Before the sun had risen, five people set out from the laundromat. Casey led the way, teeth clenched. Leading Purple Dragons of any kind to the Lair felt like a betrayal. He knew that the Turtles were out of the city, knew that Splinter was safe in another neighborhood, knew that this was why he had been sent to the Dragons in the first place. That didn't stop it from feeling wrong.
They kept their lights off at Casey's insistence. He had been to the Lair often enough that navigating his path in the dark was easy. His companions had not. Unlike him, they weren't used to the cold of the sewers, to the chilly water seeping into their shoes, and not to walking in the dark. A few of them may have switched their lights on anyway, were it not for his father's insistence that they needed to keep a low profile. All complaints vanished when they heard the distant tramp of Kraang footsoldiers and the whine of the drones.
When they reached the steps leading to the turnstiles, Casey stopped and listened in the dark. Nothing but faint echoes and the incessant dripping from the ceiling. "I think we're clear," he said, switching on his flashlight.
While the others spread out behind him, he swept his flashlight around the room. Dented Kraang husks lay scattered around the lair. Dust cloaked every object in sight, and the smell of mildew swirled in the air.
"Someone's already been here," Joshua said, kneeling by one of the Kraang husks. "Doesn't look like they made it out though."
"They might have hauled it," Casey said, "Just cause they fought here doesn't mean they stayed here."
"Maybe." Something glinted in the dust. Casey knelt and picked it up, struggling to catch the small metal disc with his gloved hand. It was a shuriken. His throat tightened. Karai had said they made it out of the city. That didn't mean they were fine.
If anything had happened to them, it would devastate the old man. Splinter loved his sons with a fierce tenderness he was unused to seeing in parental units. He got back to his feet, still turning over the five-pointed shuriken. They were strong, stronger than anyone he'd ever met. They had to be ok, and they'd be back soon- the sooner the better, for Splinter's sake. He'd already failed Karai. He wouldn't fail Splinter. The old man sure as hell didn't need him around for protection, but for some reason he seemed to take comfort in Casey's presence. He must really miss his sons, Casey thought as he let the shuriken fall.
He moved toward the dojo, pretending to take an interest in the cabinets on the wall as he waited for the last of the Dragons to trickle to the back of the cavern. When it was clear, he slipped inside the dojo. Fighting the urge to kick off his shoes, he moved around the edge of the room to the small door on the other side. He placed a hand on the knob, and steeled himself before easing the door open. Reminding himself again that Splinter had sent him to the Lair for this reason, he stepped inside.
A small cot lay against the far wall with a large iron-bound chest at its foot. At the other corner, a table with what looked like a giant wheel of cheese under a glass dome on it. Two bookshelves groaned under the weight of the books stuffing their shelves. Potted brown plants under dead growth lights took up the rest of the room
Moving to the chest, Casey unslung his pack. The unused lock wasn't surprising once he thought about it. The only ones likely to see the contents were his sons, and Splinter trusted them. Not for the first time, Casey wondered how much he knew of his criminal past before shaking the thought away.
On the top of the chest lay a maroon robe identical to the one Splinter was wearing now, except it was clean. He put that in his pack, and didn't have to dig much deeper to locate the tin of incense and the other things Splinter had asked him to fetch. Wrapping everything in the robe to cushion it, he shoved it deep into his pack. Closing the chest, he clicked the lock in place before getting to his feet. Entering the dojo, he looked at the weapons hanging on the far wall.
Those were some of the few things Splinter had brought home with him from Japan. He couldn't let the Dragons have them.
But what to do about it?
Laughter leaked into the dojo from the outside. He had to act now. Casey moved the larger pole weapons first, laying them under the bed and pushing them as far back as he could. Then the smaller ones, bit by bit, stacking them on top of the polearms.
When he emerged back into the dojo, his father was there. He was holding the wooden painting of Yoshi, Tang Shen and a baby Karai. "Anything good in there?" Arnie asked, setting the wooden frame back on the shrine.
"An empty chest and a buncha books," Casey said, stepping away from the frame with what he hoped was a nonchalant stretch, "rotten plants, too."
