Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.
Trigger Warning: This chapter contains references to rape, forced sex and human trafficking.
Author's Note: THIS CHAPTER IS DONE I AM SO HAPPY. Super special thanks to KayDeeBlu as my new betaand Adoradork for serving as a sounding board and secondary editor.
I'm so glad you all are sticking around. Several of you have sent me songs that make you think of Rebecca/Donny and this fic and if you could continue to do so, I would appreciate it. I recommend listening to 'Shackled' by Vertical Horizon for this specific chapter—it fits it pretty well. Your every review, favorite and follow truly means the world to me and I love you all very much.
And, as always, please review if you are so inclined!
"Louis!" The young, dark haired man jumped back from the crates in front of him.
"What have I told you about touching the merchandise?"
Hun approached tattoos of purple dragons swirling down his arms. He leaned towards Louis, causing him to hunch back and look in any other direction than at his boss
"Louis," Hun grabbed Louis's collar, hauling him forward, teeth gritted. "Let's try this again, shall we? What. Have. I. Said. About. The. Merchandise?"
"Y—you—you said," Beads of sweat made their way down Louis' forehead. "Not—not to—touch—,".
Hun growled, shoving his face closer to Louis's. "We. Don't. Touch. It. Do we?"
Louis gulped, nodding his head. "You—you're right, Hun. It's just—they're so pret-".
With a roar, Hun hurled Louis to the side, watching with satisfaction as he hit the ground, bones crunching underneath him on the concrete.
"Somebody get him a medic," Hun ordered, annoyed. Several men, with the same tattoos crawling down their arms, moved swiftly, picking up the unconscious Louis and hauling him away.
"Stevenson!" Hun growled. He sauntered over to man clutching a tablet in his hands. "How are we looking on delivery?"
"On time." Stevenson checked over the tablet, typing rapidly. "Possibly even earlier. We should be ready in several hours for the exchange and the CKs have already arranged method of payment."
"Excellent," Hun crossed arms. "And as for the added reinforcements...?"
"Done," Stevenson affirmed with a few swipes. "The Copper Knives have informed me their own members will be there for offense and that they have lined up our members in the area with several new weapons. We won't lose this time."
"We won't," Hun stated, snarling at Stevenson. "Or else it will be me holding you responsible since you took care of the organization."
Sweat trickled down Stevenson's head as he nodded, eyes still focused on the screen. "Of course, sir...of course."
"They won't see it coming—it's like taking candy from a baby..." Hun trailed off, meandering over to several of the crates set up in a corner of the warehouse.
He peered inside, his grin growing. A young, dark haired woman was propped up in a corner of the crate, hands tied in front of her. A gag covered her mouth and her eyes were glazed.
"Hey there, sweetheart..." Hun cooed in a tone mocking a lover. The woman fidgeted slightly, eyelids flickering. She shifted back further into the crate, an animal caught in a trap. Her movements were slow and sluggish, the aftereffects of the drug forced into her system hours before.
"You know, sometimes they let me grab one for a discount price," he breathed heavily into the crate, shifting some of the wood back to smirk at her. The woman's eyes widened slightly and she moved further back from him, a slight cry working from her throat.
Hun's leer deepened and he winked at her. "I think I'll be letting them know you're going to be the lucky one, babe." He shouted off to the side. "This one's getting a little too alive—give her another dose, stat!"
When the drug entered her veins, he saw the tears streaming down her face. He grinned. It was probably the first real thing she felt in days.
And it certainly wouldn't be the last.
"So, we enter in from the rear here." Donatello's finger circled on the screen, making a notation. "Based on the diagrams I found, they normally keep the crates in the corner until the payment exchange. Then...the..." he paused, trying to figure out how to phrase it.
"The girls, Donny—the women they fucking steal," Raphael said from a corner. "The human beings they sell like cars—don't sugarcoat it."
"Raph," Leonardo crossed his arms over his chest. "Do we really need to debate this now?"
Donatello watched as Raphael's hazel eyes close. He could tell his brother was counting backwards silently. Irritation was still painted on Raphael's face, but he nodded at Donatello, clearing his throat.
"Sorry. You were saying?"
"Leo and I discussed that you and Casey will be responsible for getting the women out," Donatello gestured to the screen, the crates highlighting themselves in green. "If all goes well, we should have it pretty contained."
"And what about the feds?" Casey said, as he sat beside Raphael, his hockey mask settled on the top of his head.
"I'll be calling them!" Michelangelo said, puffing out his chest. "Once we make sure everything is contained and they're mostly all out, of course."
Leonardo nodded in agreement. "Mikey is going to be serving as our anonymous tip—and he'll see enough to make it sound believable."
Donatello made a few notations on the tablet in his hand, concentrating. Another email popped up and he scanned it quickly, taking down the necessary information, frowning. "That's weird—they just suddenly changed the drop off and moved it up by three hours. That's in..."
"An hour," sighed Leonardo, fastening his katanas to his shell. "Looks like we're going to have get this show on the road sooner rather than later."
