Chapter 2: Rat Rampage

Still New York, almost 16 years later...

All was quiet and still in the now disused subway station. Or perhaps not disused any longer... In one corner, a beat-up sofa and a battered television set. In another, a work bench with disassembled electrical appliances and tools scattered around. Nearby, a table covered with crumbs, with congealed traces of cheese and tomato and with other ingredients less easy to identify.

A subterranean Mary Celeste.

The silence was interrupted by a loud click. After a brief pause, a tinny voice crackled forth from the answering machine's small inbuilt speaker -"Hi, Master, it's Donatello. Hey, I know you wanted us to stay incommunicado up here... We were worried..." - The message went on for a while, and the spy listened right to the end.

Dropping to the floor, the rat scurried away.

The streets of New York on this particular Thursday evening, just as it was getting dark, were frenzied and chaotic. Car horns blared, voices yelled, people pushed and shoved each other.

Which was fine, this was normal. But what wasn't normal was the sudden arrival of-

-Rats! First a few, then a hundred, then a thousand. Scurrying out of storm drains, out of dark alleys - In one unfortunate case, out of a car window into the face of a baffled onlooker. Rats. Lots and lots of rats, and more rats. Rats.

Rats.

Not much could faze the people of New York, but this was too much. A hot dog vendor abandoned his stall. Drivers left their cars in the middle of the road. A mother snatched her baby from its buggy and ran. It didn't matter where, just away from the rats! A panicked man fell over that buggy in a tangle of arms and legs... It got so bad one guy even abandoned the takeaway pizza he was eating.

It got that bad.

A magazine stand was up-ended and its contents spilled out onto the street. One magazine that landed face-up in a shallow puddle showed a grainy picture of four bizarre creatures on a stage next to a man with flattop hair. "NINJA TURTLES NO MORE: ANATOMY OF A FLASH IN THE PAN," read the bold text.

One rat among the multitude had a separate purpose. It ran along the side of an apartment building, darted up the wall and jumped onto a fire escape, then up onto the roof and then down a drainpipe... It jumped onto another fire escape, and through a window, passing through the narrowest of gaps, spine crackling as it achieved access.

The chaos outside was audible, but even so the apartment was an oasis of calm. It was open-plan, with a spiral staircase leading to an upper floor. No one was around, and the rat scurried to and fro. All its senses attuned, focused on... what?

Jumping onto the sofa, the rat landed on a remote control and switched on the television. Attention caught, it watched as the screen lit up and, after a moment, with a faint buzz of static, a picture resolved...

- "So, tell me, Miss, uh, Miss McWilliams, how did you first meet, um, this giant Turtle? It was a Turtle, that's right? You're sure about that?"

- "I assure you, Miss O'Neil, that I know a Turtle when I see one. My ex-father kept dozens of amphibians, and I'm not likely to mistake a Turtle-"

- "-And, let me see if I've got this right, this Turtle was approximately six and a half feet tall - hmm - wore a red band around his eyes - red, huh? - and spoke with a..."

- "A Hungarian accent, yes..."

"Something like Dracula actor Bela Lugosi...?" ventured April O'Neil helpfully. She leaned forward, dark eyes wide in apparently sincere interest, and realizing she might have offended her guest, she smiled in a hopefully disarming fashion before stealing a brief glance at her notes.

The red neon signs displayed ON AIR, and the WRTL Channel 3 News studio was hushed and tense - From the floor to the soundproofed gallery, all attention was focused on the small set faced by three large TV cameras on wheeled pedestals. Two chairs, facing each other at a slight angle - The young - New York's youngest - anchorwoman, polished and composed, brown hair pinned up, attire striking a balance between trendy and suitably conservative. The guest opposite - different. Very different.

The forty-something woman in the chair opposite April just became more and more affronted - pinched, sharp features tightening as thinly-plucked eyebrows rose higher and higher. "I hope I don't detect a tone of mockery in your voice, Miss O'Neil," she reproved sternly. "That would be most unprofessional of you."

April found her gaze shifting gradually up as Miss McWilliams spoke - She just couldn't help it. Her guest's greying hair was scraped up into a very large bun on top of her head, like a massive loaf of bread balanced there precariously, and every time she spoke the bun wobbled alarmingly side to side, forward and back. A few times, April had had to stop herself trying to catch it.

"Not at all, Miss McWilliams," she said, doing her best not to let her eyes keep wandering upward. "I think it's true to say, a lot of people are very interested in these Turtles, ever since the pictures were first released, and those like yourself, who have actually seen them in, um, person..." Searching for the right words, April was actually rather pleased about managing to say all that with a straight face.

"In person…?"

Miss McWilliams looked down her beaky nose at April. She had her own views on her interviewer, arrived at over the year or so since the young woman had apparently come out of nowhere to front Channel 3's late-night news bulletins, before inexplicably being promoted to main anchor. Of course, she had kept her views to herself when they had been introduced, but all the same... and she had noticed how fond the almost all-male crew were of Miss O'Neil - everything to do with her professional ability, Miss McWilliams was sure, nothing at all to do with her girl-next-door prettiness and the very tight skirt that ended somewhat above the knee.

