What? A new update in less than 10 years? Who is this posting this next chapter and what have they done with JayJones?! ;)
Chapter 19 - Solutions
"When would you prefer to breathe your last breath?"
Fishface, The Gauntlet
.
"OK, so maybe it's not going to work", April confessed.
Mikey leaned in, his baby blues full of determination. "April, it's an awesome plan. D will totally love you for it." Then, whispering conspiratorially: "He'll wish he'd thought of it himself."
"If he doesn't mind, um, you know…"
"What? Being BIONIC? If he'd already thought of your idea, he probably woulda' looked for a way to lose a body part."
April curled her lip. "You're joking. Right?"
"Eh, maybe. Metalhead was his try at a robot avatar. Don't matter, though: it is what it is."
"What it is, is dangerous", chimed in Raphael. "Not that I much care. I'm up for knocking skulls and rousing rabbles. What do you need to know about Brian Stairmaster's biotech?"
"Well, that's just it; I need to learn a lot. I pulled what I could from Donnie's hard drives and lab books; but he's got way more notes about retromutagen than neural nets. His specs on Metalhead have nada to do with synthetics and prosthetics."
"Well, that's pathetics", popped Raph.
April chased her groan with a sigh. "Yup. And it's why we have to figure out a way to steal Stickman's specs on Fishface's legs. Even if we use Metalhead's right arm, it'll need to be retrofitted with bio-components and some sort of, um, "wet works". Having Sterbderp's blueprints is the fastest way to design a prosthetic arm for Donnie that's seamlessly – or even just functionally – integrated with his nervous system."
Leatherhead's head appeared through the doorway of Don's lab. "Excuse my interruption. Michelangelo, do you require any further donations of tongue blood at this time?"
Mikey brightened. "No, Dude. Thanks for being a champion about it. April says she's got enough of your super-juice for now. I'll do the labwork later today to make D's medicine. The Lab Work. Aw-yeah."
"I am happy to see you happy, my friend. Is there anything else that I can assist with?"
"No – unless you can get us the plans for Fishface's legs", grimaced Mikey.
Leatherhead paused a moment. "Why do you need these plans?"
April spoke up. "We're going to use them to give Donnie a prosthetic lower arm, using Metalhead, that's linked to his brain, just like Fishface's legs are linked to his creepy little mind."
Another pause. Then: "Miss O'Neil, would you happen to know much about reverse engineering?"
April found Leatherhead's formalities utterly endearing. "Why, yes. Yes, I do. It's particularly handy when I refurbish legacy tech for trust-fund hipsters buying on Etsy."
"Oooo, is that how you and Don make the moneys?", interjected Mikey.
April gave him a conspiratorial sidelong glance and replied "It's one way we make the moneys."
"What's the other way?", the Turtle queried.
"Gimme ten bucks and I'll tell ya' ", April quipped. While Mikey face-palmed himself, she turned back to Leatherhead and probed: "Why do you ask?"
By way of an answer, Leatherhead simply asked, "Please wait for my return, if you can. I will make as much haste as possible."
As Leatherhead exited the Lair, Michelangelo sighed in disappointment. "No bakery run today, I guess. I miss those scones."
...
The elevator down to The Shredder's cellar was still broken. Instead, Fishface had to clank clumsily down the narrow emergency staircase to the Foot's holding cells, muttering as he descended:
"A house fullov' ninja baht nobahdee knows how to change an' electrical wire. Stockman is now so important that he can't be asked to fix a switch?"
The foul mutant exited the municipal-looking stairwell and turned to follow the thin flow of water that ran out from the sewer along one cellar wall. As he walked, his robotic legs whined softly, metal rapping ominously against the stone floor. He brightened as he neared the cells. He enjoyed many aspects of his job, but perhaps this aspect the most, second to killing people. Intimidation and torture tasted so good on his tongue. If he happened to gather useful information for The Shredder, too – well, that was but a fringe benefit of making people cry, and scream, and beg. And bleed.
A human Foot soldier stood at attention outside a particularly large cell. Fishface blew past her, pushing the door open, stopping just inside. The room was empty. His irritation blossomed to hate. He turned back to the solider.
Voice laced with venom, he asked. "Pray, can you help me with something?"
"Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir." As the soldier stood to join the towering mutant, Fishface grabbed her by the neck and thrust her face-first into the stone floor inside the cell. Placing a metal foot on the side of the soldier's head, Fishface breezed, "I'm having trouble finding tha prisoner. Do you see him anywhere?"
