Chapter Fifty-One: Red Light, Green Light
What?
Don's multitool scraped across the back of his hand and clattered to the tiles.
Shock rolled through Don's tired brain; he felt the same reaction in his brothers. He knows about the Jior? What—how—
"That's right," The Gamer said, grinning like a cat at the turtles' disbelief, "you heard me. The Jior."
Ow. Don glanced down at his hand to see a line of red appear; he growled under his breath, bent to pick up his multitool, and looked back down at the lock.
"You see, it was two years ago, while I was minding my own business eating a hoagie in Central Park, when I met Elder Nafti."
Don's grip slipped again, this time earning him a bruised knuckle. He knows Elder Nafti?
"Great hoagie, by the way. Do you call it a 'hoagie,' a 'sub,' or a 'hero?' I say 'hoagie;' I just like that word. It was from my favorite hoagie joint in the city." The Gamer sighed wistfully. "But anyway, I was having my lunch break on a day off from here when this weirdly dressed old guy showed up out of nowhere, and he was so angry—not at me, though—that he just started ranting. I couldn't understand him, but I let him sit next to me on the bench and just listened to him. Gave him a bite, too. Finally, he finished his story, calmed down, and left. I guess he liked me, 'cause he showed up again a few days later. Eventually, we got to understand each other well enough, and we realized we could help each other out."
Don's brain whirred. This is starting to make so much more sense.
Raph barked a laugh. "What, help each other in bein' crazy people?"
"I was already starting to think about some interesting challenges for you, Opponent," The Gamer continued as if Raph hadn't spoken; Raph muttered something unkind under his breath, "and he wanted to send a stranger or two over to his town to teach his people a lesson. Apparently, he'd been having real trouble with them not respecting him and the rules enough. The final straw was this kid—not even an adult, but a kid—didn't listen to him and broke some big rules." He waggled his finger as if at a bratty child.
Saja! Don tried not to glance at his brothers. There was no need for the Gamer to know of their relationship.
"So," the Gamer sighed, "Nafti brought me some special juice, and me and my team started working on a useable formula." He let out a long breath and a laugh. "That took longer than Nafti liked, I'll tell you what."
"I bet," Don said evenly. Shell, my hands aren't cooperating… this fine motor task would be a lot easier if I hadn't just used them to play an entire video game in one night.
"Yeah, he's a pretty nice guy, huh?" The Gamer chuckled. "Incredibly patient and understanding."
"A real ball of fun," Raph growled.
"Actually, that process took so long that I developed other levels: the fighting level, the platforming level, and the racing level. By that point, Nafti demanded to know if I needed something, so to get him off my back—and because I was curious to see if he could deliver anything—I asked for some muscle. And boy, did I get it."
Don glanced up. What muscle? The mercenaries? How did an old man from a pacifist culture get ahold of them?
"Turns out the Jior can bring a passenger when they teleport from world to world, 'cause Nafti brought me a guy. He said he was an exile after he did some bad stuff in some wars he wasn't even supposed to be in. His brain got a little melted in the Jior justice system, but that didn't affect his brawn, that's for sure." The Gamer leered down at Don. "You've met him already, of course. I believe you nicknamed him 'Little Brother.'"
Horrifying realization crept across Don; this time he couldn't repress his shock. Little Brother? Pahliak is Little Brother? Disgust rolled through him, rivalled by a touch of pride. I fought a war criminal hand-to-hand!
"Yep, that's him." The Gamer was enjoying their shock far too much. "Of course, he doesn't speak English—and I don't think he has enough brainpower left to learn it—so Nafti taught me a few basic commands for him in Jior: stop, go, destroy, that sort of thing. I don't even have to pay him. He works for a solid fight and three really big square meals a day. Man, he's pounded so many Foot!" He chuckled. "Excellent practice for them, of course, avoiding a human tank."
Don frowned slightly. "But he had a gun."
"Hm? Oh, yeah, he likes those. He must've learned gunmanship from those wars he was in, because I didn't have to teach him. I think he prefers physical contact in his fights, though."
The lock finally yielded to Don's efforts, rewarding him with a tiny green light, but he kept his expression neutral. "I think you're right," he said. "He tried his best to hit me in that boss fight." Was the Gamer really so confident in this door? Three of us can take him physically, but does he have any other surprises in there?
Don gauged the Gamer's line of sight. He can see my hands, but he can't see my feet.
Don shifted his stance and slid his right foot behind him. He waggled his toes. He felt Raph's eyes flick down and back up. He could sense Leo tense behind him.
"Yes," the Gamer said, smirking, "I think he wanted to rearrange your limbs, or maybe-"
In one smooth motion, Don yanked open the door and stepped backward, making room for his brothers. Leo surged through the door and up the few steps with Raph hot on his heels.
As he snatched up his bo and started to follow, Don had the immense satisfaction of seeing the Gamer pale and shrink back in his chair. You'd better be afraid, Gamer. You're about to discover how foolish you were to choose these four ninjas to antagonize.
But as three turtles bore down on him, vengeance in every step, the Gamer managed to scream, "Pahliak!"
Pahliak? Uh, oh.
Something big shifted behind the bank of computers by the back wall.