"Well, I mean that it's one thing to see a couple of soft-focus pictures and a few seconds of grainy film"-

-"They exist, Miss O'Neil..." Miss McWilliams said in a hushed tone, rheumy blue eyes widening. "Never doubt it."

"Oh, I don't," said April, allowing herself to be just ever so slightly enigmatic. "Now, this Turtle you say you've"-

-"Stanley was kind enough to intervene and fend off some unwanted male attention following a class we both attended"-

-"An aerobics class?" April cut in, trying to establish a logical through-line for the viewers at home. Hey, it may not have been her idea to interview this strange character but she was going to do the job to the best of her ability.

Miss McWilliams tutted. "Yes, an aerobics class. Stanley is a keen practitioner of kung fu, and uses aerobics to keep his joints supple. Now, it is an unfortunate fact that although aerobics classes are mainly attended by ladies, there is an occasional, how to put it, element involved that might be there just to... Um-"

"-But not Stanley?" April demanded doggedly. She leaned forward, pointing and waving her pen at Miss McWilliams in an accusing gesture, and in response her guest retreated further back into her seat. "And you're sure, totally sure, he was called Stanley...? And... And six and a half feet? Really? Oh, and kung fu? You're sure it was kung fu...?"

Miss McWilliams sounded flustered. "What curious questions, if I might say so, Miss O'Neil, even by the standards you've set yourself so far. Stanley was, and is, a perfect gentleman. Or, heh, gentleturtle perhaps..." She allowed herself a little chuckle at the joke, before realizing no one else had even recognized it as such.

On the monitor, April could see that an artist's sketch based on Miss McWilliams's description of the mysterious Stanley had been flashed up on the screen. With his red bandana streaming in the wind, Stanley cut an almost familiar figure. Almost, but not quite.

Way too tall. Not enough attitude.

Catching herself absently biting on the end of the pen, an old habit and not a good one on air, April hurriedly put it down with a little smearing from her dark red lipstick on it. "But... Miss McWilliams, didn't anyone else at the class find Stanley's appearance... um, curious? Even perhaps threatening…?"

"Well yes, that was clearly... a factor..." Clearing her throat, Miss McWilliams continued. "I for one soon found that one wasn't to be fooled by his apparently mean exterior"-

-"Mean? I think he's kinda cute..." was April's automatic response. Her glance flicked over to the camera lens for the briefest of moments. "Uh, not that I have a favorite, obviously..." Just this once, she hoped certain friends of hers weren't watching, wherever they were.

"Really, Miss O'Neil, if you will keep interrupting me"-

-"Actually, Miss McWilliams, it looks like that's all we have time for... I'm sorry... Perhaps, uh, we could hear from you again, if, uh, if... Stanley should make another appearance."

As her guest reacted with indignation, April turned to the center of the three cameras. "This has been a sham"- Miss McWilliams' mic was abruptly cut off and her voice faded - April glanced out of shot briefly, before giving the viewers at home her full attention again with an apologetic grin.

"Well, that is indeed all we have time for tonight, folks. I guess that even now, almost six weeks since those famous photographs first appeared, those so-called Ninja Turtles still have a lot of unanswered questions left hanging..." Pausing, she proceeded to sign off. "You have been watching Channel Three's News Digest," she said warmly. "Join us tomorrow night at six-thirty when your host will be Jim McNaughton, and I will be back on Monday for your regular news updates..."

"This is April O'Neil. I hope you all enjoy your Thursday evening."

The glow of the TV screen was reflected in the rat's eyes. As if it had seen all it needed to, the creature turned and left the apartment the way it had come in. It scurried down the fire escape all the way to the ground. It kept to the shadows, and vanished into a storm drain.

Hurrying through the tunnels below, the rat followed a labyrinthine path that took it deep into New York's sewer system. It came to rest finally and looked up as a shadow fell over it. A callused, bandaged hand reached down and picked up the rat, bringing it close to a face also half covered by bandages.

"I will have your report now, my soldier," a hoarse voice whispered. "What have you discovered?" The rat relaxed in its master's hands, nose sniffing the air. It made no sound, but he listened as if they were in some way communing. "Ah yes. The surface-dwellers and their delusions. That can only work to our advantage..."

The bandaged man produced a flute-like instrument and started to play. The tunnel was filled with a melancholy tune, and soon that tune could be heard for miles through the entire sewer system...

Below the streets of New York, in the repurposed subway station, a pair of unnaturally large rodent ears perked up.

Splinter frowned. That tune again. It was familiar, and yet not. It spoke to him of unbearable longing, and seemed to beckon to him. Come, come with me. Come with me and all your wishes will be granted. He almost did as it asked. He almost followed it to its source. But Splinter would not be anyone's slave. Splinter was strong.

