Welcome to the sequel to Turtles and Technodromes!
It was New Years Eve, 1987, and the sun was coming up.
April O'Neil's hands trembled as she dug in her pockets for the key to her apartment. Dehydration blurred her vision and hunger clawed at her stomach as she struggled with the key, hand reaching out to the door handle. She started with surprise as it gave way, key still clutched in her fingers as the door swung open.
For a moment, a faint hope rose in her chest, briefly lifting her spirits as she took a step inside. "Spike?" she called out hopefully.
No answer.
April locked the door behind her, taking careful steps into the dark apartment. She bit her lip with apprehension as she tread softly on the carpet, boots sinking without a sound. She turned her head, carefully glancing around the small living space.
Everything was untouched, exactly where she'd left it the night before - had it only been a night? - further increasing her sense of unease. She slid the keys in her left hand between her fingers like makeshift claws, raising them defensively. She winced as they jingled, then lunged forward, pushing open her bedroom door-
Nothing.
Light from the sunrise flooded the room, illuminating even the darkest corners. There was nowhere to hide, but even so, April took a step inside, peering around the door. She let out a relieved breath before carefully stepping back out, glancing around the small apartment. She took a step into the living room area again, eyes raking the furniture for any sign of disturbance.
She carefully stepped sideways, raising the keys as she gently pushed open the door to Spike's bedroom, steeling herself and sidling through the doorway.
No movement. No sign of disturbance. Nothing.
Nothing.
April lowered the keys, clenching her fist around them to stop her hand from trembling as she took in a shaky breath, trying to find a place to look that wouldn't hurt so much.
Every corner of the room was full of memory. Spike's weights, her boxing equipment. Her stack of vinyl records, her box of cassette tapes, all packed with music that April at best tolerated, at worst hated, especially when she played them so loud-
April tore her gaze away, roving it over the dresser, the crate full of VHS tapes. She took a step closer to the crate, almost without thinking as she bent down, absently flipping over the carefully placed copy of Aliens, a much-prized Christmas gift.
Spike looking up, fist full of wrapping paper, clutching the tape in the other hand. The hint of a surprised smile lit up her grey eyes, twisted her lips. "Thanks."
April had shrugged, grinning enough for the two of them. "You took me to see it twice, I figured you'd like it."
April hesitantly put the tape back down, hurriedly jolting to her feet as she shook her head, blinking rapidly to clear it. The whole room was saturated with memories, memories that seemed to slice at her like a blade. Her chest ached, feeling horribly empty, just like this room. She suddenly realized how cold it was, wrapping her arms around herself as she forced her legs to work, to carry her out of the bedroom.
For a moment, she stood in the living room, shivering as she turned in a circle, searching to find any hiding spots she might have missed.
Her gaze lifted to the kitchen, stopping as her eyes landed on the knife embedded into the kitchen table.
A chill shot down her spine as she berated herself for having missed something so obvious.
Slowly, she approached it, squinting at the handle, gaze travelling over the knife until it landed on the paper it was stuck through.
Hesitantly, April reached out, grasping the knife. She gave it a jerk, abruptly dislodging it from the table as she staggered back, clutching it nervously. She bent forward, bleary vision trailing over the words scrawled in black ink on the page:
Burch Was First
You Decide If You're Next
April collapsed onto a stool, leaning on the counter and raising her hands to her temples, eyes burning with unshed tears and exhaustion. Only now could she start to smell the sewer on her clothes and skin. Her heart beat slowed, evidently convinced by her mind that whoever had been in the apartment was long gone. The apartment was normally a warm, sight, welcoming her home after a long day's work. Today, it looked empty, old, as though she had not been there in years. As though her trek into the sewers had taken a decade, not a night.
She swallowed dryly, stepping to the counter and yanking open a cupboard, grabbing blindly at a cup, turning to the sink to pour a glass of water. She drank it in one gulp, gasping with relief at the taste, realizing with a start that she was starving. She could really go for some pizza…
She reached for the refrigerator door and pulled it open, staring incomprensively at its contents, forcing her vision to focus on the plate of chicken on the top shelf.
Spike standing at the refrigerator in the middle of the night, holding a cold drumstick, refusing to meet her eye, tossing the bone into the garbage can.
"I always worry 'bout you. Your problem 's that ya never worry 'bout yourself."
No. Don't think about that.
April shook her head, bypassing the chicken and grabbing an apple. She squeezed her eyes shut as the cold air of the fridge chilled her arms, made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The cold air stopped her from crying, kept her just a little more awake. For the first time, she understood why Spike had a hard time sleeping when April was in the middle of a story. It was deeper than fear.
It was bone-chilling, gut-wrenching dread.
She closed the refrigerator, turning to look around the apartment. Between the knowledge that the Purple Dragons had been in here, and the horrible, looming memory, the imprint of Spike's presence, the place almost felt haunted. She shuddered. Standing here, alone, she'd never realized before how big it was, so empty. So cold.
So dead.
No, not that word. Don't think about that word.
April slowly crossed the apartment, sinking onto the couch, fingers wrapped around the apple as the lump in her throat finally rose all the way, a sob choking its way out. The tears she had been holding back for hours let loose at last, spilling down her cheeks, turning her pale face blotchy and making her nose run. The empty ache in her chest worsened, the horrible tightness refusing to loosen as the dam broke.
Had it only been less than twelve hours since she'd last been here? Less than a day since she and Spike had argued about the danger, since Spike had tried to persuade her to leave this alone?
"Just be careful," Spike had said.
"I don't need to be. That's your job, remember?"
