This chapter was so much fun to knit together (hopefully it's not like one of those crazy-uneven scarf projects). I do hope that you enjoy, even if it's a longer (and darker) entry! (Recall that this fic branches off fairly early in the 2012 series, so stuff about retromutagen is -I hope- consistent with the plotline at that point.)
Chapter 16 - Devastations
"When I awaken, I am horrified by what I have done"
Leatherhead, "It Came From The Depths "
.
It was early on a Sunday evening: the unremarkable two-storey warehouse stood quiet. The summer sun was drawing back into itself, replaced by shade barely cooler than the sun-scorched air. Up on the building's roof, Karai shifted in her leathers, trying in vain to aerate her cloying armour. She grimaced. "You miscreants know the plan?"
"Yes, Miss-stresss", Fishface rasped gleefully, "Poissson Donatello to deathhh."
"Three chances. Shoot to kill", Rahzar elaborated.
"Excellent, mongrel. Yes, we have three loaded darts." She held up her three middle fingers, then closed them into a menacing backfist, parroting her Father's trademark gesture. "The poison is of course rare, has no known antidote, and is incredibly – efficient. The toxin indiscriminately dissolves cell walls, including those of blood vessels. Once the poison enters the bloodstream… Think of an aqueduct that dissolves as it contacts the water it's carrying. Even if the poison doesn't diffuse past Donatello's veins: if heart failure doesn't kill him in moments, then massive internal hemorrhaging will."
Karai paused to meditate on the reality of what she was about to do, then looked coldly at her henchmutants.
Lost in Karai's grotesque explanation, Fishface wore an unabashed look of rapt ecstasy that, quite frankly, revolted Karai. Noticing her perturbed facial expression, Rahzar looked over at the piscine thug. In the same awkward moment, Karai and Rahzar diverted their eyes. Karai loudly cleared her throat. Fishface's eyes refocused and his cherry-flushed skin returned to its usual livid fuchsia. Only his post-coital leer remained.
"It appears that Michelangelo and Donatello came to steal from The Foot. And Hamato Yoshi calls us criminals: what a hypocrite. Once inside, we will split up. Rahzar, you will scout for Donatello from below. If you find him, bring him to me. Fishface, you and I will keep to high ground: death from above."
The Shredder's daughter motioned for Fishface and Rahzar to slip through an opening cut out of the warehouse brick wall, made to hoist large shipments in and out of the building. Following the lead of their chunin, and despite their massive forms, both mutants swung lightly onto the second floor mezzanine. Karai frowned at the low, hollow echo made as Fishface's robotic legs landed on the metal path.
Their high perch offered an unobstructed view of most of the main floor. Despite the building's dingy early 20th century frame, the interior was a modern well-lit retrofit, apt for stripping and modifying stolen tech, particularly mobile phones.
Silently, Karai motioned Rahzar to descend to the main floor and scope the areas blocked from view by stacks of wooden crates and palettes. To Fishface, she indicated he hold position. The henchfish and his mistress scanned the floor below for movement, and turtle shells. Blending almost imperceptibly into the background, Raph's beige trench coats were well worth the discomfort.
...
Michelangelo stopped in his tracks, snout atilt, nostrils flared. Prickles of fresh sweat stung his skin. An animalic note of Hai Karate soured by ambergris flooded his mucous membranes. The pungent bouquet recalled brutality and menace. And annoyance. Annoyance and hurt. Mikey still rued that his naïve idolatry of Bradford, the once-human superstar ninja master, had been repaid with ridicule and worse. The orange banded turtle turned to face the direction of the scent.
Rahzar loomed several feet away, picking his way towards the young testudine, his eyeshine eerily floating out of the gloom.
Something tugged in the recesses of Mikey's convoluted mind. My son, to win any battle of any kind you must read your opponent. Intuitively, Mikey guided the conversation.
"Oh, hey, Rahzar. If you stay stuck in the 1970s long enough, that aftershave's bound to be on-trend again at some point. Miss your human self, much?"
Rahzar leaned towards Michelangelo and growled low and long. "I'm three times the ninja I ever was. I could only dream of having this kinda power in my human form."
