CHAPTER FOUR
Baxter Stockman tugged the edge of his collar gently as he waited outside the white void that served as a waiting room, waiting for the green light to come on and permit him entry.
He took a look at the Mouser he was cradling in his hand
"Bring yourselves online, come on, come on" he whispered to it, like a mother encouraging a child.
Every so often, it's legs would twitch, and it's jaws would snap open and shut, then it would grow silent again.
"Come on, you're embarrasing me" he said, giving it's metal head a tiny stroke.
He looked over at the monitors surrounding the void, images of the Turtles valiantly fending off a mix of mousers and foot soldiers deep in the sewer network of New York City, each coming at them in pocket legions of four to six maximum. Each of them were dispersed by the Turtles and their lightning quick reflexes, their lethal weapons, and their unparalleled resolve.
"If this is why you won't let me in, you're missing out on a great oppertunity" Baxter softly spoke to seemingly noone in particular.
"I admit-I admit the latest models aren't quite matching my expectations, or rather, your expectations, but all it takes is an improvement on the original formula. This model I carry here, the source of the imperfection, patient zero as it were. It-it doesn't know how to counter the enemy's tactics, it's slipped into a coma formulating strategies. I-I've been trying to get it to function again, get it to reroute it's replenished software into the hive network it shares with the others...get them to think ahead of the enemy's evolution in combat instead of relying on every trick from before they encountered them... I can use the resources on the other side to improve it, correct it's programming, I can make it think more coherently"
The green light switched on and the void ignited into a crimson red color, Baxter walked in and found himself in a small office.
At the center of the room was a couch and a table with two glasses filled to the tip with apple cider. A gruff man with a hardened look and build greeted Baxter on the couch.
"Marv Taggart, the only man to supply the funds for my mouser programme, as I live and breath" Baxter replied.
"Yes, well, we couldn't leave those parts out could we? Mind you, if we did, you wouldn't be so much of a nuisance to deal with" Taggart replied.
"Excuse me?" said Baxter.
"You're alive, you breath, it's the least we can do..you're so far out there, we can't nab you" Taggart continued, taking the cider and downing a small percentage of it.
"What are you talking about?" Baxter replied.
"You were three-fold, were you not?" said Taggart as he took another sip.
"I was-I was just waiting outside" said Baxter, the mouser in his hand twitching ever so slightly again.
"Yeah, yeah I wouldn't have minded a piece of that...three flies, all divided from the one individual...different dynamics to each too, a family unit, you must have had lots of kids on your mind back in the days you looked like this" said Taggart.
"Well, I did have some affection for your daughter" said Baxter, smiling as the mouser he cradled stirred before Taggart's eyes.
"May I see?" Taggart said, his arms outstretched.
Baxter obliged, and gave the mouser to him. Taggart looked at the mouser with a transfixed gaze charged with wonder and possibility.
The mood, however, changed, and Taggart began applying pressure on the mouser's head.
"Yeah, affection for you was addiction, and it blinded you to the real cost of these things" he said.
To Baxter's horror, the mouser's head was crushed.
"What have you done? The Mouser hub, the network, it can't-won't-upgrade now" said Baxter, whimpering as he picked up the pieces.
"What you did was cause the true Marv Taggart to cut corners where they didn't need to be cut, all to spite you for lusting after his only child, making her feel uncomfortable" Taggart, or rather what had taken Taggart's form, bellowed.
"I-I just wanted her to say something to me, praise me for my genius, give me something to work towards" said Baxter, almost reduced to tears.
"That's why you had to be plucked from the cuckoo's nest, how it all began didn't depend on the Turtles did it you great jelly...it had everything to do with possessing what you couldn't, you had nothing to work towards except your own glory and forcing people to accept only that glory" Taggart continued, taking the second glass of apple cider and pouring it down the back of Baxter's neck.
"Please, I'll do anything, just let me prove I can make my mousers function the way you expected them to"
"Don't worry, you can still prove to us that it all began with a position, what you aspired to be since you were a lad...a leader in the field...only we're thinking of a very different field" said Taggart, snapping his fingers.
Two men in SWAT gear came out, carting along a rocket-shaped module with an empty control seat.
"Would you like to be there with them? When the end comes?" Taggart continued.
"You think it all began with me wanting to be the one bellowing orders?" said a sniveling Baxter, steadily rubbing his watered eyes.
"It's a theory I'd very much like to replace an irritating fact that's presently offending me...obviously I can't get the original Baxter to go along with it, he's buzzing about in another dimension out of the reach of the reality tampering, but you? You're an off-shoot, an echo of the person he was...all we could do when working out the temporal kinks so everyone had a place in the new order. I chose to keep you in reserve in case the Turtles advanced"
"They'll get the job done, I gurantee it" Baxter said.
"Yes, yes they will, because you will" said Taggart, nodding to the two men to strap Baxter into the module and apply a tiny cerebral inhibitor to him so he would not be so resistance or make rebellious power plays.
"I'm going to bring my theory to order, no more crash reports, this time the Turtles crash, or you and your more advanced mousers will burn"
With a snap of his fingers, the module vanished. Taggart opened up an observation window, and watched as the battle between Baxter and the Turtles commenced.