Blood Red Moon – Part 10
Haruka's eyes roved over the strings of numerical code scrolling across the vast computer screens dominating her secret lab. She analysed the data from her latest experiment, seeing if any of the anomalies had cleared up since the last run of cells. The quality of the alien tissue Chett required for its ship was affected by so many different variables it seemed impossible to grow healthy, viable cells. If she compensated for one problem, yet another genetic deformity would arise. Haruka closed her eyes as her vision blurred and the figures on-screen swirled into a mess of backlit numbers. Without learning how to successfully replicate cells, she wouldn't be able to grow the components required to fix Chett's bioship. And if she wasn't able to fix the ship, she would never be rid of the vile creature.
"Now, now," the voice in her head rang out. "Play nice, Haruka-dear."
The too-familiar jolt of pain thrust itself through Haruka's abdomen like a jagged, rusted spike; she dragged her nails along the computer controls.
"Leave me alone!" she said, trying to shake off the pain, "I can't work like this!"
The little creature writhed inside her, feeling like it was performing figure-of-eights inside her stomach.
"I can't leave you to your own devices. If I do, your mind wanders and you start plotting against that freakish half-sister you hate so much."
An image of the turtle that had once been her father's pet, but was now a freakish offshoot of Haruka's own mutated DNA flashed through her mind. She shuddered.
"If you just gave me the technology you say you have that will let me find her I could be done with it once and for all!"
Haruka slammed her fists on the keyboard. The screens flickered; one died.
"And if I did that, I'm sure your 'hospitality' towards me would soon run out. No, no, dear Haruka. I need you just where I need you: at my mercy!"
This time Haruka toppled from the chair as she doubled up, shrieking in pain. The pulsing, tooth-wrenching pain in her side seemed to travel out on all of her verves, tingling to her fingers and toes. When the pain subsided she caught her reflection on the surface of one shimmering wall surface. Her once beautiful face was sunken, her eyes mere black smudges in a moon pale face. She looked every one of her forty-five years, even more. She reached up with a trembling hand to grab at her pendant, but then remembered – it was gone. She dug her nails into her palms so hard she was sure they would break her skin.
"I will kill those abominations – all of them! Only then will my sin be forgiven. Father –"
Her breath caught in her throat as another spasm of pain wracked her skinny frame. It was only relieved when the cool hand of unconsciousness passed over her eyes, and all was dark.
Dressed in matching sunglasses and black gloves, with walkie-talkies slung on their belts, Leonardo and Raphael surveyed the gathering crowd with identical expressions of curiosity and contempt. They stood on either side of the front entrance to UgBugs, illuminated by the bright neon sign shining from above in the evening gloom. A tacky velvet chain rope was strung across the door and was attempting to keep the queuing punters in check.
"This place is really popular," Leonardo said.
"Pfft," Raphael said, looking over the rims of his glasses. "Yeah, popular with a bunch of druggies, boozers, thugs – the very cream of society."
"I get the feeling that most of these mutants don't have much choice," Leo said.
He squeezed his eyes shut and coloured as yet another pair of breasts was flashed at them from the waiting crowd. It had been happening all evening.
"I think it's either stay here in this…" Leo continued as the mutant blew him a kiss, "…interesting place, or leave MuTo for the human world to be imprisoned, or even killed."
"Yeah, that might be," Raph said, rolling his eyes, "but I don't see why they have ta be so outta control." He carefully avoided the incredulous look on his brother's face – Raphael, criticising others for being out of control? "An' anyway, I don't see why we have ta do this job. Why should we work for Madame Bondage? Shouldn't we be out lookin' for a way to get home to Mona? To Mei?"
Leo folded his arms a little tighter and glanced past his brother's sunglasses.
"We have no idea how to survive in this world, Raph. We know our New York and the people in it. But here… It looks the same in some ways, but it isn't our home. Much as it pains me, I think we need to sit on our hands for the moment and wait for Desdemona to get us some information – and you know how much I want to get home."
"I hate this waiting," Raph growled, leaning heavily against the door behind him.
The crowd winding through the rope barriers was growing thicker and a heavy smell of perfume and marijuana filled the air. The sky was clear and the many voices were coming together in an anticipatory cacophony.
"I still don't like having to work for that broad," Raph said at length, straightening up again. "We ain't doormen, we're trained ninjas!"
"Would you rather have Don's job being Desdemona's new 'bodyguard' or Mikey's working as Cassio's 'assistant'?"
Raphael's silence spoke volumes. Leo shook his head and checked the time on his walkie-talkie.
"Okay, it's show time," he said.
Raphael reached forward to unclip the chain barring entry, and slowly the crowd began to pile into the darkened club.
