Author Note: First off, I'd like to thank the wonderful Lioness Goddess for beta-ing this chapter! She keeps me from wandering off topic and forces me to clarify when I'm being random. :) Thanks LG! Go check out her stories!
And also, my thanks to Aries Zodiac, who has kindly loaned me her OC's, Foot Ninja Tim and his brother Bob. Although they appear in the story, I must point out that this tale is not canon to the Role Playing on Stealthy Stories, so anything that happens to them over the course of the story has no application in those games.
Finally, a quick note about bike helmets. I've been a bike nut since my earliest childhood and I've never been fond of the helmets that Casey is seen wearing in the toons. Therefore, in my canon, he and any of his passengers wear a full helmet, with facial visor.
&&&&&&&&&&
Casey sighed as he strapped the helmet to his head, turning to check on April. She had her own helmet tucked under one arm, her free hand rubbing at her temples tiredly. With one thing and another, it had been a long couple of days. The stadium disaster, Mikey's premonition and now Angel's dying. Shock upon shock; it was beginning to get to both of them.
The scene at Angel's had been depressing, tempered by the traditional awkwardness of no one knowing what to say. The usual platitudes were brought out by a steady stream of well-wishers, friends of her Grandmothers bringing over food in what Casey observed as being some weird female ritual – he remembered the same thing happening after his father had died, as if the family would be too absorbed to worry about something as mundane as cooking. Ryan's friends had come over too, most of them offering stilted condolences and giving him self-conscious, one-armed hugs. One teenage girl from Angel's school had come over, more an acquaintance than a close friend, and sobbed and wailed so theatrically that Casey was sorely tempted to throw the silly bitch out on her ass.
Without April, he couldn't have handled all the things he had gone over to do. It was April who took the food from the well-wishers, making cups of hot, sweet tea for both Angel's Grandmother and her brother as they sat in a state of shock, responding to condolences as if drugged. April had managed to calm the hysterical teen down, a few sharp words and careful phrases breaking through the girl self-pity. And April who had reminded Casey gently about the people they had to call regarding the funeral, although Casey had made those calls himself.
Eventually though, things seemed to have settled down. Angel's Grandmother had been ushered to bed and was sleeping uneasily. Ryan had the support of several of his friends, who were in their own ways trying to help. Angel's body had been scheduled for release to the funeral parlour the next day, when no doubt the machinery of death would begin again. More calls to make, people to tell, flowers to arrange, headstone, service.
Suddenly wearied by the whole thing, Casey put an arm around April. It wasn't what they had spent the day doing – it was the thought of the whole thing starting again tomorrow, that still more beaurocracy had to be met before they could let the poor kid rest in peace.
After all, he thought bitterly. Who the fuck makes arrangements on the chance of a perfectly healthy fifteen year old girl dying?
He raised the visor on his helmet and spoke quietly to April, wrapping his other arm around her and hugging her. "Thanks for today."
"It's okay Casey," said April, her free arm going around his waist, resting her head against his chest. "At least we were able to help."
"For all the good it does," replied Casey, some of the helpless anger he felt showing in his voice. "We shouldn't have to be arranging any of this at all – it shouldn't have happened…" He deflated, conceding that no amount of anger was going to change anything. "I wish there was something we could do or say or something to make things better."
April nodded, Casey feeling the movement rather than seeing it. Then she pulled back, stood on her toes and planted a kiss on his mouth through the raised visor of his helmet.
"You're a good man Casey Jones."
Casey smiled, reflecting that even if he never knew the right thing to say, April always did.
"C'mon babe, let's go home." He took the helmet from her and helped her put it on, tightening the straps himself. Angel's accident was making him hyper-aware of all the things that could happen and until the feeling wore off, he had the feeling he'd be making damn sure that April was taking all the precautions she could.
He pulled on his thick leather gloves and got the bike started while April did the same and climbed on behind him. Casey took off at a much slower speed than usual, far more cautiously than his typical breakneck pace. He just wanted to get April home and safe, spend some time forgetting the last few crazy days.
April wrapped his arms around him and in spite of the events that played on his mind; he began to feel almost optimistic. Maybe it was foolish, but in the middle of all the death that had surrounded them lately, he was starting to really appreciate the good things that were in his life.