"So that's what that smell is," Arnie mused. His eyes raked over the empty weapon racks before crossing over to Casey. "We found a buncha tools and stuff in one room. Don't you-"
As he moved, something clattered against his father's foot. Casey swung his light towards it, reaching for his bat. "It's fine, Junior," his father said, leaning over to pick something up. "I must have kicked it."
A slim dagger rested in his father's meaty hands. The hilt and scabbard were coated in pure black lacquer, with the one decoration being the white Hamato symbol etched into the pommel. He must have dropped it when he was moving the weapons.
Drawing the knife, Arnie tested the edge. "This is a good blade," he said, giving it a swing. "Solid construction. You want it, Junior?"
"Yes," Casey said, reaching forward. But his father pulled it back from Casey's grasping hand with a chuckle.
"Too bad. It's mine now." Tying it to his belt, Arnie clapped Casey on the shoulder. "Lighten up, Junior. I'm just teasing."
"Yeah, sure, Dad," he muttered.
"Hey, Arnie!" one of the Dragons called "We hit the jackpot!"
Arnie strode across the dojo. Casey turned to follow, but turned back and collected the photo of Splinter from the shrine. Out of everything, the old man had to be missing that the most. He stashed it in the folds of the maroon robe, then left the dojo.
The Dragons had congregated in the kitchen. Mikey kept a comprehensive stock in the pantry- everything from dry goods to spices.n How the turtles managed to get everything down here in the first place, he didn't know. On the other wall, the door to Donnie's lab hung open. Casey walked toward it. Donnie kept extensive notes on mutagen and its effect on people. He had to have at least some of it in a notebook or something.
The lab had been ransacked of its electronics by the time Casey got there, but the filing cabinet in the corner was untouched. Opening the drawers, Casey chose two folders- 'Retro-mutagen' and 'Karai'. Now, where did Donnie keep his tools? He needed something to explain what he was having trouble finding on the surface.
Casey found them in the drawer of Donnie's workbench. A few of them had been taken, but most of them lay untouched. Casey scooped them into his bag, along with a pair of half-dismantled two-way radios Donnie had been tinkering with. Once he repaired them, they could use them to keep contact with Karai. Some other spare parts lay around, and Casey grabbed those too. With one last look around for anything useful, Casey stepped out of the lab. Uneasiness curled up his spine when he stopped in the center of the room. Something was different.
The sound of Kraang soldiers marching in step had grown louder, grew louder by the second.
"Time to go," Casey said, slipping toward the exit. "Keep your lights down. We might be able to slip past them."
Staying low, Casey peered out into the tunnels. Any hope he had of sneaking past the Kraang died when he saw eerie purple light shining off metallic Kraang bodies. It was a small patrol, but they had to act now to keep them from reporting back. "There," Casey said, pulling his cricket bat free, "if we move now-"
The whine of laser guns powering up cut him off. Kraang spilled into the Lair, crowding in from the entrance by Donnie's room. The patrol ahead of them formed a line and advanced. "This way!" Casey said, charging ahead. He took out two Kraang in a single vicious swing, dodged to avoid the pink laser bolts. With a shout, Arnie punched one of them over. A cry sounded from behind them and Casey went low, shattering the fragile knee joints.
"Go!" he shouted, "I'll hold the rear!" Joshua stumbled forward, cradling his arm close to his chest. Casey caught a glimpse of red, blistering flesh before turning back to the approaching Kraang from the lair. He didn't need to fight them all. He was outnumbered and outgunned. He just needed to buy the others time.
"Junior, go with them," Arnie said, drawing the dagger he had stolen from the dojo.
"No way!" Casey said as he switched out his bat for a hockey stick. He would need the longer reach.
They had no more time to argue. The pair of Kraang in the front opened fire. Casey split off from his dad with a shout, drawing the majority of their fire. He sent an explosive puck to the middle of the pack, the detonation punching a large hole in the first wave. They wouldn't crowd so close together next time, Casey thought, backing up. "Come on, Dad, let's go!"
