Leonardo tried to think of a good analogy for surveilling the territory of an enemy. Saying it was like watching really dangerous paint dry didn't feel like the right description. It wasn't quite like watching a ticking time bomb, either. One could at least know when that bomb was going to go off, know how much time was left to duck and cover.
He decided it was more like watching a storm cloud for a tornado. Constant danger, constant watch, and constantly wondering when and where it was going to form. Tornadoes were invisible, after all, until they had vacuumed up enough dust and debris, and became spirals of gray-brown death. It was impossible to know the true scale of that danger until it had already begun.
After that, it was just waiting to see when it would come screaming towards you, ripping everything in its path.
He sat on the rooftop of a building just north of Silvercup Studios. At his left and right, Broadway and Brooklyn stood frozen in frightful poses. Casey snoozed in the sleeping bag behind him, football pads pillowed under his head. They'd slept in shifts through the morning and afternoon to keep the gargoyles protected. After the meeting, they'd decided to take up their roost as close to the studio as they could get. They were lucky; no one had noticed the new rooftop decor yet.
He hated the idea of spending an entire day sitting on a rooftop less than a block from a Foot Clan lair, but the gargoyles were right–they'd need to watch carefully and respond swiftly. With the sun setting, he'd taken one dose of his pain medication a little early and was waiting for it to kick in. He had the sinking feeling he'd need it, very soon.
Everyone was here, both from the Wyvern Clan and his own family. Everyone, that is, except for Elisa. Her position was the most crucial of all. Everything was riding on her timing.
He took out his phone, tapping the power button. 6:45. He stooped to Casey's side, shaking him awake. Casey blinked blearily, a sharp breath filling his nostrils. "Whuzzhapn'n?"
"It's sunset." Leo handed Casey his hockey mask. "They're going to wake up soon."
"How soon?"
A sound like a heavy tire rolling over gravel answered that question. Cracks raced up Broadway and Brooklyn's facades, black lines splitting the gray like cracks in an eggshell. All at once, the stone shell crumbled, arms flexing, backs arching, wings extending, tails lashing. Casey and Leo flinched, covering their faces with their elbows as bits of gravel pelted them like hail.
Broadway stretched his arms with a yawn. "G'night!" He said brightly.
Brooklyn ran his claws through his hair, brushing out a few stray bits of rock before tying it back with a hair tie. "How was surveillance?"
"I was hoping you'd heard me complaining about it all day." Leo quipped. "But I guess my issues fell on stone ears."
Casey rolled his head back and groaned. "Ugh, that was terrible! God, Leo, leave the jokes to Mikey!" He slithered out of his sleeping bag and started pulling on his shin guards.
"I've actually been wanting to write a joke book with him." Leo grinned. "I'm hoping we can get it… self-pebble-ished."
"I hate you so much right now." Casey snickered, swatting his leg.
"What are you talking about?" Leo's grin widened. "I think my jokes rock."
Broadway clapped his hands over his mouth, trying to hold down a laugh. Brooklyn squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. But there was a smile on his beak. "I agree with Casey, your timing could use sun work."
Casey clapped a hand over his eyes. "God. Dammit. Now there are two of them."
"Alright, alright, I'll stop." Leo chuckled. His smile faded and his serious demeanor returned. "We've been watching the trucks coming in and out of the studio. It looks like they sent everyone home at around 2. Once the last stragglers left the parking lot at about 3, they brought in a semi that parked just on that side of the building." He pointed to the western parking lot, where a trailer jutted out from the loading dock.
"So they've had four hours to unload whatever was in there." Brooklyn said grimly. "Anybody show up after that?"
"Half an hour ago. Two cars, blackout tint, and temporary license plates. They haven't left yet."
Broadway cracked his knuckles. For the first time since they had met, Leo felt a little unnerved by how serious he looked. "Sounds like we're just in time for the party." He said grimly.
Leonardo put the binoculars up to his eyes. He pulled out a little flashlight. He blinked it once, and he waited. On the rooftop of the coffee shop to the south of the studio, he saw a purple light flash. To the north, atop a clothing factory, a red and a gold light blinked once in reply.