She hadn't listened. And she wasn't even the one paying the price.
How had she been so careless?
Physical and emotional fatigue battled for control as the apple fell, uneaten, to April's lap. She raised her hands to her face, wiping at the wetness on her cheeks as she tried to shake herself to reality.
Spike would be alright. She was always alright, always so brave, so stupidly brave. She had to be alright.
The morning sun streamed through the cracks in the window curtains, stinging her eyes. Her limbs and head felt heavy, almost as though she were in a dream. She wished she was in a dream, wished this whole thing had been a dream. She'd give anything to stride into Channel 6 in a few hours and see Burch, really see him, that Spike would come home any minute now from a fight, not against a Purple Dragon gang-member, that none of this had happened.
The stench of the sewer on her skin told her otherwise. The coupon, the ticket into the Purple Dragon meeting place in her pocket was hard evidence that this was all too real. The existence of four mutant ninja turtles and their rat master was something so truly unbelievable that even her subconscious could not have dreamt it up. All of this, all that had happened, because of her.
All because she'd chased after a story too big for her. All because she'd wanted so badly to be taken seriously, to be seen as a valuable addition to the newsroom.
And now her best friend was held captive by the leader of a ninja clan from Japan. For once, it was April who weighed through possible outcomes as dread threatened to swallow her hope whole. Spike had no idea the danger she was in.
If she was still alive.
That small, but horrible, word plagued her mind: if. That word represented all of the uncertainties, all the unknowns. She had no way of knowing what Oruku Saki wanted Spike alive. Or how long she would be alive. Or even where she was.
She had to find her. She owed her that.
If - there was that word again - Spike was still alive, nothing on this planet would stop her from fighting to get back to April. The least April could do was not give up on her in return.
She'd return to the building the Purple Dragons had taken her to, and this time, she wouldn't rest until she found this 'Technodrome', if she had to uproot New York City to do it.
Spike's life depended on it.
April's eyelids slowly closed, unable to stay open any longer, no matter how hard she tried to keep them open. She had to get up, had to start her search…..
A day ago, all she wanted was a story big enough to force her co-workers to take it seriously. She had the story now, all right.
But it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
For years, Spike Sanchez had been living with a simple understanding of how her life would end.
She had long been accustomed to the idea of dying young. She was to go first, that was certain. Probably violently. April would live a long life, a happy life. She'd be a successful career woman, maybe settling down as she aged, dying peacefully, of natural causes with her family. Safe from all that would end it sooner.
She wasn't supposed to be gunned down on a rooftop by street thugs, alone.
Spike collapsed to her knees, her bloodied hands reaching out to catch her weight. I was supposed to go first.
I was supposed to protect you.
The ache of her failure burned worse than the torn flesh on her cheek, ached worse than the bullet grazing her shoulder from the night before. She struggled to push herself back to her feet. Her hands slipped in the slick on the smooth metal floor. The gore on her face continued to drip, staining her jeans.
Something came down into her field of vision, and she reflexively jerked back, rearing onto her knees as her eyes focused on the hand extended before her. The palm was strong, calloused, a mirror of her own scarred hands but for the device fastened to it. On the other side of the hand, two sharp blades were also extended, dripping the same liquid that pooled on the floor under Spike's hands.
Spike's thin lip curled up in a snarl as she forced her leg muscles to move, shoving herself to her feet, unsteadily staggering back to lean against the wall as her chest heaved, head throbbing. Breath entered her lungs in gasps as she raised her chin, eyes blazing fiercely, meeting Oruku Saki's gaze with her own defiant one.
Oruku Saki retracted his hand, watching her, seemingly unmindful of the red stain on his bladed gauntlet. "You need medical attention," he said calmly, deep voice echoing off of the metallic walls. "Allow me to escort you."
"Over my dead body," Spike spat thickly through the pain that enveloped her jaw with every word. She lowered her hand from her face, balling it into a fist. She had no more words to utter, no way to vocalize the roaring anguish that was compressing her chest and throat so she couldn't breathe, wrenching her stomach so badly she could barely stand. It didn't matter what happened to her. Nothing mattered anymore. She had failed. Death seemed preferable to an empty stretch of years, her only companion the memory of a broken promise made what seemed like a lifetime ago.
She wished the Purple Dragons had killed her outright, or that she'd never let April go to that alley in the first place. That nothing in the last week had ever happened.
The Shredder took a step nearer. "You are aware that your friend may yet be alive."
Spike raised her head numbly, eyes wide, face pale, hands shaking. "What?" she rasped hoarsely.
"You may yet have a chance to save her."
"How? Y'heard the Dragon."
The Shredder's eyes hardened. "Hun would be most foolish to carry out an execution I have expressly spoken against. If you wish, my contacts can confirm whether or not any harm has come to Ms. O'Neil. My Foot soldiers can find Hun, bring him here, and force him to report to you. All I ask in return is for your assistance."
Spike's jaw tightened against the pain as she raised her bloodstained chin, meeting the Shredder's gaze. She reluctantly pushed away the nagging memory of April's terror at the name Oruku Saki, the protest at his offer.
She didn't have to trust him. All she had to do was work with him. That was worth knowing for certain, well worth possibly saving April's life. If she was still alive.
There was only a moment of silence, of deliberation before Spike raised her bloodstained chin, meeting the Shredder's gaze, speaking clearly and evenly.
"What d'ya want me to do?"
Thank you all so much for reading and returning to the sequel for Turtles and Technodromes! If you enjoyed it, please let me know what you think in a review, it means a lot and helps me keep writing! I hope to see you in the next chapter.