Disclaimer: Peter Laird and so on and so forth, not me, owns the concept of TMNT. I humbly beg you not to sue. My pockets are usually empty.
It's a wonder what comes from my brain with extra time...and finally a working computer handy...to put it down with. I've been trying to make up for three years without a working typing device!...and when physical illness strikes...
Sunset of Death ch 2
By ZeoViolet
Two weeks after the murder
A young girl, paler than death and scrawnier than was really healthy stepped off the subway somewhere in it's deep New York underground. The air was dismal to her nostrils and more than anything she didn't want to be here...but she couldn't help herself.
Through wrestling violently with an inner dark horror that had sized her mind these last two weeks, she'd held onto her very sanity with one thought only, and that was to someday locate her father's killers...locate them and face them.
There was a time she thought she'd never be able to take a life if it wasn't in self-defense-a cowardly, dishonorable act, murder.
Now...she wasn't so sure. She was disturbed beyond belief by it, but...it had raided her heart like a poison. The rest was a cold, empty void where she felt little else. Her father would have been so ashamed...
Her father.
She pushed past the crowds, and up the stairs into bright sunlight that meant nothing but something to see by. The air was stale to her and the trees were stark skeletons rapidly losing their bright autumn color.
She held out her arm, waving a taxi by autopilot. Violet flatly told the foreign taxidriver where exactly she wanted to be dropped off and lapsed into a stony silence the whole ride there. She only nodded absently here and there when the driver tried to talk her ears off.
When the taxipulled up with a screech in front of her father's large house, she pushed money at the driver while scarcely looking at the dollar amount. She pushed out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk, past the gates and into the yard.
Oh, gods...there were still dark stains on the dead grass...
For one second she was overwhelmed by a feeling of horror that paralyzed her limbs as the past two weeks faded into nothingness, and it was suddenly in her mind that night once again.
The dark figures, her father's throat sliced, the scrap of cloth that never left her pocket, the painful, silent goodbye--all of it flared through her mind in one red-black flash. She'd never forget.
Her legs unlocked and she ran to the front door, almost banging into it in her haste. As she fumbled for the keys she thought desperately.
How? How could it have gone so wrong? They'd just returned to this awful state, and she hadn't known why he'd brought them back to begin with.
The past. She knew so little about the past!
She finally got the key into the slot and unlocked the door, pushing herself inside and banging it behind her, leaning against the door heavily. Her raspy breathing disturbed the silence.
Inside the air was even staler. She'd abandoned the house right after she'd seen to her father's burial. Just grabbed some clothes, a few sanitary supplies, and money, and...
The rest of the time was only in bits and pieces, not clear at all. Motels. Walking. Subway rides. Fighting off a few lechers and would-be muggers, something that was all-too easy to do...
All she could say for certain was her heart had been crying out, empty. And there was no answer.
She closed her eyes and opened them again before shoving herself up from the door and going into the kitchen. Although she still had money-where had her father gotten all the cash she'd discovered in one of his accounts?-she knew she'd eaten no more than a meal or two every couple days at most.
It must've been two days since she'd last eaten something, but she never seemed to remember to until she started growing faint. Hunger just wasn't registering.
A lot of the food had spoiled and she knew she was going to be hard at work later cleaning out her fridge. She managed to find some canned vegetables, eating enough to make her certain she would not pass out later, but she tasted nothing.
After a shower and changing into a black t-shirt and black leggings, she went back into the living room and flopped onto the sofa, thinking hard.
First thing was first--get her father's affairs in order. She could not have bills piling up and her utilities shutting off.
She'd found his will and he'd left it all to her-but his affairs were a mess from having dragged her from pillar to post since the age of five, running-fleeing-from that very symbol that burned from the scrap she held in her pocket, evidence she'd not let slip to the police about.
All they knew was three dark figures had murdered her dad. His blood and some of theirs had been everywhere. But otherwise, no fingerprints, no clues. She had just wanted them to go away and had refused to say a word to the press. As this was just one more murder on the streets of New York, information had barely even scratched the papers or the local news.
She didn't want it to. She had to do this on her own.
When, where didn't matter at the moment. But she'd find out somehow why her beloved father's past had to suddenly strike...
"Still nothing on that one, Donny," April flopped forward on her desk, staring at her computer screen, rattling off her notes. "Too little information and all the same thing. Vague police reports. A man was murdered, three men wearing dark clothing--and you saw them. They were Foot soldiers. The daughter saw it happen but won't talk to the press."
She raised her eyes hopelessly to the turtle in purple. "For all intents and purposes it reads as a random killing. Overall the papers scarcely bothered with it. And since then when you've observed the Foot, they've acted the way they usually do."
"The Foot are very methodic and precise, not as random as the Purple Dragons might have been," said Donatello with a frown. "A random killing, and only three of them? That is what makes this stand out. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't sound...typical."
April understood what he was thinking. If their greatest enemy wasn't behaving typically, it was reasonable to expect worse. It couldn't be anything else. The thought that there might be goings-on in the Foot the Shredder wasn't aware of was ridiculous.