"Sure. Totes. Such power, being Shredder's daughter's flunky." Mikey narrowed his eyes, spitefully squishing his freckles together. Casually swinging a nunchuk, he added, "Guess she got that puppy she wanted for Christmas after all."
PLINK! The first yellow disc dropped into place.
Never the sharpest shiv in the clink, Rahzar allowed himself to be upset by Mikey's on-target jibes. Drawing up to his full height, each skeletal hand the anchor for five razor-edged claws, the hound prepared to drop his bio-weaponry on Michelangelo.
Mikey kept talking, mimicking sympathy. "Believe me, as the runt of my litter, I get it. All your anger at being treated like a tool? Take it out on me if it helps you to deal. But you might wanna' let my bro' alone…"
Rahzar's reply was seismic in its rumbling. "And why is that, peon?"
A Column of Doom. It is the empty vertical line that you make when you position your pieces just so. Bright with inspiration, Mikey slipped the fiction from his lips. "Because: retro-mutagen".
Rahzar looked unbearably nonplussed.
Mikey continued his proclamation. "Donatello has invented the antidote to mutagen. Retro-mutagen. Retro as in seventies aftershave. D's science potion reverses the mutagen's mojo, puts any mutant back to 'GO', original state and everything."
PLINK! The second yellow disc dropped into the grid.
The terrible hound hesitated, proof that Mikey's yarn had snagged its target.
In truth, Donnie was only beginning to devise what a retro-mutagen might be. The über-genius was still stumped about how to reverse engineer what was, for each person, a uniquely random, entropic biochemical reaction. But Rahzar didn't need to know that, thought a smug Mikey.
"So what?", rumbled Rahzar, "I lose all this strength? Go back to bein' human? The Foot Clan "Golden Boy" I used to be, famous and adored by-…", Rahzar trailed off as the reality of returning to Chris Bradford sunk in, disarming his resolve, sowing malcontent and uncertainty in his rancorous mind.
The Column of Doom is a cunning play. You effectively remove options for your enemy. "Yeah", Mikey pressed forefinger to chin in agreement, "that would be terrible."
PLUNK!
Suddenly Rahzar stopped short. "Why're you wearin' a raincoat, dweeb?" He started laughing meanly at Mikey's awkward ensemble.
"Yeah, laugh it up, big guy. Let's let everyone know you're here. Um. Who is here, by the way? You're never too far away from your RoboCarp bromate …" Mikey quickly scanned around him, listening for movement, then turned back to Rahzar. "…What are you doing here anyway? Seems like a lot of effort just to hang with me."
Something dark turned in Rahzar's expression, and Mikey felt a cold bloom of unease fill his chest. Slowly, he backed away, keeping his sack of scavenged Kraang tech as low on his shell as possible.
"Well, always a blast, Rahzar." Throwing down a smoke bomb, Michelangelo vanished from the area and hustled back to his brother. It was time to breeze.
...
Donnie was delighted at how well this whole endeavour had gone. He'd picked up the parts he needed, found some other gems of tech along the way, and with any luck would be back in the Lair and fixing his phone within hours. Then: APRIL TIME!
He packed up his satchel, gently shifting the various parts to evenly balance the bag's weight. Just about to heave the sack's strap over his shoulder he noticed Mikey's T-phone taped to the security camera.
Setting the bag back down, Donnie climbed up on a nearby table to reclaim his little bro's cell, their only line of communication with the Lair. He lowered himself back down, collected his satchel and exited the clean room.
...
"THERE", hissed Karai. "He's in that central room. The one conveniently made of glass walls", she sing-songed wryly.
"Yessss", affirmed Fishface, "I see his wavy, purple bandanaaaa. Which could only look good next to such an unfashionable trench coat."
Not beneath stereotyping, Karai smirked at what she perceived was Queer Eye for the Mutant Guy. She'd pay a lot of her father's money to see Fishface take someone on a shopping spree.
Instead, she quickly kneeled down and unlocked the case containing the three darts. "Looks like we don't need Rahzar's recon after all", she noted. In a good mood because she was going to kill something, she said, politely, "Hold this, please". She handed Fishface the open gun case to hold for her while she carefully removed and loaded three darts into the gun's chamber.
...
Barely out of the clean room, instinctively Donatello drew his bo and started swinging. His instinct could only be ascribed to years of ninja training and the very unscientifically named "sixth-sense" that he had honed under Splinter's grueling regimes.