"They're okay." He relayed to them. "Everyone else woke up just fine."
Casey finished putting on his gear. He popped in his mouthguard, tightened his skull-like hockey mask, and threw up his black hood. He shuffled out his hockey stick from the vintage golf bag on his back, spinning it once in his gloved hands. The multicolored tape on the blade and shaft–red, orange, blue, purple, and white–flashed in the light of the setting sun. "Alright, Casey Jones is ready."
Leo nodded, drawing one of his swords to check the edge. No nicks, still sharp. "Are you two ready to go?" He sheathed it.
Brooklyn laced his claws together, turning his knuckles towards his chest, and then straightening his arms. His knuckles crackled and popped, and he flared his wings, a determined scowl darkening his face. His eyes glowed white. "Let's do this."
Leonardo raised his flashlight, and before he could click it, Brooklyn spoke up again. "Hey, Leonardo. Before we go, I've been meaning to ask." He gestured to his shell with a claw. "What's that say? On your back?"
Leo straightened up, katana in one hand. "Oh. It says 'henka.' "
" 'Henka?' What is 'henka?' " Broadway asked, tilting his head.
Leo's eyes smiled. "You know what? After we win this fight, I'll tell you."
He blinked his flashlight twice. He saw purple, red, and gold lights blink twice in reply. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. No going back now.
"And you are certain you will be having more of these… Tengu?" A man, built like a thumb with dark hair and a thick Russian accent crossed his arms. "My employer is not having much patience for shipment delays."
Wolf closed the briefcase. Stacks and stacks of Benjamins winked at him before he locked it shut. "This is the sample. If you like how they perform in the field, then we can discuss a larger purchase."
"You will be training pilots for me, then." The man asked warily. "I will not be having use for these drones if they have no control."
"What kind of an arms dealer would the Foot Clan be if we didn't, Brod? We'll send three of our drone pilots with your men." Wolf assured him. "They're discreet, they have Russian passports, and they're fluent in the language. And once they're done training your men, they will be available for 'other' commissions. That is, if you can afford their fee."
Brod seemed satisfied by this. "I will discuss. Always pleasure doing business with Foot, Bradford." Brod held out his hand for a shake. "Do Svidaniya."
"Have a pleasant flight." He shook his hand.
In three corners of the warehouse, the windows suddenly imploded! Brod and Bradford leapt to their feet. Brod drew a short-barrelled semi-automatic from beneath the table. "I thought you said building was secured!"
"Always expect surprises." Bradford growled. He lifted a long, broad knife, nearly a short sword, from the table. "Next shipment is 10 percent off if you help kill whoever's invited themselves in!"
Brod chuckled, snapping a clip of ammunition into the stock of his AK-47. "I would do for 15." A roar, like the sound of a thunderclap made flesh, shook the studio warehouse. Brod's face paled.
Wolf flourished his knife with a chuckle. "I can settle for 15." He kept low to the ground at a dead sprint, weaving around lights and vaulting over set pieces.
He wheeled around the corner, past an apartment living room with three walls and no roof. If he hadn't already encountered them before, he would have been terrified. Gargoyles, showing up here and now of all places! He sneered. Why the hell does Xanatos let them run loose?
He flattened himself against a backdrop as a human body sailed past, a cry of shock drifting far out of earshot. He ducked down under a tail, sidestepped a swiped claw, and brought his knife down on an outstretched arm. A pale blue monstrosity shrieked with pain and surprise, pulling his arm back.
Wolf flipped the bloody knife over in his hand, taunting with one hand. The gargoyle lowered himself to all fours, eyes burning white. But rather than attack him, he turned tail and vanished deeper into the warehouse. Wolf furrowed his brow in concern. One second to choose, turn back or chase, he chose to pursue.
"Goongala!" Casey came roaring around a row of costumes on racks, rollerblades squeaking on the concrete, bowling right into a knot of ninjas. Right on his heels, Bronx charged through with a howl, garbage can lid paws leaving deep furrows in the floor.
