Goliath's wings, dark as black velvet, cupped the air as he soared between the skyscrapers, as gentle as a hand through the wind. The fingertips of his long wings, as sensitive as the pad of his palms, felt the temperature fall subtly as he coasted around the corner of one tall skyscraper, glittering with glass and glinting with hollow gold light. Occasionally, he could spot a human just inside, engrossed in some tiny part of their life.
He never got to see the humans so quietly, so near and with such obliviousness to his presence. Occasionally, a pair of eyes would lift in their direction, a mouth would open in awe, and then in a flash they were gone, vanished before they could completely understand what they saw. But the lengthy glances he took in as he felt the wind buoy him up were marvels of modern life.
So much of his life, he had peered into lit windows at night, just like this. But these marvelous transparent walls had made those glances so much more enticing and enthralling. Humans reclining on soft couches, faces lit as they snuggled against one another for a film on television. People holding their dogs or cats close to their faces, noses nuzzled gently against their beloved pet's face. Parents with their children, flickers of human childhoods behind the panes of each window. Many were engrossed in some important work on a desk, or at a computer, transfixed by something so menial, so mundane that it beared upon their shoulders and stooped them to the table.
On the rare occasion, he spotted a shape on a roof that he could have sworn looked like a human, staring down into the street. Some rooftops were lit with hung lights, people milling about tables as thumping music and aromatic food and drink diffused into the air.
He spotted one small group on a roof below, laughing as they tossed something back and forth. A dog bounded between them, barking joyfully as it leapt up to try and catch whatever they were throwing. Three boys, teenagers likely, laughed as they jumped and sprinted.
"Back this way, over here!" "I got it, I got it!" "Hey, heads up!"
A night long ago. Firelight flickering over dirty faces, heavy cloaks bundled around their shoulders.
A distance aside, three gargoyles tossing a leg of ham between them. A great beast leapt and barked, trying none too hard to catch it in midair. The ham fell.
A boy rushed over. His mother, old shawl wrapped about her head, chasing him, calling the boy's name.
A beautiful gargoyle with red hair, leaping from the cornice with a snarl, baring accusatory fangs.
"Goliath?"
He tilted up into the breeze. The warm updraft from the traffic exhaust gently carried him back into the air. "Hm?"
"Are you alright?"
"I am well, Leonardo." He answered, perhaps more quickly than he ought.
Leo narrowed his eyes wordlessly. Arms wrapped around Goliath's shoulders, his blue coat's white fur-lined collar ruffled in the high wind. He'd taken care to tuck his red scarf into his coat, but already they'd had to stop twice to catch it when it flew off in the high wind. Goliath growled quietly, a grunt of effort as he flapped once to try and regain some more lost height.
Leonardo guided him through Midtown Manhattan, telling him the history of their enemies on the way. The Foot Clan, its evil, and the harm they'd wrought upon the people of New York was recounted to him.
By his retelling, the Foot clan was a clan of assassins that believed they practiced the highest and purest form of martial art. This divine destiny to be the strongest warriors on the face of the earth gave them the right to use it as they saw fit, for power and personal gain. The Shredder was a secret criminal kingpin, operating cells of ninja thieves and arms dealers throughout the city and even outside it.
The Shredder's recruiters preyed on youths who were lost and searching, with no family that would care if they turned to a life of crime. It was nearly a cult.
As Goliath listened, he mentally compared the story he'd been given by Xanatos to the history he'd been told by Leonardo. One question burned to the forefront of this tangled mystery, and he asked him, "Is it not true that you and your brothers are ninjas as well?"
"We are. We're proud of it, too."
"What makes you so different from this Foot Clan? Are your own arts not identical to theirs?"
Leonardo paused. "That's… personal. If you'd like to hear it, maybe one of these nights I can ask Sensei if he's willing to tell you the story."
"And what of your own thoughts?" Goliath asked, a little more insistently. "Are you an assassin?"
"I've never killed anyone." Leonardo said honestly. "I mean… the way our lives are going, that might have to change one day. But I'm not looking forward to it." His young voice was low, nearly quiet. If Goliath hadn't had excellent hearing, he would have missed it. "To tell you the truth… thinking of that day terrifies me."
Goliath's face was hidden to Leonardo, but a tragic memory clouded his features. "Taking another's life should not be relished. It should not be vaunted or acclaimed. It is a grim duty that must only be undertaken when other options have run dry, and your own life hangs in that same balance."
"You say that like you've killed before."
Goliath refused to answer that.
They alighted on a tall office building, on the same block as the TCRI building. TCRI looked a great deal like a slightly off-kilter stack of books, with jutting angles of concrete and glass, overhanging corner offices supported from below by thick concrete pillars. Leonardo removed a pair of binoculars from his belt pouch, tuning the dial to see clearly.
"TCRI was the name printed on the canister of poison the Shredder used 16 years ago. Last year, we tracked it here. This is Shredder's headquarters."
He passed the binoculars to Goliath, and he peered through them into the glass walls. A few lights were on, people in business attire meandering about inside. A janitor pushed a cart through the halls, occasionally looking out over the city wistfully as she leaned on her mop. She certainly didn't look like an evil assassin.