Don's bo helicoptered so fast that the first dart barely registered, its only evidence was the sound of metal clinking across the concrete floor. As he continued to block his unseen attackers he saw Mikey running towards him. Good. Time to escape. Bo whirling, Donnie felt a light impact. He decelerated the staff's arc and noticed with satisfaction a small dart embedded in the wooden shaft. Quickly, with his left hand he plucked out this second dart, and dropped it in his satchel for investigation back home.
Now, to ghost away with Mikey. Lightning quick, Don swung his bo back into its harness. Only when he lowered his right hand did he notice the third dart stuck into his knuckle.
Just as his mind processed that a dart had found its mark, he felt another small impact. Suddenly, his hand was cut and bleeding, and the dart that had just pierced him was gone, projected somewhere onto the floor. A loud crack to his right drew his eye: what looked like a black scythe stuck into a wall.
Then, Donnie's thoughts were obliterated by a massive impact followed by indescribable pain. His elbow felt like it had detonated. Why did it look like his arm was on the ground? Confusion swirled with agony and his vision blurred. Out of nothing Donatello's plastron collided with what felt like a tractor trailer truck. The massive impact sucked all the air out his lungs and ejected his body at a horrifying velocity into the brick wall. The plates of Donnie's carapace screamed as they ground at high-speed across the wall's stone and mortar, grinding his scutes, shredding his leathers from his back, and splintering his bo staff to shards.
Michelangelo didn't realize that his own ragged shriek was amplifying the terrifying noise. Crumpled face down, Donatello's cracked body was red, so red. Redder than fury, deeper than anguish. Blackened with grime.
...
Minutes earlier…
Returning from his errands, Leatherhead arrived at the warehouse's loading bay. Here was an adequately large storm drain that allowed his colossal girth passage into the sewers. Nestled in the crook of his giant's elbow, a paper grocers' bag was sagging as moisture condensed off a gallon container of frozen pigs' blood. Aside from his concern about the blood thawing, Leatherhead worried that the condensation would seep into his box of scones. He needed to get someplace cooler, quickly, before his groceries spoiled. Clearly, it was time to meet back with Michelangelo and Donatello.
The Croc sidled to the lip of the loading bay. With his free arm, he cranked up the locked metal loading door like it was a cat flap, easily splitting the lock's thick iron bolt. Once indoors, he daintily closed the limp gate against the hot sunshine.
Eyes calibrating to the dim interior, his fovea fished for photons. Even before his pupils had adjusted he caught scent of Michelangelo's fear, mingled with the reek of Rahzar's aftershave. Horrid, horrid aftershave. No wonder Michelangelo was distressed. Carefully, Leatherhead placed his grocery bag on floor and dissolved his mass into the shadows, a hunter's instinct. Something would be done about that aftershave. It was enough to put all of them off his Sunday tea.
Nose tucked into his chest, Leatherhead peered sneakily around a stack of crates. Michelangelo and Rahzar were to his left. Donatello, to his right. Hmmmm: left it was. Just as Leatherhead slunk towards Rahzar, his young friend vanished in a puff of purple smoke. Leatherhead smiled: How wonderful that Michelangelo was so playful and yet so formidable. Complexity was the spice of life.
About to descend on Rahzar, he froze as his nostrils picked up another sour odour, bitter and choking even though only nanograms of it had docked with his olfactory receptors. Swinging his giant head to his right, Leatherhead's pupils dilated further as he watched Donatello pluck a dart from the shaft of his bo and overlook the dart hanging off the back of his hand.
...
It wasn't until the split-second that Rahzar saw Karai's last dart find its mark in Donatello's hand that the hellhound realized that he wanted his humanity back. And in order to achieve that end, he had to save his enemy's life. The dart was hanging loosely; maybe the toxin hadn't ejected. Femtoseconds raced as Rahzar's subconscious calculated risk and reward. Flinging a stiletto claw at the Turtle to dislodge the poison dart projecting from his hand would look to Karai like an attack gone wrong. For him, that wouldn't be entirely unprecedented. He ejected his claw.
PLUNK!
...
