Chapter Eleven: Level 2
"So," Casey mumbled as he flopped back on the hard, pink, curvy loveseat. The back of his head hit the carved wooden edge, and he rubbed at it. "Ow. So, Taevon, you said dose guys wouldn't be able to see me, back in the Old West town, but dey could. Dey couldn't see you, but dey saw me. An' dese people here can sure see me."
"Hm?" Taevon, who had produced a strange handmade leather jacket and put it on as soon as he arrived on the bridge, looked up from the beautiful wooden box he was leaning over. "Well, I thought they wouldn't be able to see you. Nobody can see me unless I want them to, and as a Jior—that's against the Jior way. We watch. We observe. We never interfere." He turned the metal crank that stuck out from the side and poked at something inside. "Except cats. Cats can see me, and it is always disconcerting." Huh. That makes sense, actually.
Casey sat up; the loveseat had clearly been designed for prim and proper sitting, not flopping.
He sighed and tugged the starched collar away from his neck. "Dese old-timey clothes are way worse den that suit April makes me wear sometimes." His host, though invisible to the horrified Victorian Londoners, had coached Casey through buying a basic man's suit—although "basic" included a ruffled white shirt, black suit and pants, some sort of black scarf thing for his neck around the collar, and a spiffy red vest. Oh, and black leather dress shoes. Even the black socks were scratchy.
Casey stared mournfully at his own clothes hanging limply from a clothesline across the cramped, furniture-filled room. At least the matron of the rented rooms had insisted on washing the strange, "foreign" clothes after he had mentioned he'd "fallen" into the river. Taevon had also guided him through finding a room to rent. The room in question had ended up being not a hotel room, but what seemed to be a spare apartment in the woman's tall, narrow townhouse. Casey had asked him where he got the money, and Taevon had shrugged and said "One can find many stray coins when one is invisible." He'd added, "I may be able to travel between worlds and times, but I still need to eat, just like you."
Taevon flipped a switch, and with a slight clang, the box started playing a perky tune. Probably something classical.
Casey yawned, but he was curious enough to stand and look at it. Under the propped-up wooden lid, a metal arm held down a spinning bronze disc about the size of his hand, punched full of holes. A paper on the underside of the lid displayed three phrases in a handwritten script too fancy and cursive for Casey to bother to read.
Casey pointed to a lever near the disc that currently pointed to a tiny number one. "What's that do?"
As if in answer, the tune ended, and with a slight clunk, some mechanic underneath shifted, the lever clicked to number two, and the box issued forth a new tune.
Casey scratched his chin. "Huh. Cool. I wonder if April would like that."
"Is April family or your significant other?" Taevon glanced at Casey sideways as he went to sit down again, yawning. Maybe that armchair is softer.
"Girlfriend." The chair, if anything, resisted his comfort more than the couch, but Casey refused to get up again. Instead, he slouched way down and leaned his head back.
"Does she like history?"
"Yeah. She has an antique shop, actually."
"Well, then." Taevon's eyes sparkled. "You should enjoy all this on her behalf—and maybe find something to bring her. It'll be in top condition."
"That's a… good idea…" Casey mumbled, and then fell asleep.
Wednesday evening
The shell cell rang, and Don scrambled so fast to answer it that he almost dropped it.
"Good evening, Opponent," came the Gamer's smooth voice; Don clenched his fist. "I hope it's not your bedtime, because Level 2 is just about ready." He rattled off an address and which entrance to use and hung up before Don could say anything.
The purple-masked turtle stared at the shell cell, torn between jubilation at finally knowing where to go next, and anger at the Gamer at having made him wait so long. He set both these reactions aside and settled on determination.
Jumping up, Don grabbed his bo from beside the computer desk and hurried over to Splinter's door to knock on it. Usually he wouldn't holler through the door like this, but he knew his sensei wouldn't be asleep with three sons missing. "Master Splinter! The Gamer gave me an address!"
The door slid open. "Go, my son. Fetch your brother. And be careful."
Donatello bowed. "I will, Sensei." He turned and hurried back to his desk to stare at the tools scattered there from his last trip out. I don't know who I'll be rescuing, or what I might need. He tilted his head. The Gamer did mention a racing level, a "Frogger" level, and a fighting level. I think the "racing" level might have been the subway, so this will either be an obstacle course or fighting. He tucked shuriken in his belt, followed by a tanto. Next came a multitool in case the "obstacle course" was next. Finally, Mikey's nunchakus caught his eye. I hope they don't hamper my movement too much, but if Mikey's next… He tucked those in his belt too.
