The Outside World
- Leonardo in Blue
A/N: This chapter (and the rest of the story) takes place 3 years later, just in case you're confuzzled. :)
Chapter 1: Lost in Panic
Short but strong legs pumped fiercely through the dank and dismal enclosure of New York City's subterranean labyrinth, causing a frenzied "splish splash splish splash" to resonate between the cold walls. A young turtle, no more than 4 feet tall (though quite large by any normal turtle standards) sprinted as quickly as his toughened feet would carry him through the murky water and congealed sewage. This was clearly no place for any eight-year-old child to play nor, I daresay, make his home, yet the young terrapin knew each twist and turn of the dark, dangerous corridors as though he had lived there his entire life. Which, indeed, he had.
However, on this particular evening, the young turtle felt lost and terrified by his surroundings. Each fork in the tunnel seemed confusing and unfamiliar; he had veered into several dead ends and backpedalled fearfully as the flowing green sludge beneath his toes was swallowed up by a grinning metal grate. It felt to him as if he had been running for hours, or even days. It frightened him to no end. He finally came to an area that resembled crossroads, something that should have been familiar, but instead seemed alien and almost like it was taunting him. He scurried to the maw of each connecting tunnel, stopping to jog in place as he second-guessed his choice of direction. His lower lip trembled and tears fought their way into the corners of his usually disciplined eyes. Finally, his stalwart inner strength gave out and he let forth a hopeless whimper, and then cried out in a childlike but powerful voice which echoed violently throughout the suffocating, narrow curves of the sewer tunnels. "Michelangelo! Raphael! Donatello! Help me!!"
"Is he better yet, huh Donnie, huh? Is he?" an anxious yet sweet voice demanded over and over again behind small, waving green fists.
"Almost Mikey, almost! Gee whiz, just be patient... please," a slightly deeper and more mature, but equally youthful voice responded.
"Yeah Mikey, you're so annoying sometimes," a third voice chimed in with a bit of overemphasized gruffness.
"Am not, am not!"
"Are too!"
Two more turtles of similar stature were kneeling on the hard concrete floor of a large underground utility room. Orange and violet sweatbands lined their small but muscular arms, and they sat huddled over what seemed to be a dismembered soldier-- a well-used action figure toy. A third turtle boy stood aloof from the others while leaning his shelled back against a wall, crimson-banned arms crossed over his chest while he feigned disinterest in the fate of the injured soldier by insulting his smaller brother.
It was their designated playtime- an hour to romp about and do whatever they pleased, within reason, before suppertime. Sometimes they played together; sometimes they grew tired of one another or were holding a grudge from their daily martial arts training a couple hours beforehand and chose to go their separate ways. Today, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael fancied a game of "army man". The concept of soldiers and war had been explained to them only very briefly and vaguely on the day they discovered Sergeant. Pepperoni (as Michelangelo had named the toy hence) floating face-down in the streaming sewage outside of their makeshift lair. Toys were a rare find for the odd sewer-dwelling family; so needless to say, the pale, slightly stinky action figure was a real treasure.
Sadly, Sergeant Pepperoni had taken a near fatal plunge from the steep cliffs of the moth-eaten couch and General Michelangelo had rushed the soldier to Nurse Donnie for immediate intensive care. Donatello, luckily, was a patient and kind-hearted boy and was quite handy working with small details and points of articulation. He had a unique and innate understanding of how things around him worked that his brothers seemed to lack, especially for one at such a young age and under such lavishly strange circumstances. He was, however, opposed to being rushed in his craft.
"You killed Sergeant Pain, now we'll never get to play-" the red-clad one growled under his breath, his true disappointment finally beginning to shine through.
"Raph, his name is Sergeant Pepperoni!" the smaller turtle beseeched as he loomed closer to Donatello's precise operation on the toy.
"Aw who cares, it's a dumb game anyway!"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Come one guys, be quiet!" Donatello snapped as their bickering took its toll on his seemingly boundless patience. A rather uncharacteristically smug tone enveloped his voice, as it sometimes did when the boy knew his cleverness was of great value to his brothers. "Surgery takes skill and concentration."
As he began meticulously reattaching one of Sergeant Pepperoni's legs, he suddenly dropped the tiny screwdriver and perked his attention sharply towards the rotting wooden door of their musty home.
"Did you hear that?" he suddenly inquired, also dropping Sergeant Pepperoni abruptly from his normally careful and doting hands.