Casey swept his hockey stick wide, knocking two Foot in the face. "Two minutes for slashing–"
He hooked the blade behind one's ankle, yanking it high into the air, knocking them down! "–two minutes for hooking! And let's not forget my personal favorite–"
He whirled around, hands down at the end of the shaft, the blade making a sharp whistle as it came down on the head of the poor sap sneaking up behind. "Two minutes for high-sticking!"
Bronx pounced on one ninja, picking him up in his jaws and hurling him away. The great beast rushed headlong into another, headbutting him right in the chest! The ninja sailed backward, punching through a set wall headfirst. Bronx lifted his head and howled, a fearsome sound that nothing on earth could imitate.
Casey scratched Bronx's ears. "Good boy!" He flourished his stick, tapping it on the ground twice. He pushed off, skating through the labyrinth of set pieces and storage crates, flipping off their fallen foes with both hands as he coasted away.
He heard the patter of many footfalls behind him, and he smirked behind his mask. "Yeah, that's right you scuzz-suckin' pukes!" He crowed, Bronx bounding alongside him. "Come and get some!"
Yeah, follow me. Casey thought as he rolled. Don't pay any attention to what's above you.
Four shadows fell from the ceiling, like blots of ink through a painter's water cup, the sound of rappelling lines whining quietly. Two of them seemed to divide as two passengers released their grip on their comrades.
Lex dropped to all fours beside Michelangelo, April keeping one hand on Raphael's shell. Don and Leo knelt beside each other, rolling up their rappelling lines.
"Okay," Leo whispered. "April, Lex, you cover the north. Mikey, take the south side. Don, cut the lights and search west. Raph, shut down their getaway, then join him. I'll cover the east."
They each nodded their agreement, and split up.
Donatello jogged a fair distance, silent as a whisper. He tapped a button on his staff twice, a length of flexible titanium alloy zipping out of the end. With a running leap, he vaulted up to the catwalk above the studio floor, feeling his staff flex beneath him like a sapling. He tapped the button twice more, length zipping back into his staff. He ran low and close to the boards, eyes peeled for the telltale convergence of long, black rubber power conduits.
There it was. Like a parade of black snakes, down this catwalk and to the left, past a bank of huge metal fans. He swerved into the stage light storage area, finding the massive wall of breakers where the studio lights connected to the city grid. He found the red safety switch, throwing it down. The studio was plunged into darkness.
Laying on his back, Raphael jumped a little when the lights went out. "Well, that was fast." He muttered.
He slipped a hand into his belt pouch, pulling out his signal flashlight. He clicked it on, red light painting the underside of the Pack's van. It was parked in the attached garage with a fleet of prop vehicles. So many nice cars that all looked so terribly expensive. It was almost a shame to sabotage them all.
This was the last fuel line he had to cut. Holding the flashlight loosely in his beak, he dragged his tanto across one more thin nylon hose, pulling his head aside before his face could get soaked by gasoline. He rolled out from under the vehicle, bringing himself up to one knee.
He spat out his flashlight, clicking it off and sheathing it back into his belt pouch. "That's the last of 'em." He heard a scream. A very particular scream. He shot to his feet, heart leaping into his throat. "Mikey!"
Brod's eyes combed the dark, his grip on his AK-47 blanched his knuckles. His heart was in his throat. He loved the thrill of a firefight. But this? This wasn't a firefight. This was a hunt.
And he couldn't shake the feeling that he was the one being hunted.
He fumbled in his coat for a tiny pen light, clicking it on. The weak LED beam barely illuminated a few feet ahead of him, doing little to penetrate the deeper shadow of the studio. In the near distance, he heard blasters firing, creatures roaring, people shouting, things breaking and shattering. Nervously, he clicked the lever of his gun, switching it to full auto.
He heard a rumble, off to his left. In his brain, images of tigers, lions, dragons, monsters flashed across the back of his retinas. Panicked, he squeezed the trigger! Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
"Blyat!" He swore, hearing the sound of the empty ricochet. Not a single bullet had hit its mark. He spun in a circle, ears straining for the sound of a footfall, a weapon, anything. "Show yourself! Where are you?!"