He was too smart, powerful...and too demonically evil for that. Karai was too fanatically loyal and Hun headed the Purple Dragons and kept them generally seperate. No. It was plausible to wonder if the Shredder had something new up his sleeve.
"Are you still porin' over those files again?" said an exasperated voice from behind them. "So Shredhead had an off day with some of his minions. It's bound ta happen."
April didn't even turn around to address Raph directly. The turtle in red had come in from where he'd been working on his shellcycle with Casey Jones.
"Raph, you know how the Shredder deals with those that slip up in his service. And these guys very obviously achieved their goal of murder. No. The Shredder knew of this. He just acted...differently."
"Well, I don't see how yer goin' ta find anything more starin' at the screen. What next-interview the witness?" Absently Raphael leaned against the wall, fingering his sais.
"Right, Raph. I'd get some real answers with a nice social visit." Donatello turned back to the computer screen, using the mouse to scroll down further.
"Not ta mention she'd scream and run," smirked Raph.
"Go play with your toy, Raph." Donatello sounded distinctly annoyed now.
"I would if Casey hadn't swiped it for a joy ride." Raphael's voice distinctly switched to grumbling tones.
April looked amused. "You actually let Casey touch your bike without you right there? Raph, I'm surprised at you."
"Yeah, well he hung the fact he got me that part I wanted over my head," groused Raphael reluctantly. He pounded one green fist into his other palm. "He gets one scratch on my bike though, I'll be tossin' his clubs and baseball bats into the nearest river-after a few get broken over his skull!"
Violet figured her back was permanently broken after she finally straightened the mishmash of papers piled in front of her.
It had taken her forever, but she finally had enough of her father's affairs in order to realize one of the greatest secrets he'd ever kept from her.
Where the holy hell had all this money come from?
She couldn't believe it! Her father had been far wealthier than he'd ever let on to her about! Being dragged all across the country, he'd usually worked as a substitute teacher while home-schooling her and training her in ninjitsu.
Certainly nothing to generate anywhere near this much money!
Frantically Violet tried to calm her pounding heart as the answer to her whirling questions settled slowly and unwillingly into her brain.
Damnit! There could be only one answer, wasn't there!
Blood money! Filthy, tainted blood money from her father's years with the Foot Clan!
Violet felt distinctly fouled. Her father's past with that notorious group was a shame to them both. He hadn't been willing, he'd been forced, but she knew that her father had once served the one called Oroku Saki as one of the teachers that trained his soldiers in the style of the Foot.
As a boy and young man her father had spent many years in Japan, and had learned to love the culture as much as his American culture until he'd become a curious mix of the two. Violet didn't know how, but he'd learned this very rare fighting style, it's pure form.
After finally returning to the states, she also didn't know how, but this Saki had found out and forced her father into his service against his will.
There was too much her father had never told her.
How he'd met her mother was a story in itself. She'd known of the risks when she married her father but hadn't cared. The risk had only increased when they'd taken the very dangerous step of having a child. Not many of Saki's minions dared risk having families for their boss to exploit.
Violet didn't even remember her. A car accident had taken her when she was less than two years old.
A horrifying thought came to her then-had it really been an accident?
There was nothing to suggest it was otherwise, but her father was almost never able to talk about it so Violet just didn't know for sure. She didn't know what was real anymore, to be honest.
She pushed the stack of papers aside to finish fully later. She had to get ahold of herself. Those two weeks, well, she wondered if she'd outright fought losing her mind.
The clarity had returned but it had not lessened the pain.
She went into the practice room of the house, the well-equipped dojo that had seldom been used over the years on the rare times they'd ever returned to this place.
From the wall she pulled off a pair of weapons her father had specialized her in, deciding she was suited to them best.
Twin sais flashed as she began one of numerous katas, draining away some of her intense emotions in the onslaught, and at the moment having little heed for her personal safety.
It was two evenings later.
Violet kept to the shadows, holding a bag of groceries and wracking her brain for any mention her father might have made to possible Foot Clan subordinates that either had purple dragon tattoos or purple dragons on their jackets.
She'd just missed being seen by a large group of gangsters all bearing such a purple dragon on their clothing or person. She'd also heard them on the news of late; and it seemed that for some of them, they used moves that resembled a crude form of the Foot style, although most were armed to the teeth.
Right now, they looked like a nasty bunch, and Violet's mind automatically thought out alternate routes and reminded herself to not go out again after dark unless absolutely necessary.
All her instincts told her to beware of them; she was certain they had something to do with the Foot clan but this was not the way to go about getting information she might ever seek on them.
She had no wish to invite attempted rape and/or murder to her person on top of everything else. Their whole attitude screamed they enjoyed such diversions even if they regularly robbed, cheated, and killed for profit.
Yes, they had to be street thugs who answered to a higher authority.
Finally, just barely, Violet recalled her father warning her to never trust anyone on the streets of New York who seemed to be fond of dragons. This had been years ago and she didn't recall what else he might have said.