Michelangelo stood and readjusted the pads on his arms. "Donny, is it normal for them to change plans like that? I mean, you said they've been pretty precise in all the information going back and forth about the human trafficking."
And that's what worries me... Donatello thought, reflecting back on the last several weeks.
The data he had managed to finally pull together from INTERPOL's database and the email communications he hacked confirmed their growing suspicions that the Purple Dragons were involved with the lucrative dealings of the human trafficking trade.
And if the accounting ledgers he managed to pull proved anything, it was extremely lucrative. Women were coming in from every corner of the globe and even locally, up and down the east coast. Each email and document he managed to find showcased the Purple Dragons were heavily connected to some gang—they were nowhere near having that type of international clout. An uncomfortable call to Karai led Donatello to conclude the Foot had yet to sink that low, as Karai quietly and dangerously informed him of such over the phone. In Japanese, no less.
"Well," Donatello clicked through his notes on the tablet, ready to answer his brother. "It is a little odd but it took them awhile to nail down a date and time—maybe things just got ahead of schedule?"
"Whatever it is, we're fucking ready for them." Raphael moved to punch in the appropriate codes to leave the lair. "This shit ends today—no more girls are going to be sold."
"Yeah, but—" Donatello plucked his laptop from the coffee table and began clicking through it. "I was never able to confirm the other gang that's possibly involved. Leo, should—should we hold this off, maybe, until I'm able to get more information?"
As always, Leonardo's face remained passive, his ice blue eyes narrowed in concentration, and Donatello could see he was weighing the possibilities. "I think—we've waited long enough, don't you?" Leonardo said. "I don't want another batch of those women sold just because we need to gather more intel—I mean, it's the Purple Dragons,—how involved could this other gang be, anyway? From what you said, it sounds like they're glorified body guards."
Donatello closed his laptop with a snap and sighed, nodding. "You're right." His bo staff was strapped to his shell. "I mean, we've handled worse before."
His brothers and Casey nodded a quick goodbye to Splinter. His brown eyes watched the room until the last second when the brick doors close and he could almost swear there was a pair of familiar green eyes watching him, beside Splinter's.
"I'll be back."
Chaos ran rampant.
Donatello's bo staff sang through the air, connecting with a Purple Dragon's head with a loud crack. He fell to the ground and Donatello only had a second to recover before blocking a stab to his side. A bronze knife came into his field of vision and it jerked forward again, aiming this time for his collar bone. He barely missed the strike and felt where it cut along skin. It wasn't the pain, he noticed, then. It was the dust falling off the weapon around them. Chemical compounds floated through his mind and he noted the darker copper color of the gold masked men's weapons.
Copper. Copper knives.
"Leo!" He shouted over the chaos of the fighting, his bo striking the man's knees. "They have copper knives—they're covered in beryllium!"
Leonardo faced Hun, katanas slicing through the air. The blonde man jumped back, just barely missing them before taking a swing toward the blue masked turtle with his machete.
A Purple Dragon appeared on Leonardo's right and he took him down with a quick hit of the hilt of one his swords to his head. "Donny! English, please!"
"Poison! It's dangerous—fatal, possibly, when inhaled!"
Leonardo growled and took another swipe at Hun, managing a cut to his upper arm. "Watch the knives—we don't know what they have on them!"
In a corner of the warehouse, Casey fended off a group of Purple Dragons and two of the gold figures, while Raphael worked trying to open up the crates. Casey wielded a baseball bat and a cricket stick simultaneously, taking down two at once with a hit to their legs. A board went flying off one crate, quickly followed by another.
"They're not fucking here!" Raphael's shout reverberated around them, rising above the chaos.
Suddenly, Casey fell to the ground in the corner shaking uncontrollably, a slash covered in copper dust glowing in the blood gathering on his chest. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and one of the gold figures stood by, blood dripping down the knife clutched in its hand.
"Casey!"
Raphael grabbed the masked man and smashed him against the concrete wall, his skull cracking against it.
"Where. the. fuck. are. the. girls?"
"Can't say, won't say," the masked man wheezed and Raphael threw him again, blood staining the wall behind him.
"Try. Again. Or you're done."
The masked man clawed wildly at his throat. Raphael's grip tightened, a sick smirk painting itself across his face.
"Can't hear you. Might want to try speaking a little louder."
"Birdseye Club...on sixth and Madison...auction starting soon," the man finally wheezed out.
Raphael grunted and tossed him to the ground. The man curled into a ball as Raphael gave one final kick to his ribs. Within seconds, he was back with Casey, picking the man up to place over his shoulder.
"Damn it, Casey," he muttered, worry painting his features. Raphael sprinted toward Donatello and Leonardo, dodging Purple Dragons, left and right. "Leo!—I know where the girls are. Casey though-," he gestured to his shoulder. "It's fucking bad."
More Purple Dragons surrounded them. Donatello landed jabs and punches where he could with his bo staff, trying to get closer to his brothers.