But he saw and heard nothing, except the shaky outline of his tiny light and his own breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. Behind him, a thud! He turned, raising his gun, before he realized–too late–that the danger was not before him. It was above.
A long, purple tail snaked down from above him, wrapping around the barrel and yanking it out of his hands! He cried out, fumbling in his coat for his pistol, craning his neck up to see what had stolen his weapon. He heard a heavy clatter to his right, training his pen light on the source. His mouth went dry as he saw the twisted, mangled remains of his Kalashnikov.
The ground shook beneath him as something immense landed behind him. He whirled, pointing his pistol, and he barely held back a scream as an enormous hand closed around his wrist, forcing his grip open. The pistol clattered to the floor, and he was hoisted up!
His feet left the floor, and he felt his soul leave his body when he saw white eyes, glowing just enough to illuminate a leering mauve face. A massive hand closed over his mouth. He felt his jaw creak under the tremendous power of his grip.
Goliath snarled. "You have the right to remain silent."
Michelangelo's nunchaku were tucked beneath his armpits, knees bent in a low crouch. Like the flicker of a fan blade, he threw out one-two-three hits! Whuff-whuff-crack! One connected, Wolf grunting as he absorbed a strike to the wrist. He grimaced, looking down at the welling bruise under his wristband.
Wolf flourished the knife, blade reflecting the safety lights' wan orange glow in the pitch dark. "You again!" He leered. "With no ceiling to save you this time."
Desperation driving him, Mikey feinted high with a swing, then swept low with a kick. Wolf easily leapt over the sweep, landing on his toes, and driving a fist into Mikey's face. Mikey shouted, blood dribbling out of his nostrils and down his beak. Eyes wide, he brandished a helicopter shield of wood and chain, taking two quick steps backward. He realized he was being herded into a corner, with nowhere to run.
Mikey whimpered, eyes wide. Bradford lunged, blade high!
Suddenly, out of seemingly nowhere, a fist connected with his jaw! Bradford staggered, holding his face. He smelled gasoline and tasted blood. He looked up, barely blocking an axe kick that would have crumpled his forehead.
Even in the pitch dark, recognition burned in Raphael's green eyes. His voice dripped venom. "You!"
He saw the reflection of the safety lights in Wolf's white hair, the outline of his bulky frame. Raphael drew his sai and he charged, bellowing with rage–each shout, a punch or a kick, barely blocked or evaded. He thundered, "YOU! MADE! HIM! CRY!"
Eight sharp claws dug into the wooden frame of the crate, wood splintering under his steel-wire grip. He tore it aside, heart leaping as he saw the inside–a dozen humanoid shapes, standing at attention, leaning against wooden frames that kept them standing upright. Red masks with long noses glared at him. "I found them!" He called.
April sprinted to Lexington's side, sneakers squeaking on the concrete. "Good going!" She praised. "Now, how are we getting them out of here…?"
Lexington looked around. He pointed, "Over there!"
April followed his pointed claw. She felt blindly in the dark. She felt the cool chassis of a vehicle under her hand, climbing into the seat. She ran her eyes over the controls, finally finding the ignition key. She turned it, the forklift purring to life, headlights flashing on. She lowered and lifted the forks experimentally before humming forward, tines lowering with a hydraulic whine. She slid beneath the pallet, slowly lifting the crate. Moving the stick into reverse, she backed up, made a three-point turn, and started in the direction of the loading bay.
She slowed down as the crate approached the truck, carefully going over the bump into the trailer, taking the steep downward incline slowly. I wonder if this'll count for my learner's permit?
It was faint, subtle. But she heard the quiet trill of many electronic beeps, green LEDs flickering to life in the eyes of the vicious masks. Her gut clenched. "Ah, sewer apples. Lex, they're live!"
There was a high, cruel cackle. Lexington looked up, backpedaling three steps as Hyena tucked into a front flip and leapt to the floor, just barely missing his neck with her claws. On one hand, her armored gauntlet glittered in the dark. In the other, a black remote with dozens of buttons blinked red and green.