They rode on for a while, heading for Second Time Around. Casey loosened up enough to weave around the traffic in his way, beginning to relax. It had been a long, horrible day but at least it was over. And if that wave of anger came over him again – well, there was always some punks who terrorised the innocent and he could put a stop to some of that perhaps. It was what he did. Let someone who wasn't innocent suffer the consequences.
It was probably a bad idea – Casey knew himself well enough to know that if he got lost in that cloud of anger, if he went too far one night, he would never be able to live with himself. But at least it was action.
April's arms tightened around his waist and he smiled to himself as the bike rode onto the bridge. Or perhaps he would let all that go for tonight and just enjoy the company of his girlfriend, show her just how much he appreciated her. She'd been a tower of strength to him. He didn't know if it was the close calls of the last few days or her actions, or the realisation of how people could be taken away at any time, but he felt even more strongly that if love really did exist, then it was probably the term that applied to how he felt about April…
Behind him there was a noise, metal grinding against metal.
Glancing over his shoulder, Casey saw April doing likewise and beyond her, a car that had been shunted to one side by a truck. The truck was the flat-bed type, carrying recently chopped trees into the city, presumably for use in a furniture factory or similar. With clinical detachment, time seemed to slow for Casey and perception sharpened, so he could see the panicked face of the driver in the cab, face frozen in a grimace. The truck continued to advance and he realised that the driver couldn't stop. The brakes had somehow failed.
And then the sound of a horn filled the air and time sped up again.
Casey turned his head back to the road ahead of him, realising that how close the truck was didn't matter – if he wiped them out by hitting the car in front, there was no chance at all. The cars ahead of him suddenly accelerated, some trying evasive driving although the truck was not as yet near them. There was another crunch of tortured metal as one panicked driver failed to realise that no matter how fast he went, he could go only as far as the car in front. Immediately, cars began to pile up against the wreck, some skidding to avoid colliding, blocking the road.
"Shit!"
April heard Casey's exclamation as she stared over her shoulder. The truck was gaining, the driver leaning on the horn, the sound seeming to fill the whole world, warning them of the impossibility of the truck stopping before it reached them.
Why THIS after all that's happened? Why do we never get a break?
And then the driver of the truck leaned out of sight and the trucks tyres locked, sending up smoke as the tyres gripped the concrete. The driver had hit the handbrake.
The truck span wildly out of control, heading for the side of the bridge. There was a thick barricade between it and the water, but April could see it wouldn't hold at the speed the truck was going.
The bike came to a stop as the road ahead became too congested for Casey to make any headway. It wasn't going to matter, April saw. The truck would hit the barricade some distance before it reached them. They were going to be alright.
She could hear Casey's frantic cursing as he tried to find a way through the gridlock, but the sight of the driver opening the cab door and hurling himself out as the truck headed for the side distracted her. The truck hit and the barricade gave way in a scream of tortured metal. For a moment it hung, suspended over the water, the sharp spokes from the suspension bridge holding it – and then the weight proved too much and the metal bent. The chains that held the wood onto the cab of the truck snapped, sending logs plummeting into the river below. One end of the chain was propelled into the air by the force of the snap, miraculously not landing on anyone or a car, instead hitting the concrete mere feet in front of the bike.
And then the truck fell, seeming to April's eyes like one of the old cartoons where the coyote would just drop out of sight. Usually after raising a little sign saying 'help'.
Casey turned to look at her and she grinned at him, giving the universal thumbs up sign. It had been close, but they were alive and it seemed as if no one had been killed, which was a blessing in itself…
The chain that was still attached to the truck whipped up, bouncing from the road and hitting the first thing that got in its path.
April.
The end of the chain snagged the wrist of the hand she was giving the thumbs up with, yanking her clean off the bike and pulling her toward the edge. She was momentarily stunned, then tried to get her grip on the concrete, hearing Casey scream her name.
And then she was over the edge and plummeting toward the river..
There were long seconds of freefall, the rushing wind curiously muted by her helmet. She had time to wonder if hitting the water would hurt, how the hell she was supposed to keep herself afloat in the river long enough to swim to the edge or the nearest rescue boat.
She had been right about one thing. Hitting the water hurt almost as much as hitting concrete. For a moment, the chain snagged painfully tight around her wrist and she managed to force the loose end around her wrist and free herself from the truck that was sinking almost lazily to the bottom.
It had all happened so fast that it took April a couple of seconds to realise two curious facts. Her eyes were open and she could see that she was underwater, probably quite deep judging by the height she had fallen from, but she could still breathe. The second was that she could feel water on her lips. And it seemed to be rising.