Faaaaaaak thaaaaaad, Fishface swore to himself. That ridiculoussss Hound had dislodged the verrry spike that would down that horrendous purple banded Turtle.
Fishface had a yen on for slaughter. He launched himself off the walkway to fulfill his craving, his joints' pneumatics arching him tens of feet in the air and across the warehouse to land directly in front of Donatello.
...
The site of syringes provoked a guttural keen from Leatherhead even though no tiny dart would penetrate his armoured hide. Even if it did, the poison would disintegrate in his Kraang-enhanced super-antimicrobial blood. Rather, it was the toxin's lethal bouquet that had shot his body through with adrenaline. Later on, Leatherhead couldn't recall if Michelangelo's scream had met his ears before or at the same time that he launched himself at Donatello.
Behind his nictitating membranes the crocodilian's eyes frothed wildly as his jaws slammed thousands of pounds of force into and through Donatello's elbow joint. And then Fishface landed in front of them both.
...
Mikey noticed that no one was attacking or shooting anything at him, in fact, no one except Rahzar seemed to even notice that he was there. All the attention was on his genius bro-… OHSHELL. Flashes of Raphael's incident with The Foot's kyosuu fruit poison darts came flooding back, and he just knew that this time the poison wouldn't be as likely to have an antidote. Everything happened within seconds of itself, events almost folding over in spacetime. The dart. The projectile dagger-claw. Michelangelo almost stopped running towards his brother, so stupefied was he by Leatherhead's attack of Donatello. Through sheer muscle memory, his feet continued flying against the concrete. His fury and distress doubled as he saw Fishface land on the ground in front of his brother.
Stupidly, Mikey's first reaction was to throw several smoke bombs at him.
...
Initially Karai was horrified. The plan was dissolving in front of her eyes. She'd used the last dart, which seemed to have met its target. But then Rahzar had dislodged the dart with his terribly bad aim! Next, that deranged crocodilian had intervened, ripping off the Turtle's lower arm such that the poison wouldn't continue into his bloodstream. And yet: when she saw the scarlet, arterial blood pumping from Donatello's ragged elbow joint, her hope was renewed that he would bleed out. But then – more insanity!? Fishface…?!
The instant Fishface landed he spun into a roundhouse kick, using his momentum to propel and rotate his massive legs into Donatello's plastron, launching him so fast and so hard that, instead of going through the wall he crashed into, the kinetic energy propelled him for meters along the wall's length. Gore streaked across meters of brick. And then her view was obscured by violet smoke.
Satisfied that Donatello would soon be dead from his injuries if not also the poison, Karai ordered Rahzar and Fishface to disperse. Before she ghosted away, from her second storey perch she recorded a minute of the chaos below, the audio dominated by Mikey's sobs and pleas to Donnie to wake up. She managed to capture a clear view of Donatello's shell, at least one plate ground out of existence, his soft flesh visible and pulsing as blood ebbed out of the yawning wound. Father will get a kick out of this.
...
The next hour was an exercise in not freaking out. Everything felt surreal to Michelangelo, a nightmare he had to wake up from.
Leatherhead however had survived similarly traumatic situations and was more pragmatic. Donatello was unconscious but breathing, in soft painful-sounding rasps. The Croc removed Don's trench coat from all but his right arm, then tied the fabric as tightly as was safe to do so around the stump to slow the bleeding from his elbow. From the ground he collected Donatello's detached lower arm, wrapping it in what fabric of the coat remained free.
Then, he removed Mikey's trench coat, whispering soothing syllables to his friend, and bundled Donnie inside, protecting the exposed cavity of his thorax as best he could. Carrying Don as delicately as possible, Leatherhead led Michelangelo back into the sewers and towards home.
When Mikey finally found his shell-cell in Don's satchel, his shaking fingers fumbled to dial The Cheese Phone. For the first minute after Master Splinter picked up, all he heard was his youngest son crying inconsolably.
...
Hours later, the quart of pig's blood continued to thaw, the scones to wilt and crumble, in the oppressive summer heat.
You made it to the end!? Well, THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading! I hope that this longer update didn't drag and made sense and that you liked it, even if it was totally grim and OMG what will happen to Donnie?! Feedback is always very welcome and appreciated! XD
p.s. Hai Karate aftershave was reintroduced in 2014.