"Here for an autograph?" She sneered. "Sorry, kiddies, this convention is closed!"
Hudson and Splinter didn't need to engage in the battle. Not yet. Ears and eyes peeled, they moved through the dark, unimpeded by the shadows that stumbled human feet and fumbled human hands. Quiet and low, the two old men were hunting for one specific threat.
And they needed to find that threat before it found one of their kin.
Splinter searched low, running silent between tall sound equipment cases and wheeled carts packed with stage lights. Hudson searched high, leaping from one catwalk to the next, keen eye hunting in the shadow for the silhouette of a man in bladed armor.
Hudson didn't quite cape his wings. Rather, they were raised just barely above his shoulders, hiding the shape of his silhouette. If he were glimpsed, he'd be no more obtrusive than another stage light under a drop cloth. He closed his eyes, and opened his ears. He listened carefully for the clank of metal footfalls, let his sense of smell sift for the scent of human sweat on cold steel.
Splinter's eyes were keen. His bones ached, but his will was iron. And almost better than he knew his own sons, he knew Oroku Saki and his ways. After all, they were once his ways too. Splinter's hand was light against the blue screen, torn by the raging conflict that crashed and roared around the studio. He craned his neck as he searched the ceiling. The faint dimness of the safety lights and the moon through the skylight were all he needed to see by.
Somewhere in this confusion, he knew that Saki was marshaling his warriors. He never did well in chaos, he knew that. He preferred control. He preferred to have the upper hand whenever it could be afforded to him. And if he couldn't find it on the ground…
Hudson's eyes opened. Human breathing, rattled through a metal shell. Sweat. Fear. Rage. There.
Splinter's beady black eyes narrowed, picking out the exact place he'd sit if he had to command the field. Face set, looking grim, he lifted his head to the hunched, white-eyed shadow on the catwalk. They exchanged a nod, and they moved.
There was a three-horned shadow, tall, caped, his shape broken up by the long curved blades that bristled from his armor. Hudson's wings flared as he descended from the ceiling, sword raised! Clang! Hudson was surprised by the swiftness of his foe's reaction, the strength of the block staggering him backwards. One-eyed warrior against one-eyed warrior, they clashed high above the studio, trading blows with deadly speed.
Shredder caught the blade of the spatha between the tines of his gauntlet, tearing his hand aside and forcing Hudson to drop his weapon or break his wrist. The sword fell, glittering, to the floor far below. He swept a kick, planting a heavy boot right into Hudson's chest. The wind left his body in a single heavy whoosh! and he staggered.
Impossible! Hudson's air-starved brain spun. No human is this strong!
Shredder raised his bladed gauntlet. Shing! Hudson's good eye widened as he heard the sound of a catch releasing a spring, and suddenly the blades grew an extra foot longer. But rather than swipe to take his head, he growled and spun around, swiping at the air behind him.
Splinter turned a backflip, catwalk rattling, as he easily evaded the strike. He crouched low, one hand on the grate, walking stick held tightly in his hand. His tail lashed behind him, his ragged ear twitched.
Shredder's laugh, made metallic and hollow by his helm, echoed in the shadow. "So, you are here." The Shredder swept one foot behind him, bringing one hand up to eye level, the other tucked into a fist by his hip. The reflection of his tekko-kagi caught Splinter's drawn face. "Good."
Lexington hissed, a sound more like a wild cat than a person. He lunged, eyes bright white. Hyena sidestepped, slamming a high heel into his chest with a shout! He was knocked off course, landing on his side. He scrambled upright as she came at him with her claws, just putting up a defense in time to block with his own. They struggled, hands locked.
Lex bared his fangs, and with a hiss, he slipped under her guard, catching her under the chin with his elbow spur! Hyena cried out, head snapping back. She staggered away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She spat on the ground, saliva pink with blood. "You'll pay for that, you little runt!"
The Tengu began to move, stirring to life. April panicked, doing the only thing she could think of doing–stomping on the gas. She dropped the pedal to the metal, scrambling out of the forklift seat! The forklift accelerated into the back of the trailer, the weight and momentum of the machine crushing the crate like a shoebox full of soda cans!