Leo slid to a halt at the top of the stairs and drew his katanas. Raph, one step below and to his right, clutched his sais. Don stopped too; the door clicked shut just behind his shell.
With an unintelligible but definitely angry complaint, a great brown-skinned mountain of a man emerged from his hiding place: Little Brother. Pahliak. How on earth did he fit back there? I guess it is dimly lit; it must be bigger than it looks from down here. The beast's brown eyes fixed on the turtles, and he took a step forward.
"Pahliak!" The Gamer stood now. "Anashu Nafti bev marlek!"
Pahliak froze in his tracks, his lip curled in rage.
Don could hear the short breaths of his brothers and feel his heart thudding in his chest. Now what? Also, did that door lock behind us? Are we trapped in here with him?
The Gamer had recovered his easy smile. He moved around his chair and touched his chin with one hand, resting his elbow in his other hand. "Oh. Did I not mention I brought Pahliak with me tonight?" His eyes sparkled with dark mischief. "I gave him a ton of food back there in the nook at the start of the night, and I think he went into a food coma for a couple hours. He doesn't seem happy about being woken up from his nap."
Indeed, Pahliak glared down at the turtles with clenched fists the size of roast hams. He snarled something low, probably a threat, around his useless tongue.
Don reached his left hand slowly behind his shell, feeling for the doorknob.
"Don't worry, though. Even though he's grumpy, he'll still obey me. And only me. It's not like Red Mask had the time to learn Jior during his little jaunt, did he?"
The turtles chose not to answer. Don knew Leo's brain was calculating possible actions, just like his was. If we get a chance to retreat, do we take it? Do we have to leave the Gamer unpunished because he's got a bodyguard the size of a Volkswagen?
The Gamer tapped his chin, and then pushed his chair in to his desk and moved close to the interior wall by his desk. "Pahliak," he called, and Pahliak's eyes snapped to him. He pointed at the other door, the one leading to the hall. "Anashu Nafti bev tauren."
What's that command? Why is he saying Nafti's title?
Pahliak turned and charged the door. With a garbled roar, he slammed against it; it rattled in its hinges. Mikey!
A yelp sounded from around the corner. Mikey, eyes huge, dashed through the propped-open door into the main room. He took in the situation beyond the glass and paused, nunchaku ready, in the middle of the room.
Clapping his hands with delight, the Gamer called, "Pahliak! Anashu Nafti bev marlek!"
The door withstood one final attack as the Gamer spoke. Pahliak turned around, hardly breathing hard. I guess we're going to fight a war criminal. At least it's not one-on-one again. I don't think I could pull that off twice. We can't fight in here, though—we're cornered, and there's not enough room.
Don discovered the doorknob behind him and twisted it unobtrusively. It did not resist the torque. That was the same command as the first one. That one means 'stop…' Wait. I think it's Simon Says. The Gamer is issuing commands on Elder—Anashu—Nafti's authority. If one of us could get around Pahliak and threaten the Gamer, he'd be forced to call off his hound…
At that moment, Don's knees wobbled beneath him, reminding him of the jog over untold virtual miles and a very real treadmill. He clutched the doorknob as his head spun with lightheadedness. I think there was a stimulant in that drug mix, as well as whatever helped immerse me in the game world, maybe even a mild hallucinogen. And now it's wearing off. Oh joy. My poor kidneys, trying to filter that out over the next couple of days. Note to self: drink a ton of water. The back of his neck prickled; Don suspected the needle mark may be sluggishly leaking blood. Ugh. I'm a mess. I'm in no shape to help fight Pahliak, or even come up with a solid plan. But I can distract the Gamer so Leo can.
"You're a coward, Gamer," Don said. "Hiding behind your bodyguard like a little old lady? No wonder you designed the High Ghamyronis to flee every time I got close. Man up and face us yourself."
"Am I?" The Gamer raised an eyebrow. "Am I a coward? You seem to be the ones retreating. Especially when I do this. Pahliak! Anashu Nafti bev tauren!"
Shell!
Pahliak charged with a guttural roar.
Heart fluttering with a healthy dose of terror, Don stumbled backward through the door. "Raph! Leo!" Get out of there! We can't fight him in there!
"Fall back!" Leo called, even as he and Raph retreated. Don rushed into the middle of the main room to make room for them.
"Pahliak! Anashu Nafti bev marlek!"
The juggernaut stopped. The glass door closed two feet behind him. Now all four turtles and Pahliak stood facing each other in the main part of the room.
Gripping his bo tightly, Don tried not to gulp. This is really not how I expected this night to go. His eyes flicked to Leo. What now, Leo? I won't be much help if we fight, but maybe I can distract him so you three can take him on.
The Gamer, standing above them in his glass safe haven, crossed his arms. "Man, it's fun having this power over you. Plus, it's a whole 'nother game—like Red Light, Green Light, only the green light means you're dead." He chuckled. "Did you ever play that game as a kid, Opponent? Well, probably not, I guess, since you're, y'know, a mutant."
"Oh, thanks for telling me," Don said, glaring up at him. "I hadn't noticed."
A strangled cry came from Mikey.
Don whipped his head to the left to see none other than the Shredder himself, in all his armored glory, standing in the doorway.