Leonardo cut down another gold masked man, the blue clad turtle struggling for breath. "Mikey—call the feds. NOW. We're," a cough interrupted him, distracting him from the Purple Dragon he now faced. "Out numbered."
"On it!" Michelangelo kicked an opponent and cracked his nun chucks down onto another's head. He pulled his cell out from his belt and dialed, repeating the location Raphael shouted to him.
Purple Dragons poured in from every corner. Donatello struggled for breath, for air, weakening. He watched, horrified, as the gold masked figures and Purple Dragons placed mesh coverings over their mouths and more of the gold dust he saw earlier floated into the air.
"Poison," he managed to cough out, a blow landing on his face. "It's the beryllium!"
Time stood still. Raphael was on his knees, gasping for breath, holding Casey on his shoulder still. Leonardo's tried fighting two Purple Dragons single handedly—the skill and expertise normally seen in his blades failing him as they slipped clumsily from his hands. Hun grinned and charged toward the blue masked turtle, machete raised high in the air, looking to draw blood.
Adrenaline burst through Donatello's system and he ran to block the machete with his bo staff, before it rammed into the back of Leo's neck. A hit landed to Hun's eye and he growled, charging forward, blade swinging. Donatello stumbled back, lungs burning with each breath. Hun focused his attention on him now.
The last things Donny remembered was the glint of steel and the smell of blood in the air before his world went black and the gasping breaths of air around him.
"Mom, I already said I was sorry for not calling yesterday..." Rebecca paced through her apartment, sorting through the various gifts and other items from Philadelphia. Her phone was pressed to her ear, her face scrunched in annoyance at the current conversation. A voice blared loudly on the other end.
"Yes, Mom—I'm aware of the snow storm they keep talking on about on the news—it's why I cut my trip short, remember?" The truth was more along the lines that Rebecca, in spite of enjoying the holiday visit home with her family, was more than ready to be back at her small studio apartment hundreds of miles away. The impending snow storm gave her the necessary excuses to cut the trip short.
Thank God.
Her mother continued yammering on the other end. Rebecca half listened, and pulled a newly purchased rug out from her luggage. Green eyes fell upon a familiar dent by her dining table. She sighed, dragging the rug over to the dent. Concrete suddenly settled in her stomach, heavy and full. Her fingers tingled as she rolled the rug out, smoothing out the edges, and the palm of her hand accidentally sunk into the indent underneath. She whipped it back, like it was on fire. Finally, she stood, staring at the soft blue and white checkered rug.
It was like the dent was never there to begin with—that it had never existed.
Nodding to herself, she headed back towards her bed and refocused on the conversation—her mother was mentioning something about the news and food.
"Okay, okay—I'm turning on the news now for the weather report—happy?...and yes, of course I went to the grocery store today like you told me." She rolled her eyes, making a mental note to leave immediately after the phone call to head there. The television flickered on after a moment and Rebecca walked away from it, taking a few books from her bags to place on her shelf, still deep in conversation with her mother over her sister's newest boyfriend.
"Thanks Tom for that great weather report, looks like New York City is expecting up to a foot or more of snow! Moving forward, in other news, more info on the human trafficking ring recently discovered by federal investigators two days ago. Sources report the possible involvement of the infamous vigilante team the Phantoms..."
She paused, a book in her hand, poised over an open gap. It shook slightly in her hand and her mind went blank, breath hitching involuntarily in her throat. Her eyes closed, and she allowed a rush of numbness to come over her. She let the mention of them (him?) flow over her before taking a shaky breath and placing the book gingerly in its place. Her mother continued talking in her ear and the news anchor's voice faded into the background, nothing but a soft murmur.
Baby steps, Rebecca. Baby steps.
"Mom...Mom, I don't think Samantha meant she was going to actually..." A beep interrupted her and she growled softly in irritation, pulling her phone back from her ear to glance at the identity of the intruding caller.
The name 'Don' lit up on her screen, loud and bright
Her hands trembled. Her mother's voice still carried over but went unheard. That name—that name on her phone?
She could ignore it, let it go to voicemail—pretend it never happened. Her gaze lifted to the television, showing footage of the gangs they arrested involved in the human trafficking case, words like 'forced labor' and 'psychological impact' being tossed around.
"Police are still searching for the Phantoms to be brought in for possible questioning."
Rebecca's eyes flicked back to her phone, the name still blinking incessantly.
You'll regret if you don't. Closure—everyone needs closure.
"Mom," Her voice was stiff, throat tight. "I have to go—no, I do. Later—I'll call you later, okay?"
A heaviness settled on her chest and her thumb shook, pressing the button to answer.
"Hello?"
Cool, calm, collected. Walls were built, blocking the heaviness—nothing was going to touch her. She wasn't going to feel anything. She was—she made herself numb.
"Becky?"
A higher pitched voice spoke into the phone and she knew within seconds it wasn't him. Her brain raced trying to think of the only other person who called her by a nickname and he—well, she was 'Becca.'
Not anymore.
It clicked suddenly—the voice on the other end of the phone.
Gripping the phone tighter, eyes widening, she answered.
"Mikey?"