Chapter Twenty-One: My Turn

Friday, late evening

At the sound of footsteps outside his door, Leo interrupted his circuit of the bare living room to lie down. He had learned it was better to lie down before the collar sent him to the floor to avoid hitting his head. As the door unlocked, the wretched collar sent powerful currents into his body, locking his muscles in place. This must be my turn. They've left me alone except for mealtimes so far, and it's probably 10:30 or 11:00 by now.

In strode the short, mild-looking Gamer, his thumb firmly on a button on a small controller in his hand, and two bulky men, one in Foot garb, the other just in black clothing. The two grunts leaned over and heaved Leo upright by his arms to face the Gamer, who wore a Galaxa t-shirt and worn jeans. Several other Foot hovered in the doorway.

"Good evening, Leader. Are you ready to be the prize for your brother finishing the level?" The Gamer grinned like a child, but his eyes held something darker.

You're insane. Also, you do know I can't breathe, right?

The Gamer nodded to his grunts, who tightened their hold, before he released the button; Leo's muscles released, and he gasped for air. He had barely recovered when the Gamer pressed the button again. He waited thirty seconds and released.

Leo glared as he tried to even out his breathing.

The Gamer chuckled. "I could do this for hours! Unfortunately, we've got a schedule to keep. Now, if you cause these two any trouble at all-" the Gamer gestured vaguely to the two guards with his free hand- "I've got this." He tapped the button; Leo would've arched his back if he wasn't a turtle. "And I might use it a few times just for fun. Now, come on."

That doesn't mean I won't be looking for an opening.

The hovering Foot slipped back down the stairs as the Gamer led the way out the door, the guards following with Leo sandwiched between them. The whole arrangement had to turn sideways to get out the door, which was slightly amusing. The unmasked man was truly a giant—in fact, he reminded Leo of Hun. As he ducked through the doorway, Leo even spotted a tiny black ponytail. Thankfully, the stairs were wide enough to permit the turtle-and-guard trio to descend normally.

As promised, the Gamer used his power to turn Leo into a statue of pain a few times on their brief journey down two flights of stairs and into a big, open room. The Foot who had gone ahead met the parade in the middle of the room, where Leo's katanas lay on the floor, just in front of what appeared to be a small tv screen.

Leo's eyes flashed. If anyone gives me an inch, everyone in this room will face my blades.

Besides the katanas in their undignified position on the floor, four manacles jutted from the swirled green-and-brown tiles.

"Sit," commanded the Gamer, pointing to the spot between the manacles.

Leo glared at him as the guards thrust him down and he crossed his legs. I hope you're ready to eat Don's bo, you coward.

As the guards pinned him in place, which was a bit redundant given the Gamer pressed his button again, the Foot swarmed over to click the manacles over Leo's ankles and wrists. Once this was done, the guards and collar both let up, leaving Leo chained to the floor as if he was merely meditating, his katanas just a tantalizing arm's length away in front of the tv screen.

The Foot and the guards melted away as the Gamer stood several steps beyond the tv, smirking at his captive.

"Hang on a second," he said once the others were gone, "I've got to make a phone call." He jammed the controller into his right jeans pocket and from his left fished out a shell cell. Leo bristled at the sight of his brainiac brother's invention in an enemy's hand.

"Good evening, Opponent," he said in a moment, grinning like a child who knew he was being mischievous, "I just thought you'd like to know that Leader is all ready for you."

Leo was tempted to shout something out to Don, in case he could hear something that faint over the phone, but at that moment, the Gamer jabbed a finger into his pocket, and Leo grunted as the collar locked him in place. Thankfully his bonds kept him from face-planting.

The Gamer listed an address and hung up, then released the button.

The blue-masked turtle glared. You have no idea what I could do if I wasn't chained right now.

"Still not talking, huh?" the Gamer pocketed the shell cell and paced forward until he stood to the left of the tv. "I prefer the strong, silent type over that annoying jabbering one, anyway. So! Once your brother gets here, this screen will follow his progress through the levels." He shrugged. "Or his lack of progress. I dunno. I've heard he's the lamest fighter of you weirdo turtle bunch."