Crap, the helmet!
She thrashed in the water, trying to rise to the surface, at the same time clawing at the straps to release the heavy weight that was supposed to protect her. No good. She still wore the thick gloves on her hands, making her fingers unable to manipulate the strap. And the helmet was pulling her down, slowly filling up with water.
She made one last ditch attempt to get the helmet off, willing to dislocate her jaw, lose her teeth, anything…
No good. The water seeped into her helmet, covering her nose, stealing the last of the air within the confines of the helmet.
The last thing she saw was the water going dark.
&&&&&&&&&&&
The alarm went off at gone three in the morning.
Usually, at least one of them was still up. Much of their business led them to be out late and as a result, early morning for them meant nine or ten, Splinter as naturally nocturnal thinking this discipline perfectly adequate. But all of them had been quiet and contemplative after Angel's death and Mikey's insistence that they all remain in the lair. It had seemed like a good night to retire early.
Before going to bed, Don had set the alarms outside the lair, as he always did if none of his brothers were out without him. Just an added safety precaution. Usually they could come and go freely, knowing where in the sewers the alarms were and that they were never set during the day. But at night, when none of them should be roaming, the sound of the sirens was a bad thing.
Splinter was the first out of his room, Leonardo a split-second later, both on guard, ready for whoever entered. Mikey was next, unusually for the turtle, but his sleep had been thin and disturbed anyway. He was followed by Raph and finally Donnie himself. All five were prepared for an attack.
And then the door to the lair opened and Casey walked in.
Raph relaxed, giving out a snort. "Jeez Case, give us a freakin' heart attack why doncha? What the hell ya doin' here at this time anyway? In case ya missed it, it's kinda late."
Casey ignored him completely, stalking up to Michelangelo instead and staring at him. Mike's reflexive grin wilted in the face of that scrutiny. It was so – intense. Almost as if Casey was looking for a particular reaction. And something else. Fury, rage – hate?
"Case?"
He looks ready to hit me thought Mike nervously. But this is Casey. If something's happened, he'll take it out on the furniture. No matter what he looks like, he'd never try to hit me...
BAM!!
Mike had convinced himself so well that Casey wouldn't hit him that when the man swung his fist, he was taken totally unawares. The fist connected with his beak, knocking him backward. And Casey hadn't been holding back. Mike hit the floor on his shell and grabbed for his beak, wondering if Donnie knew how to set the damn thing, half-convinced it was broken.
Case took a step forward, fist still raised – and then Raph had one of his arms, Leo the other, while Donnie knelt next to Mike and checked out his injuries.
"Casey!" yelled Raph, struggling to hold Casey. "What the hell's got into you?"
"Knock it off Casey," warned Leo, trying to drag Casey back.
Still Casey didn't seem to register them, his eyes on Mikey. Mike met his eyes, nursing his injured face, his heart dropping. Something had gone wrong. Just as he had said to his brothers earlier. And Casey knew it was all Mike's fault.
"You didn't see that coming did ya?" Casey sounded like he might be trying to laugh, but was choking on the words. "Saw the balloon but ya never saw that!"
"Mister Jones!"
Splinter stepped forward between Mikey and Casey, glaring at the human. "I do not know what is happening, but you will not attack my son again! Is this clear?"
The words seemed to get through to Casey in a way that Leo and Raph had been unable to do. The man turned his gaze slowly on the old rat.
"He's the psychic!" snarled Casey in a low voice. "He knew all about the balloon – why didn't he know about this? Why?"
"Mister Jones…" Splinter stared at Casey, not letting his gaze drop. "Where is Miss O'Neil?"
At the mention of April's name, Casey seemed to sag, letting Leo and Raph finally pull him away. Neither of them let him go as they took him over to the couch, pushing him into a seated position before they let him go, still on their guards.
"You okay Mikey?" asked Raph, not taking his eyes off Casey.
"I'll be fine," said Mikey in a subdued tone, getting to his feet.
"How is he?" Leo directed the question at Donnie.
"I think he'll be alright. There's gonna be a bruise." Donnie stormed over to Casey and glared at their friend. "What the hell were you thinking Casey? What's going on?"
"April's dead."
The turtles blinked at the words, unable to process the words. Raph was the first to break the silence. "Say what?"
"April's dead!" Casey looked around wildly, his gaze settling on Mike, standing aside from the others. "And Mike should have known what would happen! He knew before! Why didn't he know about this?!"