"None of these people have a warrior's bearing." Goliath observed.
"Most of them aren't part of the Foot Clan. They probably don't even know they work for a war criminal." Leonardo explained. "The people in the building right now? They could be innocent, or they could be killers. Ninjas are masters of disguise. I've heard stories of ninjas who've stayed in deep cover for decades before finally making their move. We can't guarantee who's who."
"Then how do you intend to fight them?" Goliath asked carefully.
"I don't." Leo answered. "We're going to do this the hard way; going in unseen. We get in, plant Don's computer virus in their server, take back some sort of evidence, and get the Shell out of Dodge." He removed something from his belt pouch, a long grappling line. He unfolded the hooks, twisting screws to set them into position, and gauged the distance.
"It's too far for me to hit." He said.
"I can carry you across." Goliath offered.
Leonardo shook his head. "No. I'd rather get across myself."
Goliath squinted at the building. "How long is your rope?"
"Cable's about 120 feet. Why?"
He plucked the grappling line from Leo's hand, tucking one of its hooks into the belt of his loincloth. "Keep a hold on the other end. I will forge a path."
He took a running leap, and he jumped the gap, propelled by a powerful flap of his wings, claws digging into the concrete on the other side. He scrambled up the side, as quick and agile as a gecko on a pane of glass. Goliath raised his claws, and with a sharp thrust, he punctured the stone in three places. He took the hooks of the grappling line, burying it in the handhold he'd made.
Leonardo didn't take the time to appreciate this feat of strength. He took a flat metal box from his belt pouch, pressing it to the rooftop. He threaded the thin line through a narrow aperture in the device. He pushed a button, and there was a high-pitched whine as the motor inside the device tightened the line and drove thick bolts through the concrete. He tested the line with one hand. It was just tight enough.
He shrugged off his coat and scarf, tucking it behind an AC vent. He hopped up onto the precipice, testing the cold wind with one hand. Heavy gusts–his mask tails flapped crazily in the wind. He reached up over his shoulder, drawing both of his swords with a soft shing! One twin was slightly longer than the other. He took three deep breaths to psych himself up, put his foot to the line, and he lurched forward.
Forward, towards the lair of the man who had broken him.
Swords held out to either side like birds' wings, eyes fixed on Goliath's crouched shadow on the wall, he sprinted across the tightrope. To go slowly would have been too great a risk; he had faith in his balance and dexterity, but he didn't have faith in the wind's mercy. He felt a gust rock the line, the subtle twa-a-ang of the cable ringing with each footfall. He adjusted, crouched as he ran, leaning slightly into the wind, he drew closer and closer.
He was at the end of the cable. He sheathed his long sword, and he leapt, hand outstretched. He soared, wind whistling in his earholes, and…
His knee twinged.
He felt his hand close on empty air, the ledge just inches out of his grasp. He cried out in terror, eyes wild, and then–whump! He felt a great force tug his arm, nearly popping his shoulder out of socket. Goliath's hand closed around his, tight and strong as a steel vice.
Leo panted, looking up at the well-muscled purple hand that enveloped his own lean green one, his feet dangling. The distant street twinkled far below. "Thanks." He sheathed his companion sword.
"I've got you." Goliath's muscles bunched, hauling him up to the ledge. His feet touched stone, and he grabbed the handhold Goliath had carved out for him.
It took him a moment to catch his breath. He made the brief mistake of peering over the edge and looking down. He gulped, shuddering at the thought of what would have happened if Goliath's reflexes had been too slow.
Entering the TCRI building quietly was a significantly more difficult task than most people–human or otherwise–were cut out for. Tremor alarms were rigged to every window, the ventilation too narrow for anything larger than a cat to enter or exit. Every door was rigged with an ID card reader and an electronic alarm. A power failure would lock every door in the building and summon the Foot security forces. The glass was bulletproof up to the 10th floor.
From all the careful reconnaissance they had gathered over the past year, TCRI seemed impregnable. The walls themselves, however, were not nearly as well guarded. After all, who would even try such a thing?
Goliath stood on the overhang, just behind a concrete pillar on the 40th floor. This floor was dark, devoid of lights. No humans should have been on this level at all. He cracked his knuckles, and with a grunt, he sank his claws into the stone. Planting his huge taloned feet into the ground, he heaved. A chunk of the wall, easily as large as a child and as heavy as a motorcycle, came away in his hands. He set it down carefully.
They waited with bated breath. When no alarm came, Goliath helped Leonardo into the breach. He squirmed through the gap, ragged bits of concrete digging into his shoulder and scraping against his shell. He popped out, tucking into a quiet somersault. He peered up one hall, and down the other. No lights came on. No shouts or gunshots broke the silence.
He waved to Goliath with one hand. "C'mon." He hissed.
Goliath dug his claws into the rest of the concrete, digging himself a larger entry. Leonardo ground his teeth at the sound, amazed that the noise had alerted no one. He muscled through, brushing gravel dust off of his arms, powdering the carpet with gray. He caped his wings, lowering himself to all fours. "Now what?"
"We find an elevator."