She closed her eyes, and determined to get herself as quietly past them as possible, and after this, stick to daylight no matter how much she might need something.
"They're movin' off," said Raphael in a low voice to Donatello. "Prowlin' elsewhere. I saw a small kid dip into the shadows the moment she-at least I think it was a she-saw them. Smart one. Now let's get to April's already?"
"Purple Dragons are always worth watching to make sure they don't cause trouble," answered Donatello, holding his electronic 'binoculars' to his eyes. "We'll leave in a few minutes. A few are still hanging around in that alley down there. April will understand I'll help her with her upgrade when I can."
Raphael absently twirled a sai with one hand as he waited impatiently.
"And stop twirling your sai like a toy," said Don, still intent on watching below. "It's distracting."
"Hey, I ain't in the habit of pesterin' the daylights outta ya like Mikey does, so count yer lucky stars," Raph groused. But he quit playing with his sai.
A few minutes later Donatello spied the small female figure in black from earlier step silently out of the shadows and move on swift, silent feet down the street--and in an obvious hurry.
"There she goes," he said absently. "And she's lucky; I think most of them have moved off so she'll be..."
His words died.
Out of the alley stepped two large figures, two holdovers from the gang who'd remained behind. They stepped directly in front of the girl's path.
Raphael had noticed too, and he clutched the edge of the building and groaned silently to himself. Won't be gettin' to April's anytime soon, looks like...
Oh, shit...
Violet didn't swear all that often but this seemed to call for it. That gang had seemed to leave but these two must have decided to stick around or...something.
They were both huge, bulky guys, with sinister grins and one was smacking his palm with a crowbar absently. The other smelled as if baths weren't too familiar to him.
"Well, well, what have we here?" leered one, giving her a good glance-over. "Pretty birds should stick to their cages at night, sweetie."
The message behind his roving eyes made Violet feel sick to her stomach. "Get out of my way!" she snapped, in no mood to put two hulking idiots in their place right now. She had far too much on her mind.
"And this little bird squawks," said the evil-smelling one. "But we'll have her singing a far sweeter tune soon, won't we, Ed?"
"Tiny and blonde-suits my tastes," he grinned nastily. "Glad we decided to hang around a few minutes more-won't have to share, Hal."
Violet suppressed a groan. Big and hulking, but IQ's of about ten...
"That's a plus," Hal practically purred. Violet nearly retched; his evil stenched seemed to become worse by the second. "C'mere, pretty bird. Keep your beak shut and come with us, nice and easy."
"Like hell I will," she snarled in revulsion as he made a move to grab her.
Instinct kicked in at once. Violet ducked past him and drove her elbow square into the middle of his back, landing him flat on his face.
Ed, seeing what was happening, moved on instinct to attack her with his crowbar, but for all her tiny size she blocked the move and with one swift kick sent it flying.
"We need to help her," said Donny, his hands already at his bo as he started to walk off.
"Hold on, Don," said Raph, still avidly watching. "Somethin' tells me we don't need ta get involved in this."
Donatello paused and went back to the building's edge, looking down once more, as he saw the tiny slip of a girl mercilessly pummel the two huge men into unconsciousness.
Raph grinned out of the corner of his eye and reached over and physically pushed his brother's jaw back from where it had hung open.
"There's somethin' fer ya," he snickered. "Not what she looks like, is she?"
Don shook his head, getting over his astonishment. "No..."
Raphael grew serious once more. "An' there's somethin' else, didja see it?"
Donatello, for all his observation skills, had to shake his head at this one.
"Her martial arts, bro. She was usin' Foot moves."
"Wait a second," said Donny disbelievingly, even though a replay in his mind of what he'd seen confirmed his brother's words. "Since when does the Shredder let little girls into his elite club? And why would those goons attack someone in the Foot?"
"Are yeh forgettin' Karai?" snapped Raph. "If yer skilled gender don't mean nuthin'. As to why they tried ta attack her--mistaken identity. It seems pretty tidy ta me."
"I don't think so..." said Donny thoughtfully as the girl calmly picked up her bag of slightly crushed groceries and walked along the street as if nothing had happened. "She looks familiar..."
Suddenly it came to him. All those police reports he'd investigated of that strange Foot murder? There'd been precious few photographs but one had included this very girl's face!
"She's the girl who's father was killed by those three Foot ninjas!" Don gasped.
Raph had seen enough of those reports-with Donny poring over them endlessly? Who wouldn't-to realize his brother was right.
"And they did not recognize her then?" he groused. "This is gettin' kinda weird, Donny. She's mixed in their affairs somehow. But we can't just go an' talk ta her at the moment. If she's Foot, she's not worth our breath. Let's go."
Violet silently but rapidly walked the rest of the way home, making herself calm her pounding heart as she did so. This time she'd been lucky; there'd been only two of them, and they were stupid gits at that. She reinforced her decision to not go outside at night again unless necessary...and try and figure out a way of carrying her sais around on her person in public without getting arrested.
Those idiots hadn't recognized her, but if they reported to their boss higher up, and someone did, then she could be in for some trouble otherwise.