There were five seconds of silence, during which Casey slumped back in the couch and covered his eyes. Then Donnie let out an anguished wail and fled.
"Donnie!" Leo took two steps after his brother, looked back at the seat where Casey still didn't move, to Raph who seemed frozen, to Mikey who hadn't moved at all – and he wondered what the hell was happening to them.
"Wait," said Splinter, the look of shock evident on his features although his voice seemed as steady as ever. "Leonardo, go after Donatello. Raphael, take Michelangelo to his room. Mr Jones, please calm yourself."
Stunned, Raph walked over to Mike, grabbed him by the upper arm and yanked him along in his wake, leading them not to Mike's room but to Raph's.
"Why we in here Raph?" asked Mike faintly.
"Because in here, I can break stuff without wrecking anything of yours." Raph closed his eyes and clenched his fists, raising his head a moment later and hitting out at the nearest thing – a mirror. It shattered into a thousand pieces.
"Raph!"
Raphael went ballistic, unaware that tears were leaking down his cheeks, sweeping things off shelves, throwing things against the walls, lashing out at anything that got in his path. He was in the red, the grip of total rage and pain and fury, and there was nothing he could do until all that destructive anger had taken its course save but to be somewhere he couldn't hurt anyone else.
"Raphael!"
Dimly, he was aware of someone grabbing his arm. He spun around, fist raised – and registered Mikey soon enough for the punch to be averted, instead bringing the fist down and hitting his own leg hard enough for it to go instantly numb.
"We don't know for sure that anything happened!" Mikey was rambling, perhaps afraid of being caught in the midst of Raph's anger – but even in his anger, Raph knew enough to believe differently. "We need to – well, we need to speak to Casey. He was acting pretty weird. Maybe…"
Raph took a deep breath, trying to regain his centre. He had worked long and hard to get his anger under control and for the most part, he had been successful – but right now, it was a fight.
And then he recalled his little brother's reaction to him going out on his bike earlier, the panic, the fear. He looked at Mikey through narrowed eyes. "Mike – what did you see before, when you asked me not to go out? What did you see?"
Mikey recoiled. "Nothing! I had a bad feeling, I didn't know anything – we still don't know anything! Casey might be…"
Mike trailed off and Raph sneered. "What, mistaken?"
"We should find out what happened." Mikey spoke as if he was hanging on to sanity by the merest thread and Raph, furious and angry and as in pain as he was, hated to see him like that. Mike was the one of his brothers he felt closest to, the kid he felt driven to protect. Something bad was going down, he was going to deal with it.
But if April really is dead...
One way or the other, they had to know what was happening.
"C'mon," he said gruffly to Mike, walking out of the room, dealing with his damp eyes with the tails of his bandana. Deep inside, he knew Casey had spoken the truth – but it seemed so unreal. April was one of them, the only one of them who lived a half-way normal life. She was supposed to outlive them all.
In the main area of the lair, Splinter seemed to have got Casey under some kind of control. The human glanced up as they arrived, but made no sign that he would attack again, merely rubbing at his already red-rimmed eyes. And now that Raph thought about it, Casey looked like hell.
A couple of moments later, a noise from Donnie's room drew their attention. Donnie emerged, Leo with him. Leo had his arm around his younger brother's shoulders and Donnie looked to be shell-shocked.
Bad pun Raph, he thought sourly.
Splinter regarded them all worriedly. "I believe Mr Jones is ready to tell us why he is here."
Casey glanced up at them, not seeming to care about the tears that spilled down his cheeks. "Guys, I'm sorry. Mikey – I didn't mean it. I shouldn't have – I'm sorry."
"April," said Donnie, before Mike could reply. "What did you say about April?"
Casey lowered his gaze. "There was a big accident on the bridge – we were coming home from Angel's. We thought we were out of it, but then April got dragged into the river by a truck…"
"Have they…" Leo swallowed, unable to believe he was about to say it. "Have they – recovered a body? Do they know for sure she's…dead?"
"Leo, I was there." Casey turned his view to Leo, anger in his eyes. "She went under. She never came up again. We were there for hours. They're trying again when it gets lighter…"
"But – there's still a chance?" Donnie's voice was filled with the hopefulness of self-delusion and Mike closed his eyes. He might be the most optimistic of all of them, but he had no illusions about the chances of April's survival.
