Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT of any version. 2012 TMNT belongs to Nickelodeon.
Rated T for Teenagers. Depends of maturity.
I like to use lots of figurative language, so if you're not comfortable with that, you may not get it, and that can lead to false speculations.
Like to thank reviewers/viewers/story followers;)
First fanfic, but don't let that scare ya;)
Chapter 1
The drone of aircrafts grow as a figure in the shadows emerges from the ground.
The crafts streak across the sky in groups, high above in the nautical twilight. The subtle figure bends down to push a manhole cover back into place, and looks up to follow the direction of the sleek knights of the sky, heading east. The shadow needs only a glimpse, then starts to climb up a rusted fire escape towards the roof. Once on the roof, he is an observer; a second to feel the brisk wind blow the tails of his mask towards the north, the city lights momentarily blinding his vision-nothing but dust is in his wake.
Two blocks north, a metallic army trails the lone figure. A flash of black, a blend of perspective, the army is masked from view of the lone ninja two roofs down. The ninja is distracted as he jumps from roof to roof, one-tracked on one of the aircrafts now hovering above the docks to land. A white foot is printed on the visible side of the hovering ultramodern plane; the Foot Clan's symbol.
A claret haze briefly blinds the ninja. He sparks gold, fire and rage flowing through his veins. Yet there is no need for his acting here, and the flames are extinguished. He must be rational about this. Here, right now. Here, at his deathbed.
A couple of blocks away stands the Shredder, tech-bots, a mutated army dressed in weapons that may or may not kill him tonight. Yet that's how it is every night when he and his brothers scout the city and weave newer ambitions, newer death strikes for their enemies.
Until.
Until Leonardo chides him to quit thinking like that. Leo, who knows everything and everyone, the perfect technique, the perfect poses. Knows that our goal is to kill the Shredder, and then watch his forces cave and collapse like a stack of toy blocks. Leo, who isn't worried about the aftermath of Shredder's forces creating a new league afterwards.
It was the fight Raph and Leo had before he had stormed out of the Lair. Both in the dojo, arguments flared up rather quickly. Yet it was not Raphael to trigger both of their erratic nerves. Nor was it Raphael to throw the first punch, to draw the first signs of blood.
At some point the sky opened up and rain slammed down onto the cement of the rooftops and streets below. The red-clad turtle's bright eyes blur with rainwater, chartreuse and roseate of the city lights swimming in his vision. Light illuminates behind a dark cloud, and thunder rumbles in the distance. It seems of a cliché horror film so much that Raphael wants to laugh: check evil activity on the docks, the thunder and lightning; all was needed was the gibbous yellow moon to be full and all would be well.
Raphael skids to a stop, shadows still blanketing him. Five roofs back, the metallic army retreats downwards into the shadows and emerge onto the docks seconds later, noticing the abrupt stop of their subject. Three stories below stands Shredder and his forces, but with new people opposite of him. The man currently talking to Shredder dresses as a refugee, with torn clothing a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. At his sides stand five other middle-aged men, holding wickedly sharp daggers with the same sneer on their face as their supposed leader. Definite black market traders.
Raph leans in closer as Shredder nods his head in agreement at the man in front of the gang, frustrated that he can not hear anything.
Uh-oh. This can't be good.
The Shredder turns towards Tiger Claw and barks an order. Immediately, the Foot bots start to load dozens of cargo boxes onto the aircraft that were sitting by the water. The black market traders back up and smirk at each other, simply pleased by their new profound agreement. Raphael's gaze narrows and settles back on Tiger Claw, who is currently exporting an African wild dog onto the plane.
For weeks earlier, before the fight with Leo, Raphael had snuck out of the Lair to scout the city for the Foot, specifically Tiger Claw—-not for interactions, but for information. Since the fight with Shredder in the chemical factory, he couldn't forget what Tiger Claw had said to him during their fight.
You are weak, Turtle. You do not possess any power. But let me offer you some. Let me give you some. We know your brothers do not really know you, Turtle. Come over to us, and only good will come from you new fortune.
After the fight, Tiger Claw's words were merely just…well, words. He let them wash over him, just letters pushed against one another. But the following days, after he had argued with his conscious that he wouldn't tell his brothers, the words started to sink in.
The Foot Clan had a specially trained army, a dictator, weapons, high-tech equipment, vendetta—and what did they want? Him? The turtle son of a father in which Shredder planned to kill for years? Obviously, it was absolutely ridiculous. A puzzle as simple as solving 2 + 2. He is loyal to his brothers, would die for them, even.
But what if?
What if?
His brothers really didn't know him. But how did the Shredder, of all people, find out about something he'd been too afraid to reveal to anyone? By Lucifer's name, what the bloody hell? And as Raphael sits there in disgust as Shredder and the black market dealers shake hands, all he could feel was the rage and fire boiling up inside him as new possibilities came to mind.
He was abruptly brought out of his thoughts by a gurgled cry. Perched on the ledge of the building, Raphael almost loses his balance, and whips his head side-to-side searching for the noise.
Being so focused on Tiger Claw, Raphael did not realise Shredder was missing from the crowd of his own soldiers. He now enters from behind some crates, a metal figure in the darkness of the night. But in his gloved hand he clutches a thrashing object. At first Raphael believes it's another African animal that has ran lose of the others, but instantly he recognises the voice.
"Let me go! Let me go!" More thrashing. "You haven't seen the wrath of––"
Shredder brings his free hand down onto the man's head, and he crumples to the ground.
"Put him in there along with the other animals." Shredder gestures to the still man. "Get this thing out of my sight."
Raphael leans even farther, trying to get a glimpse at the fallen figure, but slips. He falls atop a crate, creating a loud bang. He then rolls off and falls onto the asphalt. Shredder's head whips towards Raphael.
"Who is––"
Raphael turns his head in a sickening pain. He landed heavily on his shoulder, and suspects strongly that he dislocated it. Through his daze he glances at the man, who is now visible enough to make out. But Raphael's ears go numb, and he cannot hear the rest of what his enemy said. It is not long before he figures out his whole body is numb. Because the realisation hit, because the man, rather, boy, was not a stranger.
It may have been Casey Jones. It may have not been.
But one fact is true. He looks down to realise he has been shot in the arm with a dart, yellow liquid oozing out. The ground sways. Shredder saunters over to him and activates his gauntlet blades. He swims in and out of focus before Raphael realises the world is already black with blood.
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