He has to fight? Leo's heart sank. How many Foot? How many levels? Couldn't you just have him do something techy to get me back? Or go through a maze? Defuse a bomb? Don's an amazing fighter, but he fights more with his head than his bo.

The Gamer turned and started wandering toward the door on Leo's left. "Plus, his weapon is a stick. Literally, a wooden stick."

Leo practically had to bite his tongue to keep from educating the enemy on the ancient, honorable, potentially lethal art of bojitsu. Don's better with his bo than you would be with any weapon. I don't think you've done anything more physically challenging than a video game marathon.

The Gamer left. The lights dimmed, making Leo blink, and the tv flicked on to reveal a grayscale wide-angle scene of several Foot, standing in an open room with a few crates for cover, bobbing on their toes, waiting.

Don gave the Lair one last glance. He had helped Mikey to bed in his room an hour ago, and he was now asleep. The screen to Master Splinter's room was closed, but that didn't guarantee that he was asleep, although it was late. And there was still no sign of Saja or Raph, but he couldn't think about that right now. Don glanced once more to make sure his note for Master Splinter would be easily found, telling him where he had gone.

Then Don nodded to himself, checked his weapons again, and slipped out the front door.

In fifteen minutes, he had arrived without incident at the base of yet another building—this one twelve stories. All senses on high alert, he opened the front door. Nothing living within sight. Another wall blocked the area behind the receptionist's desk, leaving one open doorway. The windows had been covered up.

"Welcome to Level Three," the Gamer said through a nearby speaker; Don twisted to glare at it. "Let's get started. Step through that door when you're ready."

Don sidled up to it and saw a plain, well-lit white room, interspersed with Foot and crates for cover. They look nervous. Well, not nearly nervous enough.

Bo out, the ninja turtle stepped in. He cleared the room in about fifteen seconds.

Huh. I guess those were beginners. I didn't need to thrash them quite so thoroughly. Don turned and saw the words "ROUND ONE" printed out on three sheets of printer paper and speared neatly to the wall. Well, that explains why this room was inhabited by newbies. He glanced down at the pile of flopped black limbs that had been his opponents. Poor newbies. But, how many rounds are there, and how much will the difficulty increase each time? Oh. There's going to be a boss level. Who on earth would the Gamer pull to serve as the boss? Don stared at the white sheet hanging neatly in the next doorway, serving as a curtain. Maybe his mountain of a right-hand man, Little Brother. Or- Don tried not to gulp. If it's the Shr- No, Don, don't think of that. There's been no evidence that he knows about the Gamer's little scheme, and let's keep it that way.

With a deep sigh, Don forced himself to clear these thoughts away. C'mon. I can't keep Leo waiting.

Don charged past the curtain and found the second little room that formed Round Two also inhabited by beginners, just more of them. He breezed through Rounds Three through Five.

A long hallway that led to the staircase made up Round Six; here Don began to have to think about the fights. How many rounds are there? He wondered as he cautiously mounted the steps to the next floor. A newly erected thick plywood wall forced him to turn onto the next floor instead of continuing up the stairs. If there's six rounds per floor, and there's twelve floors… Well, minus at least half of the top floor for the boss fight. Still, that's almost seventy rounds… I hope the boss fight is before the top floor.

He opened the heavy metal door into Round Seven and into blackness. Still, the three Foot waiting there had had little training and, despite their advantage of having eyes adjusted to the darkness, were easy to sneak up on and incapacitate. I think that second one should've called in sick today—his nose was whistling.

"Well done, Opponent. Very amusing to watch on the night vision camera."

Don rolled his eyes and moved into the next round.

Thus, the long night continued. Don paced himself on the easy fights, but moved steadily upward. The size, brightness, number and size of cover items, and number of opponents varied; thankfully, some floors had less partitions and therefore less rounds. His path was laid out clearly for him, bouncing him from room to room across a floor, then up a flight of stairs, where a thick plywood wall forced him onto the next floor, where the rooms led to the second set of stairs. Unless they've got a shortcut somewhere, this place must be a nightmare to navigate. Well, duh, there must be an elevator. Just blocked off at the moment.