He had known something bad would happen.
&&&&&&&
Raphael went back with Casey, taking him back to his own apartment instead of to the one above Second Time Around. Too full of memories of April.
Leo and Splinter both retired, although Mike doubted they were sleeping. Meditation seemed most likely. And Don had gone to his room too, although the lights in there still burned. Normally, Mike would have gone in, turned off the light, expecting his brother to have fallen asleep over a book or something. But tonight, he suspected Donnie wanted to be alone.
April.
Mike thought back to some of the times they had shared. His first crush, that emotion giving way to a love more suited to siblings. The way she had helped him find his Turtle Titan outfit. The times she had let them stay at her apartment. The way she had put her own life in danger to help them. The way she had always just – been there for him, for all of them, as a friend.
All that, gone.
And a part of Mikey hated himself. He had known that something bad was happening, but not the specifics. He should have guessed somehow that this would happen.
It's as if we're being punished for just surviving...
And then Mikey sat bolt upright, the remote control falling from his hand. He jumped up and snagged some paper from beside Donnie's work station, thinking back to his premonition. He had been trying to shove it out of his mind, but if what he suspected was correct…
His finished list read something like this:
Angel.
April.
Purple Dragon.
Foot Ninjas.
Hun and Casey.
Leo.
Karai.
Raph.
Don.
Me.
Mike leant back in his seat and tapped his teeth with the pen. Of course, he had seen other people in his vision, but those were the only ones that he knew – and there was no reason to believe that Hun, Karai, the Foot or the Dragons had escaped.
Except that no one had mentioned Karai's death on the news and the three other businessmen who had been sat near her and killed had been mentioned by name.
Chewing on the biro, trying hard to keep his thoughts away from April, a thought occurred to Mike. If someone had escaped the stadium disaster only to be killed soon after, it would be in the news. Angel had been unnamed simply because they had yet to locate her parents. There was something niggling the back of his mind, some instinct that told him he was thinking in the right way…
Going over to Donnie's computer, he fired it up and logged onto the internet, finding a news site that was local to New York and checking out some of the stories.
The balloon crash still dominated and for the first time, there was something else – a survivor telling the reporter about a 'short guy' freaking out just moments before and screaming about a crash. Mike felt a trickle of unease. If anyone suspected that the 'short guy' was in fact a mutant turtle, they could all be screwed.
Although not as screwed as if they'd been killed.
He saw a link right at the bottom of the page to a related story and clicked on it. The photograph that accompanied it was familiar, too familiar. The girl that Raph had been ogling in his vision, probably would have done in reality had he not pulled them out of the stadium before she was put on the big screen.
She was dead. And not in the crash either.
He read through the link, gaining little more than a basic outline. She was called Chardonnay Jameson and had died when her weight bench fell on her neck and suffocated her. The site opined that it happening so shortly after she had miraculously survived the stadium disaster was tragic.
Mike thought it was more.
He hadn't seen her die – but he knew where she was sitting, close to where the balloon had first hit. Entirely possible that the falling debris may have struck and killed her had she stayed.
He put her name on the list and glanced through the other stories. Nothing suspicious. But three deaths were enough to send his own instincts into overdrive. One, sure. But three?
Hard as it was to believe, those who had escaped the stadium were dying. One by one this time, in seemingly unavoidable accidents. And, if he were to believe what he had seen in his vision, in the order they would have died had they not left the stadium.
But – that was crazy. Death was a natural process, like – well, like farting or something. Death was not a skeleton with a scythe that got pissed when you cheated him.
And yet, they were dying.
"What are you doing?"
Mike turned as he heard the voice behind him. Donatello, out of his room, looking weepy.
"Just checking something on the net bro. Hope you don't mind."
"Why would I mind?"
"It's your computer."
"I don't mind Mikey. I told you before."
Don walked over to the computer and grabbed the spare chair nearby, pulling it closer and sitting down. Mike looked over at his brother and looked back at the computer quickly. Don still looked devastated.
Silence reigned for a few minutes and then Don sighed. "I just can't believe it."
"Me either." Mike stared at the screen, concentrating more on his reflection on the monitor than the words.