"My sons... Perhaps I was wrong to send you away..." He shivered.

Would he be strong enough?

"Ed, where do you get these cranks?" April asked as she led the way out of the Channel 3 studio into the bustling newsroom. Six and a half feet tall…? Kung fu...? Stanley...? Really...?

"It's a slow news day, April. We might as well milk this Ninja Turtle thing while we can." Ed, a grizzled veteran of the TV news business, stopped and made it clear he expected his star reporter-stroke-anchorwoman to stop and talk to him. "Uh, listen, office day for you tomorrow, right?"

"Actually, I was planning to come in around twelve, if that's OK. Got to catch up on some research I was doing."

"OK... Yeah… Just one thing, this is your new assistant."

April turned - Already big eyes, magnified further by thick-lensed glasses, stared keenly back, and she took an involuntary step backward just as Ed made the perfunctory introductions - like he wanted to get it done before she could offer any objection. "Irma Langinstein, this is April O'Neil... April, Irma."

"Miss O'Neil," Irma began in a rush, "I'd just like to say what an honor it is to be working with the youngest anchor-woman on the network so early in my career." April wasn't very tall herself, but Irma stood a good two inches shorter in her sneakers. Also, apparently, she didn't need to blink.

"Uh, that's any network," April corrected automatically, and smiled, her glance darting over to Ed. "Hi. Irma Langinstein... Any relation?"

Ed's head turned slowly toward her, and she regretted the question already. There was a moment of chilly silence till Irma replied, untroubled. "Well, I suppose you'd know my uncle..."

Ed was glaring daggers at April, and she shrugged almost imperceptibly. "I was hoping you would come in just a little earlier so you could show Irma the ropes," he suggested.

"Yeah, OK. That'll be fine. I'll, uh, see you tomorrow, Irma. About eleven?" April shook hands with Irma, and the young woman walked away.

"Really, April. I know you've got a thing about getting here without pulling any strings, and I respect that, but that was unfair..."

"It was just something to say, Ed. You did spring this on me. All right, so she's the niece of one of the station's biggest shareholders... So what…? I'm sure she'll be fine, but I wish you'd consulted me first before you made her my assistant..."

"Look, I'll be honest with you - my arm was being twisted a little over this. Cut me some slack, OK? I know how you like to screen them carefully these days, but this one comes pre-screened. Right?" Ed took a proffered clipboard, skim-read the sheet attached to it and signed it. "Plus, she was in the mail room for five whole days, and that's two more than a certain prodigy I could name..." he said, stopping April in her tracks as she tried to slip away. "Anyway, there's another thing. What's this I hear about an informant? You haven't claimed any expenses."

April shook her head ruefully, smiling. "Oh... Good one, Ed. You're busting me for expenses I haven't claimed."

"I'm not busting you for anything," Ed replied, exasperated. "I just wish you would keep me in the loop. Seriously, I don't know what Chuck Pennington let you get away with, and I know, I'm only the latest short-term fill-in till he decides when or if he's coming back, but on my watch"-

-"OK, it's a story I'm working on, early stages. It's vital my informant is kept secret. And, you know, Ed, they don't even want money..."

"It's them, isn't it? The Foot Clan…?" April cringed at Ed's loud-voiced invocation. For her, secrecy and the Foot Clan had been necessary companions for a while now. "Look, April," he went on, "Apart from anything else it's a question of your safety. I can't allow you"-

-"Ed, keep it down, will you? You know they had a spy here."

"This guy Freddy, yeah. Between you and me, I'm still not sure I"-

-"Well, I'm the one who was dragged into an alley... and told to, um, stay off their case... So, I'm pretty sure..." April clammed up - For good reasons, she had been a little reticent on detail with Ed, and with his predecessor Phil, regarding her encounter with the Foot. Now, she kind of regretted bringing it up.

"Sure of what...?"

That put her a little on the spot, and April thought carefully before answering. "Well, uh, I'm pretty sure of two things, actually... One, it really suits those guys to stay hidden... Two, it's important someone shines a little light on them..." She looked at her watch. "And I don't see anybody else stepping up right now," she added regretfully.

"Yeah, but"-

-"Listen, boss, I gotta run. See 'ya'."

"April? Please let me assure you, nothing can be more important than... April!" Ed was distracted by a reporter offering him a phone handset, and he looked round irritably.

"Ed, it's for you. Something about rats..."

"Look, uh, just take a message, OK, Pete...? It'll keep."

"Uh, OK, sure..."

"We got sight of her again..."

"Well, what are you calling me for…? Keep her in sight..." No one was listening in on the phone line, but the two hushed male voices sounded like they were worried someone might be. Their conversation was clipped and to the point, and shied away from specifics.

"Look, don't worry... We got this..."

"You better... Just don't lose her..."

"Like I said, don't worry. Hey, it's not like a TV reporter is usually big on hiding."

Next: Pizza is disgusting, Chief Sterns is off the record again and the Foot are on hand…