"Yesh, Schur."
"Whaad was thaaad…?"
"YESH, SHUR!"
Fishface frowned and lifted the pressure off the woman's face, slightly.
"Then why can I not see anyone inside this cell?"
The soldier managed to extend the arm not pinned beneath her body and pointed a finger into a dark back corner. Fishface's eyes searched, and found the silhouette of a small hunched figure, head tucked into bent knees.
As he removed his foot, the soldier wheezed as she explained: "It's a small girl. Meant to have seen the Turtles. Meant to be a friend, maybe knows where they live. Shredder wants to find out everything."
Fishface's mood brightened considerably. His cloaca twitched. "You are dismissssed." Creeped out, the Foot soldier mumbled an excuse to climb the narrow staircase and get out of earshot of the cellar. Anyway, everyone knew that Fishface liked it when they watched. Most soldiers deliberately left when possible.
Deep in the shadows, Leatherhead watched the Foot soldier go, and then manifested behind Fishface. There was no time to yell, the Croc moved faster than even the child could make sense of. Then she was on his back and free. As the little girl rode a giant bipedal crocodile into the sewers and back to her home, she couldn't wait to tell Leonardo all about it over tea.
...
Fishface was lucky to be near the sewer at the time of the attack. Leatherhead had ripped off the thug's breathing apparatus along with his robotic legs. When the returning Foot soldier found the mutant piscid, he was face down in the rivulet of sewer water, half asphyxiated from lack of oxygen, his cloaca smeared with discharge. The soldier took her time getting help.
...
Hours later, Mikey and April had just finished making the next batch of antibiotic when a loud clanging sound reverberated through the lab. They looked up to see Leatherhead demurely standing behind a pair of large robotic metal legs that looked strikingly familiar.
April opened her mouth, and then closed it. Then she looked at Mikey and slowly, deliberately raised her hand to him for a High-Three.
Meeting April's hand without looking at it, Mikey stared at Leatherhead and his prize, and said, "You done good, LH. You done real good."
Leatherhead delicately lifted a brown paper bag hanging at his side and said, "You must have questions. I will tell you about my outing over tea and scones. And we will discuss how to return Donatello an arm."
...
After a long and full day, the Lair finally fell quiet, even if everyone was used to staying up late. In the relative calm, Splinter returned to the lab to apply The Healing Hands to Donatello once more. After his ministrations, he sat himself next to his son's head, still facing only the floor, and began to talk to him. What started as a neutral report of the day's events descended into a pity party. Sitting vigil by Donnie's body, a grief-stricken Splinter murmured to his comatose son, "I never should have made you teach physics to Michelangelo. It was too much. Even for you."
"D'I hear my name?" Mikey sidled into the lab, carrying some towels and a jar of peppermint salve. "Hope you and D don't mind me crashing your convo. It's time to reverse the entropy in his arms and legs." Mikey paused. "Well, ARM, and legs." Locking his fingers and pressing out his palms to warm up his fingers, he conclude, "At least blood flow is non-Newtonian an' all. Moves better when mass-sahh-ged." Pressing a finger to his chin, he mused "Not sure about lymph, though."
Mikey picked up the frog stuffy that Leatherhead had brought for sick Donatello, and gently handed it to a still-dumbfounded Splinter, who accepted the soft, cute frog and gently cradled it in his lap. As Michelangelo began to massage Don's right leg, Splinter spoke.
"Entropy: order to disorder. It is not good for Donatello to lie so still, for so long. Between both pairs of our Healing Hands, he has the best chance of recovery."
Mikey nodded, and then observed, "Well, when Raph's done making his rocker thinga-ma-jiggy, D's table will tilt a little bit during the day, and help stuff to keep moving around inside of him when I'm not working my massage mojo. An' Leo's working the shell problem, right, Sensei?"
Splinter nodded. "That is correct. He has found information online about repairing turtle shells damaged by speedboats. He thinks that we can apply this to Donatello's injury."
"Huh. Speedboats" Mikey pursed his lips. "Never a dull moment, huh, Sensei."
"No, my son. So much so, that I am not sure that I would recognize one if it came to us."
Many of you may recognize the reference to the Madeleine character in "My Mr. Turtle", a delightful long-running fic by Andrea O'Down that picked up and pwned Nick's TMNT S.1 ("Slash & Destroy") plot bunny of Leo having tea with a little girl. **Thank you for taking the time to read!** XD