"I always thought…" Donnie stopped, cleared his throat. "I always thought – when I did think about it – that we'd be the ones to go first. That we'd go out on some attempt to save the world and April would keep going, she'd survive – she'd get over knowing us. She'd get older, get married, have some kids and we'd be the guys she knew when she was young, that we taught her something – but she could always go back to the human world. And now…"
"Donnie..." Mike gave in, turning to his brother and giving him a brief but fierce hug. "April did what she wanted. She loved us, we loved her. We still love her. I thought along those lines too, but – dying isn't something you control, unless it's suicide. There's no way we could have known…"
Mike trailed off and Donnie regarded him through red eyes. "Mike? What are you hiding?"
Mikey sighed, deciding that this might not be the best time to run his idea past one of his brothers. Not when it seemed crazy, even to himself.
"Nothing. I'm not hiding anything. I'm just – I'm not really up to dealing with this after everything."
"Who is?" Don leaned past Mikey and started clicking the mouse, taking no notice of the news story Mike had been looking at. "I was gonna work on some blueprints, try to take my mind off things. If you've finished with the computer…?"
"Sure." Mike stood and let Don take the computer seat. For a moment he hesitated. Donnie seemed so bleak and he wanted to say something. If he could tell him that there was a plan, that he had worked out some kind of pattern, then maybe – shit, who was he kidding? Even he had suspected he had gone nuts.
Saddened, Mike headed to his room. There had to be something else he could do. There had to be.
When he got into his room, he inadvertently bumped into his table, only one thing falling from it - his badge, which he had found one night in the junkyard purely by chance and kept ever since. It looked like a bottle cap, but had flashing lights in it. Shaped just like a Budweiser cap.
"Bud –why – ser," he said in a croak, imitating an old advert, before throwing the badge onto a nearby shelf and crawling into bed.
&&&&&&&&&&
"What kinda beer would ya like?" asked the barmaid with a big smile. She'd been working bar long enough to spot the happy drunks, the ones out to have fun and spend their money – hopefully by leaving the woman a large tip with every round, instead of lewd suggestion. "We got Coors, Carling, Bud…"
"Uck, not Bud," replied one of the men with a grimace. "Two Carling, darling!"
The barmaid managed to avoid rolling her eyes at the joke she heard at least five times every shift and grabbed the pair their beers, quoting the price and managing a genuine smile as she was urged to keep the change from the note she was handed.
Tim leaned against the bar and tilted his drink, clinking it off his brother's bottle and drinking deep. As a rule, they didn't drink – Foot Ninja, particularly those in Karai's personal employ, didn't want anything dulling their senses. But she had given them some time to unwind after the scene at the Stadium and after the carnage they had almost been a part of, it seemed appropriate to celebrate.
"Hell of a thing, huh?" Bob indicated to a discarded newspaper at the end of the bar, the Stadium disaster the main story. "If that little green freak hadn't flipped out, we might have been underneath all that."
"Don't remind me," said Tim. "Fights, training, all the stuff we usually do, I can imagine going out that way. But with a bunch of citizens in some accident? And Mistress Karai was there too. If she hadn't decided to follow the turtle out of the Stadium…"
Bob nodded solemnly. "Another thing to owe the Foot for."
They were quiet for a moment, contemplating their beers, then Bob glanced at his near-empty bottle. "Another?"
"Sure," replied Tim amicably. "Better make this the last one though. Mistress Karai gave us some time off, but I don't think she'd be pleased it we went back to Foot HQ wasted."
"True." Bob caught the barmaid's eye and gave her a big grin, indicating for two more drinks. "Hey, she's really into me."
Tim rolled his eyes. "Right, and what are you gonna tell her when she asks what your job is? Jeez, I can't take you anywhere!"
"So what would you suggest?" Bob smirked as he handed the barmaid some cash and winked at her. "Stay at the tower all day and spend our spare time…"
"Don't say it Bob."
"…Knitting?"
Tim gave a rueful smile, used to the teasing by now. "Hey, it's a useful ability. And do you know how many ways I can kill a man with a knitting needle?" He looked up at the ceiling, doing some calculations. "Twenty-three. Without resorting to the old stabbing them through the eyes trick."
Bob waved away the barmaid who had brought him his change, indicating at her to keep it. He was about to answer, when a new voice intruded.
"Knittin'?"
The pair turned and looked at the guy in front of them. Holding a bottle of Budweiser that obviously wasn't his first, he squinted at them through a haze of beer. A big-built man, obviously thought of himself as a tough guy.
"That's cute son," he said, breathing stale beer into Tim's face. "That's real cute."
