God hates me.
No, really, He does.
Why else would they have found me so easily?
I mean, I must have ran 30 blocks, full speed right after Sato blew me off. I went over, around, and through every type of building in every conceivable way, zigging and zagging and even backtracking a few times, all in a vain attempt to buy me enough time NOT to be the first one caught.
And yet, here I am, trapped on a rooftop, with three Foot surrounding me in standard pyramid formation.
Maybe if I had been allowed to go to ground in the sewers . . . but they are off limits to us for some reason. I guess they really don't want to dry clean all those gis.
I've noticed that my sarcasm spikes significantly when I'm scared shitless.
Good thing I haven't eaten in awhile.
I assume a relaxed combat stance, neither overtly offensive or defensive. I'm only looking for an opening to escape right now. Natural ability and training or not, there's no way I'm ready to take on three ranking members of the Clan.
One maybe.
Two if I was having a really good day.
My ruminations are interrupted by a sudden attack by one of them.
I manage to block his strike (at least I think it's a he, the uniforms are designed to mask all individuality), grab his arm by the wrist and shoulder, and throw him into one of his companions. I must have caught him by surprise, because the throw works perfectly.
I don't stick around to see if his buddy managed to dodge the man-sized projectile, instead opting to dive over the edge of the roof.
I catch the railing of a fire escape halfway down, pivot onto the top of a closed dumpster, and leap into the alley, sprinting for all I'm worth toward the opening to the street. Then, just before I reach the sidewalk, I dive forward prone onto the ground.
Sure enough, a split-second later, a Foot ninja lands clumsily in front of me, not quite adjusting to the fact that my head didn't stay where it was supposed to. So instead of smashing my head in with a perfect flying kick, he hits nothing and is off-balance.
See, that's one advantage I have over these guys.
I'm creative.
I twist neatly and swing my legs out, sweeping both of his feet and knocking him on his ass. I jump to my feet and kick him a few times. A cheap shot, I know, but hey, I'm trying to win this thing.
I decide not to press my luck with another attack (although, I must admit, I'm enjoying getting a couple licks in), and book out into the street.
A car honks at me and swerves, while a large truck bears on down me.
One somersault later and I'm perched on top of the cab of said truck and putting some distance between me and my pursuers.
I have all of ten seconds to pat myself on the back before the Foot are chasing after me, literally leaping from vehicle to vehicle, kind of guys those guys in Martix II, only they don't wreck the cars as much. I turn to face them, preparing for the inevitable.
I'm guessing I shouldn't have picked a delivery truck, 'cause they're gaining fast.
At least the truck has a nice flat roof to fight on.
Time to play king of the mountain.
Too bad my mountain stops for a red light and I stumble landing on my butt, nearly falling backward onto the roof of the cab. As it is, my head and shoulders are dangling over the edge.
Sucks to be me.
I roll to the side, just in time to avoid a punch in the mouth.
Seems like I'm beginning to piss them off.
It doesn't look good to let a newbie get the best of you, I suppose.
I continue rolling, falling off the passenger side of the truck, catching the edge of the roof with my fingers on the way down. I use my momentum to swing my body in a nice arc, and bring my feet back up in an almost complete circle. The move isn't easy, as some of my old training wounds are quick to alert me, but I'm rewarded with a perfect strike to one of the Foot's heads. The force of the blow spins him like a top and drops to the top of the roof, stunned.
Ha! Sucker didn't see that one coming!
I'd love to trash talk or at least let out a primal yell of triumph, but one of the cardinal tenets of the Foot Clan is that combatants shall make no noise in combat.
Personally, I think that rule sucks, but it's the Foot's world, I only live in it.
I squat on the roof of the truck and push off, reaching the horizontal traffic signal pole. You never quite realize just how big those lights are until you've been up close and personal. They're bigger than a typical guy's torso, and pretty heavy to boot.
I probably spent a whole second admiring these sentries of modern civil engineering before I swing from there onto the façade of a three story building.
Fortunately, it's made of brick and I'm been taught how to climb those easily.
A few seconds later and I'm back on the roof, sprinting across it and back into the darkness.
Round one: Tommy 1, Foot ninjas 0.
---
Ten minutes later, I'm just about done patting myself on the back when I spot motion out of the corner of my eye.
I spin immediately, attempting to catch whoever it is trying to sneak up on me and am rewarded with a foot to the face.
I try to roll with it, but this guy has one hell of a kick, easily knocking me off my feet. I haven't been hit that hard since my "interview" with Hun all those weeks ago.
I take advantage of my sudden momentum to curl into a nice backflip, hit the ground tight, and spring backwards even farther, hoping to put some distance between me and my opponent.
It works, but any subtle advantage I may have gleaned evaporates as I get my first good look at my foe. As my brain attempts to process what my eyes observe, I stand there dumbstruck.
This guy's not human.
Sure he has two arms and two legs, is wearing human clothes including a mask and belt, wields two very human weapons (sais, for those of you keeping track as home), and walks like a human.
But he's green,
And he has a huge shell on his back.
And he has no hair.
And only three fingers.
In fact, he's pretty much a human turtle.
"Not a bad recovery. For a Foot."
Oh, great. It talks.
"Hey Mikey, ever see a Foot with this kind of uniform?"
Another one of these Turtle men appears out of the shadows. Unlike his buddy in red, this one wears yellow and carries num-chucks.
"I don't know, Ralph, they all look the same to me."
Somewhere deep inside, in whatever small portion of my brain that hasn't seized up in total shock, I wonder if this is still part of the test.
Maybe they're monitoring how we react to the unexpected on the battlefield.
Several seconds later than it should be, I finally assume a combat stance.
Yeah, that's gotta be it.
Because the alternative is quite simply insane.
"Oh, look, Mikey! This big, bad Foot ninja is gonna take us both on."
"Aw, that's no fair!" the yellow one whines, "I've had enough training for one night. The Late, Late Movie Monster Horror Show starts in 10 minutes!"
"Fine, then. I'll make this quick!"
The red one, clearly more aggressive, unsheathes his weapons and advances.
Once I see the moonlight glinting off the sharp blades of the sais, I begin to realize something.
I'm in deep shit.