turn, Hockey Mask deftly jabbed the length of the metal under X's jaw, pushing his chin up and moving him a couple of steps back. The force of the next hit with the full swing of the club made Lucio wish that he had turned his gaze. Anything but being a witness to the splatter of red and hearing the crack of X's jaw. Everything seemed to move in slow motion after the first hit. X hit the floor, knocking into his two comrades as they tried to rise. The mask didn't stop. Again and again the club came down upon the group. The dull thudding and agonized groans made Lucio turn and stagger toward a skip.

'Please. Stop.' Lucio uttered.

The whooshing of metal through air halted and heavy breaths remained. The mask was done with his sport.

'You okay?' The vigilante asked in a voice that was more irritated than concerned.

'Fine. I'm fine. Thu-thanks. Please, please don't kill them.'

Lucio looked pleading at the Hockey Mask and saw the startling grey eyes behind them. They were cold and seemingly furious that someone had halted the progress of punishment.

'They didn't hurt me,' was all Lucio could stammer.

The mask looked over the three crawling figures, and then lowered his club.

'I'm finished here. I'll walk you to the street.'

Lucio gave a faint nod that hid his worry that this psychopath would be keeping him company down the dark narrow alley. The way the masked man had changed from aggressive to passive was too quick to be normal but Lucio was not going to argue. It reminded him of something his father used to say: 'Know your crazy people and never antagonise them.'

The minute spent walking away from the agonized groaning was the longest Lucio had spent. It wasn't an awkward silence, just a fearful one. In a small gesture – safely on the street and surrounded by drunken passer-by's and taxis, Lucio proffered his business card with trembling fingers to the Mask with a promise that all pizza's would be delivered free for him if he wished.

Hockey Mask looked at the business card for what seemed like an eternity and then spoke.

'Mmm, thanks but I'd rather lick a frog than eat that junk. Goodnight.'

Standing trembling by the road, Lucio watched agog as the Mask slipped back down the alley toward the scene of the crime. He rubbed his temples and pursed his lips. Lucio didn't want to spend hours in a police station explaining the night's unusual events to officers, who would nod, file a report and do little else, and so he headed home. There was nothing more he could do.

...

So there we go. First chapter up. Please let me know if you like it and I'll get going with some more chapters. I have only been to New York once and street names and places used in the story might not make much sense, for which I apologize in advance.