"No no no!" Michelangelo cried out, his pudgy little fingers grasping wildly out to catch the toy before it collided with the floor and broke again. "Donnie!" he whimpered as he looked up to see why Donatello had forced Sergeant. Pepperoni to earn another Purple Heart.
Raphael had lighted from his position at the wall and took several steps towards the old door. He said nothing, but glanced briefly down at Donatello with a meaningful look.
"Where's Leonardo?" Donatello mouthed, calculating all the possibilities of the source of sound he swore he just heard echoing past the door outside.
Michelangelo blinked and his short attention span seemed to forgive the fact that the toy soldier lay in ruins again. "I asked him if he wanted t'play but he said nuh uh." He corrected his posture and sat much straighter, as if tuning into his brothers' sudden unrest and disinterest in repairing their plaything.
"Yeah he went out joggin' or somethin'," Raphael appended. His eye ridges angled in thought and the corner of his mouth twitching into an unintentional smirk. "He got mad and he kept sayin' I sucker punched him in the dojo when we was trainin'." A pause. "But I didn't."
Donatello could feel the weight of Raphael's fib wash over him, but the echo surged behind the door again. "That sounds like him!" he insisted, rising to his feet and trotting to the door.
Michelangelo's ears finally picked up the sound too. Reflexively, he rose to his feet and looked genuinely confused. "But why's he yellin'?" he asked, clasping his fingers together as if bracing for a lecture. "He's not s'posed to!" They had been repeatedly told not to make noise above a whisper when traveling through the sewer tunnels. What they heard was definitely loud, panicked cries.
Raphael took action and brushed harshly past Donatello who seemed reluctant to further approach the closed portal. The brash young turtle grasped the rusty handle and flung the door open, striding out into the softly hissing liquid sewage beyond. Donatello and Michelangelo quickly followed suit and marched out of the room, both bravely hiding behind Raphael's shell.
It was eerily silent again as they gazed into the dark pit of the tunnel. The three brothers looked at each other uneasily, then back into the emptiness.
"LEO!" Raphael suddenly roared out at the top of his little lungs. Donatello nearly jumped out of his shell and Michelangelo let out a high-pitched squeak of surprise.
"Raphael!" Donatello gasped, grabbing onto his brother's arm and tugging on it. "Not so loud!"
"But--" Raphael was about to argue when Leonardo's distant voice responded.
"HELP ME!"
Without hesitation, and without even giving each other a second glance, the three young turtles sprinted in the direction of their brother's voice. A million things raced through each of their minds. What could be attacking their brother, Leonardo? Was it an alligator? They had never actually seen one of the alleged sewer beasts before, but they had been told to be very cautious. If Leonardo was breaking the rule of keeping silent and crying for help, nothing short of a monster attack could be the reason for it.
Raphael was the more athletic of his two accompanying brothers and he pushed ahead harder as if in the last stretch of a race. "Leo!" he called out again as he saw glimmers of the color blue in the distance.
"Raphael!" came the response, tired and desperate. "Donatello! Mich--" Leondardo tripped suddenly and in a blur of green and blue, plunged face first into the filthy water below.
"Leo!" the three other brothers yelped in unison as they reached their fallen sibling.
Raphael briefly touched Leonardo's shell with his fingers to let his brother know he was safe now that they were there to protect him. Instantly he leaped forward and assumed a defensive stance, gold-colored eyes hardened and sharp, ready to face whatever foul beast that could have possibly harmed his strong and brave brother Leonardo. He was greeted with silence and darkness.
Donatello and Michelangelo promptly picked Leonardo out of the pungent muck and hoisted him up to rest between their shoulders. Leonardo gasped for breath as the unspeakable waste streamed down his forehead and over his cheeks. Michelangelo and Donatello struggled to steady him back onto his feet. Raphael continued scanning the tunnel, but could detect no immediate danger. He turned around to face his brothers, letting his muscles loosen again. "Leo, what's wrong with you? There's nothin' there!" he barked, embarrassed that his heart was pounding so hard from the fear and anxiety that something might have happen to his brother.
"Leonardo, what happened? What is chasing you?" Donatello coaxed as he tried valiantly to wipe the grime from his brother's face with his fingers.
Strained wheezing and wet coughing escaped Leonardo's throat, and finally a burdened, "Master... Splinter..."