The Foot populating each room gradually grew more skilled, and soon sported various weapons more creative than just fists and katanas. Their tactics grew more interesting as well; they were more likely to try to distract the turtle in the front and ambush him from behind. Sometimes the Gamer laughed, clapped, and congratulated him as he finished a challenging round, sometimes he narrated a fight blow-by-blow, which was very distracting, and other times he watched in silence. I hate the cameras, and feeling watched—I'm a ninja. Being sneaky and secret is in my job description. He smashed several cameras when they were in reach of his bo, until the Gamer sighed, "He's watching, too, you know. Your dear blue brother."

Don glared at the lens and lowered his bo. Would he really let Leo watch? Maybe, but he sure doesn't have a microphone to warn me when someone's behind me.

By the time he reached the eighth floor, Don had stopped reading the printed signs informing him of the rounds. The Foot now matched, or even exceeded, his skill level—at least his skills for what he could handle alone. He longed for some water and a rest—better yet, to find Leo, go home, and sleep for a week. Minor cuts and abrasions littered his skin, accompanied by those bruises that had materialized thus far; others would doubtless develop later like polaroid pictures.

After bracing himself and again turning his ninja skills on all the way, he slipped into the round and discovered what he truly wanted: a brother to guard his back. Preferably three. I'm not used to fighting alone. Maybe little fights with punks like the Purple Dragons when I got myself stuck in that alley, but not real fights with real Foot. He narrowed his eyes as the real Foot in question leapt back to avoid a purple-wrapped bo and then swung his katana. Stop making useless wishes and focus. Don dodged, feinted, and managed one solid hit. This stunned the Foot enough to land another, and a third, heavy blow to disarm him.

This done, Don turned to the second Foot, who hadn't had enough room to attack in this small room. Time slowed as the turtle hurried to clear the round, and then the next, and then the next. He paused to breathe. He had refused to show any sign of weakness so far in front of the cameras thus far, but this floor had been occupied by expert Foot he normally would have gladly passed off to either of his older brothers. Yep, he thought, pausing to breathe. Those were Raph- and Leo-level Foot.

After a long moment, he straightened and walked out the door to the stairs. Speaking of Leo, where is he? With Mikey, the Gamer let me release him, and we worked the obstacle course together. His help with the next floor would be amazing. And possibly necessary to keep me from becoming a turtle paste on the floor. This whole thing can't possibly be a false lead, can it? He shook his head. No, this feels like way too much work for that—even for the crazy ambitious Gamer.

With another deep breath, Don opened the door to the ninth floor. As was his habit, he immediately moved away from the door—especially since this floor was dimly lit. Floor? He blinked in surprise as he realized the whole floor lay open before him; no partitions divided it into different rounds as all previous floors had been split up. Big crates dotted the arena, and Don's eyes darted around, searching for his foe. Is this a boss fight? This feels like a classic video game boss area. At least I know whoever or whatever the Gamer elected won't have multiple health bars like in a video game.

As Don crept forward, bo ready, a massive shape stepped out from behind an equally massive wooden box. Don's eyes widened. Little Brother.

Don clutched his bo, which felt painfully fragile at the moment, tightly as he started to slowly circle to the right, looking for any potential weaknesses. Any at all.

Then the mountain charged.

One floor above, a click from Leo's neck interrupted his rapt attention in the screen as his younger brother dodged blows from a trunk of an arm and managed to land a hit or two of his own in the solar plexus or kidney.

What's that? What's the collar doing now? Instinct made Leo try to reach for it, but the movement immediately reminded him about the manacles around his wrists.

Then sharp pain, stabbing directly into what felt like his vertebrae, made him gasp. That's a needle! It had a built-in needle this whole time! What's it injecting into me?

Leo's brain felt like fire for several agonizing seconds, and then everything stilled like a motionless forest lake.