"Which way?" someone shouted from the front.
"Three more passages, then turn to the right!" Casey shouted. More shots filled the air. Weaving across the tunnel, Casey sent another puck flying back.
"There's more," his father said, his voice tense. The bright pink glow of Kraang eyes shone down every corridor they passed.
"Right! Turn to the right!" Casey shouted to the Dragons at the front of the passage. A laser bolt struck the floor next to his foot, the flash of heat radiating through his shoes.
A loud curse sounded behind Casey as a splash echoed around him. Casey skidded to a stop. "Dad!" Arnie pulled his head out of the water, gasping for breath. The Kraang leveled their weapons at him.
Unable to risk an explosive puck with the Kraang so close to him, he had no choice but to melee them. Flicking out his skates, Casey flew past his father, slashing his hockey stick. He dispatched one just as the other fired his weapon. Pain blazed up Casey's side. He spasmed, his weapon falling to the ground. A faint, faint memory played- chubby hands holding a butterknife, enthralled by the outlet behind the television-
"Get up, Junior."
A strong arm curled around Casey's torso and hauled him to his feet. Casey ducked out of his father's grasp, shoving the pain away. "Keep moving," he said, allowing himself to fall behind his father.
More bolts ricocheted around him. He tossed back one explosive puck, two- then clambered up the ladder after his father, as fast as he could move despite the burning numbness of his right side. He rolled onto the asphalt, panting, feeling the pain intensify when it hit the ground.
"Keep moving," he said, climbing to his feet. Casey stayed in the rear with Joshua, hockey stick at the ready to serve as the rear guard as Arnie led the way back to the laundromat.
He could slip away now while everyone was distracted. They wouldn't miss him until he was well out of sight.
But he'd made a deal with Hun. He'd promised to treat the wounded after the excursion and Joshua needed his hand looked at. Breaking the deal, no matter how tempting it was, would do nothing but make things harder for everyone further down the line.
The trek home took twice as long. More Kraang patrols were exploring the area, and he'd bet twenty bucks they were the same ones from the sewers. This time, they took great care not to be noticed. Once or twice, Casey aimed an explosive puck down a side street or inside a building to draw their attention so they could proceed on their route, but only in the beginning. The longer they travelled, the more his side burned and the harder he found it to breathe. He couldn't do anything about it now. This was the worst place to show any weakness.
By the time they reached the laundromat, it was all he could do to watch their six and keep to his feet. Casey managed to hold it together until he limped through the front door of the laundromat, feeling the hitches and irregularities in his breathing. Leaning against the wall, he lifted his mask, trying to control the spreading numbness in his right side. Far away voices wormed into his head. Casey struggled to understand them, struggled to push past the miasma shrouding his mind.
Something slammed into his left cheek. The blow snapped his head to the side and jarred enough to regain moderate awareness. "What?" he asked.
"You square, Junior?" his father asked.
"Yeah. Think so," Casey said.
"Congratulations on making it back in one piece," Hun said. "Now it's time for you to keep your part of the bargain."
"-Right. Joshua," Casey said.
"Hang on," Arnie said, "Can't you see he's messed up? He's in no way to do anything right now."
"I'll be ok," Joshua said, "It's just a burn-"
"No, it's ok," Casey said, "I can take a look."
"If the boy says he is fine, then he is fine," Hun said with a look at Arnie. Casey winced a bit as his father sent Casey a glare. He was gonna pay for that later, but he was too tired to care.
He just wanted to be back at the pad with Splinter.
Joshua's hand was a mottled pale brown with patches of black- in stark contrast to his usual rich brown. The ridges and bumps on his skin were most severe on the palm of his hand, with a beautiful feathering effect spreading out from the origin of the burn, curling and twining around his wrist like an infection.
"I think it's spreading," Joshua said, "It- I think it was only on my palm when we left the sewers." Casey checked the circulation in his fingers, then the motion. There was a connection between- the shape of the burn and the lack of motion, and he knew it- but he couldn't dig it out of the fog in his head.
