Author notes!
I got a comment that Mask learning bowmaking from a magazine seems a bit farfetched. You may be overestimating his bow - I imagined he got the idea from the magazine, but essentially uses a string tied to a stick. Not too spifftacular, but I've made 'em before and I'm sure you could get accurate with practice. Especially since he's been at it for several years. Thanks for noting that, though.
Oh, and for Lunar-ninja... I've had my "saber-otter" account for a year, before I started writing TMNT. Sorry for the confusion.
Now, back to the story! The TMNT and related characters still don't belong to me! 'Cept for my little turtle dude!
Mud slowly opened his eyes. He was in a dim room, the only flickering light coming from a pair of torches at the opposite end. The turtle was confused at first, but slowly the details of the strange ambush came filtering back into his head.
Quickly he sat up on the small cot, but fell back clutching his skull. "Cursed…humans," he hissed, the headache reminding him harshly of that final blow.
"You're awake," observed a low, almost harsh voice.
Ignoring the throbbing, Mud sat up again and glared across the room, trying to penetrate the weak light. "Who's there?"
"It is only I," came the voice again.
This time Mud could tell it was coming from the shadows to his left. He looked over but could only pick out a dim figure in the gloom. "I'm in no mood for games," the turtle said firmly. "Just why was I brought here? Seems odd that there are bands of men runnin' around at night in New York City - armed to the teeth, no less!"
There was a brief flash, and a torch above Mud's cot blazed into life. The light revealed an Oriental man with an athletic build, clad in loose, white clothing. He was of average height, but hadquite a fewinches' advantage over Mud. "Why, you ask? Because there is a great danger in this town, a perilous enemy. They attack my operations without mercy, slaying many of my men. Four terrible monsters - with awesome fighting ability!" He sighed heavily. "Yes. Dangerous, indeed."
"Monsters, eh." Mud started to be incredulous, but then his gaze shifted to his own hand. Watching his three fingers as his hand balled into a fist, he shrugged. "I guess stranger things have happened in this town."
"My men tell me you are a reservoir of undeveloped talent," continued the man. "You scored quite a few hits before they could subdue you. If you are willing to give me your help, I can train you to fight… perhaps you can even help me slay my enemies."
Mud chuckled. "Be your hitman? No thanks. Why am I so important to this endeavor, anyway? Why haven't your men been able to deal with this so-called evil?"
The man shook his head sadly. "I forget you do not know the nature of the enemy. No, humans do not fare well against them. You, on the other hand, have mutated DNA in your cells. I admit I need someone like you to help me out, as your unusual DNA may give you just the edge you need."
Mud stared at his hand again. Mutated DNA, huh? he thought. That could explain why I grew to look like a freakish turtle-man. "I suppose I don't really have a choice, do I?" he said out loud.
"Suffice it to say that to turn down my offer would be a mistake," said the man with a dangerous look in his eyes.
Mud swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood up straight. "Then teach me."
The man bowed low. "Good. I am called Oroku Saki. And you?"
The turtle bowed in return. "I call myself Mud, sir."
"Mud?" chuckled Saki. "We'll find a warrior name for you when you're trained up a bit. Come." He led Mud out of the dimly-lit interrogation room and into a larger area with a higher ceiling. Racks on the walls held various weapons the brown turtle had never seen before. Saki motioned for him to stop, then approached one of the racks. When he turned around, he held a bow in his hands.
Mud stared at it - it was much nicer than his old bow had been. The wood was hard and polished, and the grip was wrapped in dark green. He explored the entire weapon with his hands when Saki handed it over.
"Let's see where you are with this bow, my friend," the man said, tossing a bowstring and quiver of arrows at Mud.
The turtle deftly strung the bow, and Saki's eyes showed approval. Mud easily nocked an arrow to the string and looked back at Saki. "What do you want me to shoot, sir?" he asked.
"Address me as Master, young… er, turtle," corrected Saki. "Under me you will learn to fight as a ninja - remember that I am your Sensei."
"Sensei," began Mud again with a slight bow of the head. "What do you wish for me to shoot?"
Saki grabbed a tonfa from the wall and flung it into the open. "This!"
Mud sighted quickly and let the arrow fly. He sighed in disappointment as the arrow failed to stick in the wooden target.
Saki crossed the room and retrieved the tonfa. There was a shallow scratch near the middle where the arrow had grazed it. "You were only a bit off-target," he mused, "Unusual skill for being self-taught. My training will make you a deadshot. I also want to instruct you with this." The man turned to the wall again and came back holding a short sword. "This is called a wakizashi. Your bow is good for long distance attacks, but when the enemy comes up close, you'll need this."
Mud took the blade and swung it a few times experimentally. "Feels weird," he commented.
Saki chuckled. "You'll get comfortable using it with practice. Come. Let us begin."
"Ow!"
"You must anticipate the next blow! Do not allow yourself to be surprised! And focus!"
KLAK! K-KLAK! The turtle angled his bokken, fending off that of Saki's. Much had changed in the past two years. Beneath his brown skin rippled hard muscles from vigorous training. He was a bit taller than before, but at 5'5" he was still shorter than Saki and most of his men. He had been outfitted with clothing fit for a Foot turtle. His waist was belted with a strip of black leather, and crossbelts of the same material lay over his chest. His forearms and lower legs were wrapped in black cloth; on his head he wore a black skull mask with a blood-red Foot symbol emblazoned on the forehead. It was this latest accessory that had inspired the tougher name he'd given himself.
"Good swordplay, Mask!" grunted Saki as he blocked a swipe with some difficulty. With a twist of his bokken, the master disarmed his student. He bowed to the brown turtle and began to pace the room. "Mask - those demons in the city have become too dangerous."
"Have they, Master?"
"I am losing whole bands of Foot ninja to them every day as I try to find their hiding place," growled Saki. "This cannot continue! Mask, in the past two years I have concentrated on swordplay so you could at least wield your wakizashi competently against them. You are by no means a master, but you have a good chance of being able to survive."
Mask waited for Saki to get to the point, head bowed as he stood before his master.
"I would have liked to teach you kicks, throws, and punches in much more depth, but we would need more time. Time that we don't have the luxury of wasting. Mask, I want you to go into the sewers, where we believe them to be hiding. Take a band of ninja with you for backup. Be silent and swift, and try to snipe them with your bow. Only fight hand-to-hand if you must. You have come far in a short time, but your enemies have been training for much longer!"
The adolescent terrapin bowed low. "Tonight I will go out, my master."
Saki grunted with satisfaction and left the room.
Even along the busy New York streets, there were plenty of places the penetrating beams of car headlights did not illuminate. Only if one was looking specifically for them would one see the six or seven dark shapes that flitted from shadow to shadow and entered and alley.
Mask pried a manhole cover from its place and slipped into the tunnel silently, like a wraith. Once inside, he pulled the bow from one of the belts on his back and strung it. The quiver and his wakizashi sheath were bound together and strapped crosswise so they showed above his right shoulder. He grabbed an arrow now and nocked it to the string. "C'mon," he whispered to the others.