She gasped. Green liquid, glowing like glowstick fluid, seeped out of the corners. She backpedaled, sprinting to safety. She slammed her hand into the door control, desperate to seal the danger away. The panels slowly whined as they descended. Partway down, the door jammed, going no further. Green light pooled in the back of the trailer.
"Shit!" She turned, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Guys! We sprung a leak!" She screamed.
Hyena danced around Lexington, charging April. "C'mere girly, lemme fix your pretty little face!"
April ducked, Hyena's claws raking the wall above her head. April grit her teeth, and slammed a side kick into Hyena's gut. Hyena staggered, but not long enough to be caught off-guard by the punch that was aimed at her neck. She caught April's hand with her claws. With a malicious grin, she closed her hand over April's, piercing her skin. The girl cried out as blood dripped down her arm!
Lexington flew at Hyena with a yowl, knocking her down, rolling over and over in the aisle! April pressed her bleeding hand into her armpit, yellow hoodie quickly turning red. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she grabbed the closest thing she could close her free hand around–a coiled, unplugged power cable–and she charged!
Leonardo's head perked up as he heard April's cry. A leak? Here? "Dammit!" He swore, lurching into a sprint towards the north side of the warehouse. He wove around obstacles, planting a hand on a green-screen painted prop and vaulting over it. He landed, and his knee whined. He cursed under his breath again–already, his pain meds were wearing off.
He reached a hand down, twisting the knob on his brace. The thin wires that laced up and down his brace tightened, silencing its complaint. It'd impede his movement–but pain would impede it more. He drew his long katana, leaning back into the sprint. A bullet pinged off the floor in front of him! He skittered to a halt, wheeling around to see who had fired it.
Fox strode out from between backdrops, leveling her pistol at him. "You know, one ninja to another… this really isn't fair, is it?" She cocked the hammer back. "After all, it was guns that nearly destroyed our art so long ago."
Leonardo's smile was thin. "Then by all means. Make it a fair fight, if you dare."
Fox seemed to consider this. She cast a disdainful eye at the pistol in her hand, and she slowly lowered the gun, moving to put it back in the holster. But as Leonardo took a step, she raised it! Bang! He cried out, stumbling backwards! He fell to the ground, crumpled in a heap.
Her smile was cruel, serene. She strode towards him, gun low, pointed to his head. "You should have known better than that." She tutted. "A ninja's best weapon is deceit."
Shing! The gun flew off into the blackness, and Fox didn't have the reaction to stop the two-toed foot that landed on her jaw. She rolled, popping up onto her feet, dukes raised. A bruise bloomed on her cheek, her eyes narrowed with anger and hate.
Leonardo grit his teeth against the pain, and pulled himself to his feet, eyes watering. Crumpled into a tiny flat bit of metal, the bullet fell from his plastron like a copper mushroom. It left a deep mark, radiating small cracks that had begun to bleed. He charged, sword coming down on empty air! Fox's evasion turned into a rapid assault, blinding with punches and kicks!
"Funny!" He met her fist with a forearm, shoving her back. He flourished his sword, lowering into a crouch. A thin line of blood trickled down the front of his body. "I was always taught our best weapon is hope!"
Fox reached behind her, and removed a thick steel cylinder from her belt. She clicked a button, and it expanded into a long bō staff. There was a high-pitched whine, and each end of the staff lit up with a purplish glow, arcing tiny bolts of electricity. The light painted her beautiful tattooed face in a ghoulish violet shade, her electro-bō the only light in the darkness.
"Then hang onto it. You're going to need it." She lunged.
Brooklyn reeled around the corner, dashing through on all fours, hair and tail flying behind him like a banner. Laser blasts tore the ground behind him as he zigged and zagged, red light carving narrow crimson views in the dark. He turned, and nearly plowed headfirst into Donatello. Reflexively, he raised his claws. Don raised his hands with a terrified squeak! "Whoa-whoa-whoa!"