Donatello leaned against the doorframe with a smirk twisting his face.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Michelangelo's head snapped to the left. The look of sheer horror and embarrassment on the turtle's face was priceless. Mike was kneeling on the floor, his face and shoulders covered in glitter, a long, blond 'up-do' wig adorning his bald head.
"Uhh –"
"Don't move!" Cassio snapped.
The small turtle was busy applying hair spray and glitter to the wig and used his free hand to jerk Mike's head back to its original position – which was right in front of Cassio's crotch.
"Do you need something, dude?" Mike asked through gritted teeth.
"No, no, I was just passing by. I thought I'd say good luck to Cassio before he goes on."
Cassio threw Don a charming smile, blinking eyes now adorned with makeup and fake eyelashes.
"Thanks, doll," he said. "Mike is just helping me with my final preparations. It's nice to be able to see the back of my wig for once! I still haven't managed to track down a dummy head.
Too many comments formed in Donatello's mind about Mike and a 'dummy head', but he managed to keep his tongue in check. His brother seemed to be genuinely terrified.
"Well, good luck!" Don sad, waving farewell to the unusual pair.
He wasn't quite sure who would need it more.
Don headed back towards the kitchen area where he had left his 'charge'. He had been surprised that of the four of them, Desdemona had picked him as her 'bodyguard' – surely Raph's overtly muscular build or Leo's intimidating weaponry would have been better for show? Desdemona had flatly said no. Raph and Leo – and Mike, though he was never an option as he had been pinched by Cassio (Don chuckled at the images that brought up) – were both shorter than Desdemona, and that wouldn't make a good impression. So Donatello's extra few inches were what Des wanted – Don paused in his tracks momentarily to wince at the avenues his own thoughts brought him down.
He walked into the kitchen behind the main bar. It was nothing more than a glorified dishwasher, with crates of glasses being carted in an out by surly mutant employees. Des had fixed herself a drink and nodded at him when he entered, dodging a new load of clean pint glasses.
"Find your brother?" she asked.
"Yes. I think he's feeling a little…intimidated."
Des necked her drink and set down the glass; immediately it was picked up by someone and added to a large industrial dishwasher. The smell of the machines processing loads was stagnant; Don tried not to scrunch up his beak. Des lit another cigarette in the moist air.
"Yeah," she said around it, "Cass'll do that. He's a good kid, but he doesn't know what's too much or how to stop. He'll calm down. At the moment he's like a puppy humping a slipper: eager at first, but soon he'll realise it's going nowhere."
Don tried to keep his face straight, but Des grinned at him – it was a strange expression, so much softer from her normal scowl, but it was soon gone. She crossed her arms and stared at him. Smoke rose in tendrils around her black lace-gloved fingers. For the evening performance she had donned some kind of long, ruffle-skirted lingerie – the name totally escaped Don, for his knowledge of such things was less than limited – with attached garters, black lace stockings and a pair of red stilettos. Her long nails were painted a shimmering, matching shade and a black hat complete with a short veil and feather embellishment finished off the outfit. She was wearing her usual red makeup, but had added a beauty mark on her left cheek. Her hair seemed longer and was swept up under the hat. She was a lush oasis in the swirling, steamy air.
"So, you know the plan?"
Don was shaken from his inventory of her appearance and nodded.
"Yes," he said. He could have sworn she smiled again and shifted her hips a little closer to him. "Once the crowd's under control we walk out. I stand close to you and look as intimidating as possible."
Des nodded and blew a ring of smoke; her lips came together in a delicious pout. Don coughed and glanced around the room; none of the workers seemed to be paying them any attention.
"With those muscles it won't be hard," she said, looking him up and down.
Don ignored the heat of his blush.
"Once you're done with your introductions I help you down from the stage and to our seats in the front row."
"Try and look as protective of me as possible," Des said, then took another drag of her cigarette. "I want to cut down my 'butch' image, and being on the arm of a handsome young fellow turtle will help that along." When Don's eyes boggled, she laughed sharply. "What? Did you think all I wanted you for was to be a 'bodyguard' when I don't really need one? No, not only are you the tallest but you're also the most attractive one of the bunch, just the right combination of brawn, sensitivity and boy-next-door innocence. Frankly I'm surprised Cassio didn't set his sights on iyou/i."
Don tried to speak but his throat was suddenly dry and his voice cracked. He coughed and tried again.
"I'm not sure I'm okay with all this," he said. "It was one thing being a body guard, but…"
Desdemona stared blankly at him for several moments.
"I'm a prostitute, not a rapist," she said. "It's only for show. Behind closed doors you can do whatever you want."
She looked away abruptly, her expression strange – hurt? Don tried to speak again but this time he had no words to say, just like with Leo earlier. Where were his words going?
"Come on," Des said, extinguishing her butt in a nearby sink. "It's show time."