"There's not much I can do now," Casey said, "I'll bind it up and look tomorrow. Make sure you drink a lot of water." Why? He strained to remember. There was another connection there, one eluding him.
"Where did you say you learned all this?" Hun asked from the doorway, watching Casey work.
"Found in a thrift store and did a bit of googling," Casey said as he smeared burn cream on Joshua's hand. He looked back at the door, looking for his father. He had to be careful what he said. "Thought it might come in handy someday."
Not that it hadn't already. Unpredictable even when he wasn't drunk, his father got upset sometimes. They couldn't afford the hospital bills that a dislocated shoulder or burns would rack up- and that wasn't even counting the injuries he got patrolling the streets at night, such as the bruised lung he'd gotten from Slash. If some snooty doctor called Child Protection Services out of some misguided attempt to help, then he and Robyn would have been taken away and seperated. It was far better to treat the injuries himself and stay under the radar. Besides, it was coming in handy now, wasn't it?
As soon as he'd finished binding Joshua's hand, his father stepped into the room. Casey rubbed his temple as Arnie sat across from him. "Are you ok, Dad?" Casey asked, "You went down pretty hard there-"
"I'm doing just fine, Junior," Arnie assured him, "But you got hit, didn't you?"
Did he? The memory was hazy. "...yeah, I think so," he said, his gaze wandering around the room. That was the ugliest wallpaper he'd ever seen. Why did people even use wallpaper?
"Junior," his father said again, and his tone of voice jerked Casey out of the fog. His father hated repeating himself.
"What?"
"We should look at that," Arnie said. "Come on back to the room."
"Yeah. OK," he said, standing.
He followed his father back to their room, the static in his head buzzing like a bee trapped between a screen and a door. Standing in front of the mirror, Casey peeled off his shirt and examined the wound, straining his eyes in the dim sunlight.
The same branching lightning pattern blazed on the curve of his ribcage, spreading out about half an inch like a sunburst from the center of the strike. Pain streaked up his side at every breath, although by now it was just a dull background pain he had grown used to. He touched it, searching for any sign of broken ribs. None. Good.
God, he wanted to fall in bed and sleep for a week. But he had to get back to Splinter. Right, Splinter was waiting for him. He'd promised the old man he'd be back tonight.
How late was it?
Casey picked up his shirt, pulling it over his head.
"You're not planning on leaving, are you?" Arnie asked, "you just got here."
"I gotta go," Casey said, "I did what I came to do."
Arnie stepped in front of the door. "You are not leaving when you're like this," he said, "I won't allow it."
"Dad-"
"You'd only get yourself killed, Casey." Arnie stepped forward and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Besides. You promised you'd look at Joshua's hand again tomorrow."
"Damn, I did, didn't I?" Casey said.
Splinter could wait another night. He would understand, right? He hoped so. He had never faced Splinter's wrath before. Splinter didn't seem like the kind of person to get upset over coming home later than expected- but it was so, so hard to tell.
"Yeah. OK," Casey said, sitting on the side of his bed. "I'm just gonna lie down."
"This early?" Arnie asked.
"Feel like shit. Just wanna sleep."
"God, you're so lazy, Casey," Arnie muttered. "If you really wanted to feel better, you'd run up and down the stairs a few times."
Casey wanted to remind his father that every breath hurt, that he couldn't walk a straight line much less stairs without wobbling. But he had no energy, and he let the fog close over him.
The sound of thumping brought him out of the fog. Moonlight colored the room a pale, pale black. A hulking shadow stood by the window. A bottle of ointment rested on the sill next to his father. A hesitant touch confirmed the presence of aloe on his wound. "Dad?" Casey asked, his voice slurred even to his own ears.
Arnie turned away from the window, sticking something in his pocket. "It's me, Junior." His father's hand stroked his brow. "Sorry to wake you. Get some rest."
Funny, Casey thought, that's not what you said earlier. But however long he'd been asleep hadn't been enough to energize him, and he let his eyes drift closed again.
A few times, the fog in his head parted- at the creak of a door hinge, at the sound of shouting and breaking glass, at the soft, safe voice calling his name. But the pieces fell through, and Casey sank back into oblivion.