Brooklyn lowered his stance, eyes still blazing white. "Oh, it's you. How's your night going?"
Don opened his mouth. "Well, I–!" P-p-pew! Brooklyn folded a wing over Donatello's head and swept him up, taking him over a fake wall with an inhuman leap. They landed beside a huge machine–real or a prop, they couldn't tell–as lasers punched holes in the set! They took cover behind the steel body of the machine.
"I'm getting shot at, which was in the plan–" Pew! A laser glanced off the panel beside Donatello's head. "–so it's going great!" Don tapped a button on his staff, mirror panels folding out along its length.
Footsteps came rushing around the corner, and Jackal raised his blaster and squeezed the trigger. He cried out and swore when a stray beam struck a mirror, ricochet burning a hole in his thigh! He stumbled with a hiss as Donatello stopped spinning his staff, lowering it into a ready stance.
"Man, I love physics!" Don crowed. He shuffled his grip to the very end of his staff, swinging it like a bat! It collided with Jackal's shoulder, knocking the gun from his hands.
Brooklyn heard a sound and snarled, lunging into the shadow to wrap an arm around the neck and shoulder of a ninja, lying in wait to snipe. He tore the small rifle from his hands, snapping the gun over his knee like a stick. "Shouldn't play with guns!" He drove a fist into the ninja's gut, dropping him like a stone.
Jackal rolled up to a knee, drawing his stiletto dagger. He looked over Don's shoulder, and his grin widened. Having no time to react to the tell, Don didn't know the tonfa was there until it came down on his head. He went down with a strangled cry!
Dingo stood, leering over Donatello's crumpled body. He flourished his tonfa, raising it high over his mohawk, preparing to drive it into his skull. "G'day, mate."
There was a roar, the sound of stone torn by claws, and Dingo flew forward with a cry of surprise as Broadway charged him from behind. He bellowed, "G'NIGHT, MATE!"
Jackal took advantage of the opening, darting in towards Broadway's exposed back, point raised! Brooklyn's tail whipped out of the dark, snapping Jackal's wrist. Jackal screamed with pain as Brooklyn's tail wrapped itself around his arm and hurled him into a heap against Dingo. His head smacked the pavement, and his eyelids fluttered as they both, groaning, sank into unconsciousness.
Donatello panted. Broadway reached down a claw, helping him to his feet. Don brushed himself off, looking a little dazed. "Thanks."
"Anytime." He smiled.
The car jerked as it went over a pothole, water splashing its underside.
"What kind of a lead would bring you out to Long Island City?" Matt asked. He was leaning one elbow against the plastic molding of the passenger door of the undercover cruiser, looking out at the street as it flashed by. His hand was cupped under his chin.
Elisa tapped the brakes, pretending to look at an address written down in a notebook. "Someone in the area said that they saw a van parked in this neighborhood. It matched the description I got from Derek's neighbors."
Matt's brow furrowed. "Elisa," He said slowly. "That's a really weak lead. Are you sure it's the best you can follow?"
"Right now? Yes." She tapped her brakes again at a stop sign. "It's my brother, Matt. I'd turn this city inside out to find him."
"I believe you. I know what your family means to you. But I really think that the note he left on his answering machine is a–"
Crash! Elisa sat up in the driver's seat. "Did you hear that?"
"That was definitely a broken window." Matt took his hand off his chin. "Looks like this'll be an interesting night after all."
They both paused when they heard the first gunshots. Elisa grumbled. "Interesting alright." She reached over to the panel on the console and flipped on the siren. Matt tugged the radio out of its cradle, and put out the call.
Inside, Elisa felt both thrilled and anxious. Well, that's step one. Under her knee, she tapped out a message on her phone with one hand. I hope they can do step two by themselves.
Leonardo's belt beeped. Fox cast a glare down on it, bearing down against Leonardo's katana with her bō. Electricity crackled threateningly near his head.
"You gonna answer that?" She said sweetly. "Don't worry. I'll give you time."