"I know," replied Tim pleasantly, totally unfazed. He was a Foot ninja and he had fought turtles, ninjas, men armed with guns, aliens and monsters without blinking. One drunk didn't give him much cause for concern.
The drunk smirked and for a moment, it looked like he might start something – then he backed off, something in the way the smaller man looked at him cutting through the alcohol-induced machismo and telling him it might not be the wisest move to pick a fight right then.
"Shame," said Tim, looking after him. "I wouldn't have minded a little light exercise."
"We're supposed to be keeping a low profile," replied Bob, finishing his bottle.
"Yeah, Mistress Karai wouldn't like us attracting attention for something so dumb." Tim finished his own beer and stifled a belch. "I gotta piss like a racehorse."
"Me too," said Bob, spying the sign for the bathroom. "It's true what they say; you don't buy beer, you just borrow it."
"I'm so glad I didn't have a draught now." Tim headed for the bathroom, Bob right behind him. "Y'know, it looks pretty weird us going to the bathroom together."
"I gotta piss," grumbled Bob, waiting for Tim to push open the door and then wrinkling his nose. "Although I'm not sure I need to go this badly."
"I damn well do." Tim wandered in, somewhat reluctantly. The bar outside was never going to be called sophisticated, but was at least clean. The bathroom looked like it hadn't been renovated in twenty years, or cleaned in twenty days. The fluorescent light flickered and hummed, the door to the one cubicle that could still boast that much privacy was covered in badly spelled and anatomically incorrect graffiti and the floor had maybe an inch of water that had spilled from a broken pipe. Not exactly a pleasant room, but it contained what they need and wasn't filthy, just uncared for.
They assumed the positions – a urinal separating the ones they used, legs slightly akimbo, eyes on the ceiling throughout. The little talk was light and inconsequential. It took all of about one minute.
And then the door slammed open and the drunk from earlier entered.
Both men had been wondering if they should expect something like this – once the threat in front of them was removed and they'd taken some teasing about the confrontation by some equally drunk buddies, the urge to act could return stronger than ever. Tim and Bob weren't bar hoppers by nature, but they knew a few things about human nature. It wasn't a problem. The Foot were never caught with their pants down.
Well, at least metaphorically, thought Tim as the two zipped up.
The drunk grinned at them, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Whazzup?"
Tim sighed and Bob just shook his head. The guy was faking friendliness, but was tensed to do something stupid. It was written in every muscle in his body. The ninja on the other hand were casual, almost disinterested. Nor did they make any move toward the man blocking the door.
The group remained that way for almost fifteen seconds before the drunk got bored and made his move, raising his now-empty bottle and heading at Bob with a yell.
Seemingly without any effort at all, Bob casually twisted aside and let the drunks own momentum carry him forward. Almost as an afterthought, he raised his leg and used a graceful kick to propel the man even further forward. Maybe landing in the puddle of pissy water would teach him a lesson.
The drunk fought to keep his feet on the slippery floor, succeeding against all odds and crashing into the wall, keeping his balance by catching the hand dryer and leaning on it heavily. Bob and Tim regarded him for a moment and then headed toward the door, maybe only twenty steps away.
"…get you for that…"
Tim rolled his eyes. "He doesn't give up, does he?"
"Tenacious," agreed Bob, looking over his shoulder as the man tried to push himself away from the wall again. This time, his feet really did give out from under him and again he grabbed at the hand dryer to keep him from falling in the puddle.
Without warning, the hand dryer came away from the wall.
Stringent health and safety warnings surround these devices, meaning that there's no way they should be moveable, no matter how hard the Saturday night binge drinking crew try. And should the unthinkable happen, the electronics that powered the air and monitored the motion to set them off are not supposed to be exposed by this act. In any case, a failsafe device cuts all power to the unit the moment it maintains any damage.
A shame then that the cowboy the landlord hired to save money on the job hadn't realised the consequences of cutting these corners to make the work cheaper.
Drunk and dryer fell to the floor, the dangling wires catching the drunk's fallen form, electricity travelling through his body and from there, to the water on the bathroom floor. Within a second, the entire floor was electrified – faster than even a ninja could move.
Within the bar, the barmaid stared fearfully at the door to the men's room, the one she had been about to go through hoping to avert a fight, as the lights went out, electrical fittings blew and customers leapt to their feet, exclaiming and shouting their panic and confusion. All she could hear was the buzzing of electricity around her – and within, two soft thuds, accompanied by a scent of burning meat.