Worthless. Wretch.
Her memory of the last day or so was a blur. The last thing she remembered with any clarity was the building, burning anger in her chest. Angry at Jones, at his deception, at his flippant attitude toward their situation, at her naivete at believing him anything more than a thrill seeker. Then she recalled nothing clearly until she had come back to herself on a rooftop with Foot upon her still in her snake form.
Transforming back had never been easy for her, even in low-stress conditions. It required concentration, willpower and a clear picture of herself with a sense of belonging. But now, that connection was gone, swallowed up by the beast she was now.
Without that connection to her past self, without a clear goal to force herself into, she could not box away the tangled mass of feelings and emotions that kept her in this form. She could still see her past self, see who she had been. But now it was looking at a stranger, at someone she may have passed on the street or killed under contract. She couldn't look at her old self, uncomplicated by mutation and the weight of Shredder's lies, and believe this is me.
She could say it, scream it, cry it out as often as she wanted, but that did not make it so. All it did was leave her writhing on the rooftop, hating her form, hating her past self for her ignorance, hating Shredder for everything he had stolen from her, hating herself for letting Jones get to her and ruin everything.
Exhaustion shadowed her muscles as she fought to break free of the small army crowding her in, fought through the haze still weighing on her brain. Only her inhuman strength gave her an edge in this fight.
Human voices sounded on the edge of her awareness and she turned, trying to assess the new threat. As she did, a soft bang split the air behind her as something slammed into her.
She went down, entangled in a heavy steel net, its weights crashing into her like the wreckage of a spinning car. She struggled, but the net only restricted her movements even more.
I am not going back, she thought, baring her teeth as the Foot advanced on her, I am never going back to hi-
A ki-ai sounded somewhere to her left. Three footbots flew overhead. She turned on her side, biting the net as she went. Leonardo swung his mace, taking out another group of the bots.
Wait. Leonardo didn't use a mace.
"Hold up there, Sister!" Slash called, "you're just tangling it more!"
"Sister?" she managed to hiss out, but he had leapt out of her sight.
Bereft of movement, of anything, she tested her strength against the scales. Perhaps she could break the limit? It was worth a try, she thought as she flexed and strained against the metal.
With a screech of distress, the metal broke, lashing out everywhere like a dying spider. Hm. Built for a normal human, she guessed, or perhaps Splinter. A properly forged ninja sword would slice right through it.
Her head clearer now, she joined Slash in the mop up, but only because she couldn't allow any of the Foot to escape and disclose her last known location. When the last bot sparked its last, she turned to the black-banded turtle. "What do you want?" she managed to grunt out around the feeling of sandpaper in her throat.
"Why do you think I want something?" he asked. "I have no quarrel with you. You're outcast from the family. Like me."
"Family?" she asked, forcing the word out her jaws. The other turtles had mentioned him. Jones had not spoken well of him. Beyond that, she could recall nothing of him.
"I was just as good," Slash said. "But they were jealous. They were weak and when I tried to fix it- tried to make the family stronger- they threw me away. They turned Raphael against me, they stole him from me."
"Reinforcements," Karai said, slithering a foot back from Slash. Something about Slash- maybe his face, so like Leonardo's and yet so different, maybe it was the look in his eyes when he spoke of the Hamato brothers, maybe it was the way he hefted his mace but she did not want to spend another second around him.
"I'll draw them away," he said, "I'll be in touch, sis."
She didn't bother correcting him. She was already sixty feet in the other direction. She had seen enough crazy in the bowels of Stockman's lab. She didn't need to consort with something that thought of them as siblings over a connection that didn't exist. They had never even mentioned Slash to her.
He didn't matter now. What mattered was finding a place to meditate and forcing herself back into her body. She needed a quiet place to reclaim her body so she could go back to her father. She had just begun to know him, had just been meeting the true man behind the name 'Hamato Yoshi'. And the thought of losing him again- even to her own weakness…
She had to find herself again. Even if it meant clawing it out of the depths of her mind piece by piece.