Splinter gave an approving, proud look from where he stood in the doorway to his room. "Go, my son."
Don nodded, and ran out the door.
He arrived at the base as quickly as possible; but he tried to pace himself for whatever challenge lay ahead. He dropped down to ground level across from the door the Gamer had mentioned; it was unguarded and unlit. It looked like a normal business after hours. Don gulped, steeled himself, and stepped out of the shadows. The door was unlocked, and after a quick scan for any Foot, Don stepped inside.
Before him, in dim strip lighting from the high ceiling, sat a big receptionist's desk, but walls stretched out on either side of it—not shoulder-high cubicle walls, but real, sheetrock walls that reached the ceiling. Behind the desk was the only path: an open doorway, and through this Don could just make out corners and doorways. Is that… a maze? Has he turned this entire floor into a labyrinth? …Sometimes I forget how big a budget the Foot have.
Senses alert and bo out, he crept forward, toward the desk. The only object on the desk seemed to be… a camera?
"Welcome, Opponent," boomed the Gamer's voice through the PA system; Don jumped. "No need to look so tense; the first round is just a labyrinth. There aren't even any enemies in it—it's just a warm-up, really. The door at the end is the elevator—you'll ride it up to the top to unlock Player Two. Ready? Go!"
'Player Two' must be Leo or Mikey. It sounds like Raph and Casey are the 'bonus levels.' Don pole vaulted smoothly over the desk and stepped into the maze. No matter what he claims about no obstacles, I'm willing to bet there's Foot in here. He turned right, ready for any black-masked ninjas.
Creating a map in his head and simultaneously keeping all senses alert, Don worked the dimly lit maze. The only surprises were the occasional cut-out of a giant, pixelated rat and the genuine knee-high boulders. He must be trying to emulate that old Windows labyrinth screensaver. The boulders flipped you over in that one; I guess I should be grateful he doesn't have tech to switch gravity to the roof. I wonder what the Foot thought about being ordered to put up sheetrock and bring small boulders inside. Despite having to slow down a bitto not run into said boulders and the fairly extensive footprint of the building, it wasn't long before Don found the elevator. I bet he has no idea I used to design mazes when I was a kid. And when Leo solved them too quickly, I figured out how to make them harder.
Don pressed the button and backed up, bo ready, while the elevator rumbled its way down. It dinged and opened its doors, but no Foot spilled out. The turtle slipped inside and checked for any nasty surprises both inside and outside, through the emergency hatch, before pressing the button for the top floor.
I think I'd rather take the stairs. I feel trapped in here. Especially since I know I'm being watched… Don glanced up at the camera, then rammed the end of his bo up into its smug little lens. He smirked. That actually made me feel a bit better.
The speaker on the elevator's control panel crackled. "Oh, thanks." Despite the poor audio quality, the Gamer's sarcasm came through just fine. "I was just thinking I had too many cameras. And here I thought Kid was the one who couldn't hold still for six seconds. He is so annoying…"
Don glared at the doors as the elevator leveled off. If you've hurt Mikey…
The doors opened, and a stretch of empty darkness revealed only one ninja: a turtle, thoroughly bound with heavy cords and chained to a pillar, lying on the floor, shell toward the elevator. Don barely checked for Foot before flying over to his brother. It was Mikey, and besides being bound, he was also gagged and blindfolded.
"Mikey!" Don pulled off his little brother's gag and blindfold before working at the cords with his tanto.
"Don!" Mikey's voice cracked a little. "I'm so glad to see you, bro!"
"Are you okay?"
Mikey sat up, flexing his newly-freed arms as Don turned to attack the cord around his ankles. "Now that you're here-" Don thought he felt Mikey jump a bit as he yanked away the cut cord.
"What d-"
"I'm okay!" Mikey jumped up and put his hands on his hips, grinning hugely.
Don eyed him. "Are you sure you're-"
Mikey's eyes fell on the nunchaku tucked in Don's belt. "Hey, you found my nunchakus!" He leaned over and grabbed them.
Don opened his mouth to say something else, but Mikey started forward. "There's a door there—are we going or what, dude?"
What's up with Mikey? Don started to wonder, but then he had to hurry to catch up with his brother. "Careful, Mikey—there might be Foot," he warned as Mikey yanked the door open and stopped abruptly.
There was no floor past the doorway other than a small platform. The turtles gingerly stepped out onto it to better see into the dim open area. They both flinched as the door slammed closed behind them and the lights snapped on.
"Whoa," breathed Don.
"Dude," agreed Mikey.
I guess we're not going back down the elevator and through the maze. That would be way too easy.