"Really? That's very–" He planted his foot against the wall, slid around her, letting her bō strike the ground! Her momentum stumbled her forward! "–generous of you!" He gripped the katana with both hands, bringing it down on the bō staff! Metal parted under his blade, and the sparking ends went out.
Fox picked up the halves of her bō–a pair of hanbō now–and rushed back into melee. Leonardo evaded, slipping left, right, and ducking beneath a swipe. He kicked a backflip, rounding off with a standing leap that landed him on top of a high set platform. Wood flexed underneath him, and he smirked at her from behind the prop railing of the fake second story of a fake house.
He grinned sarcastically, giving her an apologetic shrug. "Well, this was fun. But…" He jammed his finger and his thumb into his mouth, took a deep breath, and released an ear-piercing whistle!
If they'd had ears, they would've perked up. Michelangelo and Raph exchanged a glance. They knew what that whistle meant.
Wolf took the opening, grabbing Raphael's wrist, bringing his knife up to attempt to sever the muscles of his forearm. Raph, in a panic, shifted his weight and dragged Bradford's face into his forehead! "Ya!"
Bradford staggered, the headbutt dazing him. Michelangelo rushed in, dropping low, planting his hands on the ground and spinning up in a blistering acrobatic kick! Whack-whack! Bradford went down, Michelangelo recovering upright with a cartwheel.
He and Raphael didn't take the time to celebrate their victory. They sheathed their weapons and started booking it for the exit! They took their grappling hooks out of their belts, spinning up momentum and flinging them up to the windows!
They scampered up the wall, perching on the sill. Michelangelo tapped a button on the end of his nunchaku, and the cap sprang open, revealing a hooked blade. He hooked his kama underneath the windowsill and started jimmying it open.
Hyena groaned, head lolling. She lay on her side, wrapped in the power cord like a Christmas present underneath a tall fake palm tree. Lex and April slapped a high five, exchanging a grin. "Yeah!"
Fwee-weep! Lexington's ears perked up, and April stood up straight when they heard the whistle.
Lex held out a hand. "Well, that's our cue!"
April took it, and Lex guided her hands to his shoulders. Her bleeding hand found some difficulty in keeping a grip. He leapt forward, scaling the wall with incredible speed, and slipping out the shattered window with April on his back.
Leonardo panted as he sprinted. He didn't get tired quite as fast as a human. But he'd been fighting hard, and he was starting to lose air. His muscles burned as he searched the blinding dark for April and Lexington.
If they got caught in that leak, He vowed to himself, I'll never sleep at night again.
He heard footsteps coming around the corner, and his hand found his katana before his eyes found Goliath.
"Leonardo?" He panted. "What are you–"
"Did you see Lex and April?"
"No. Are they with you?"
Leo shook his head. The green glow in the loading bay caught both their eyes, and they took an instinctive step away from it. "Okay, so they're not here. Good news." Leo assumed.
Goliath's eye was cast over to Hyena, tied up in power cables. He allowed himself a proud, smug smile. "And, it seems they handled themselves well. Come, we must leave!"
Behind them, to the west, they heard an old man's pained cry. Their hearts leapt up into their throats.
"Hudson!" "Master Splinter!"
Hudson's claws closed around the Shredder's wrists, driving him back and away from the old rat. Splinter lay, hand pressed to his side. Blood was starting to dye his brown yukata dark red. The old gargoyle grit his fangs, talons clenched in the metal grate beneath his feet. His arms trembled. He couldn't keep him away for long.
"Keep… back…!" Hudson's voice was tinged with a rumbling growl, eyes burning white-hot.
Shredder's heavy boots skidded against the grate, their rough texture drawing a high, keening squeak–metal on jagged metal. In his helm, his eyes burned red. Hudson didn't know if he was looking into the face of a demon, or if this was some trickery of magic or machine. He didn't care. If he faltered, then Splinter was a dead man.
Below him, he heard voices call their names. He saw Goliath and one of Splinter's sons, rushing to the ladder to make it up to the catwalk. It was enough to break his focus for a moment.
It was reflex against reflex. And Shredder was faster.
The pupil of Hudson's good eye shrank into a tiny dot. He felt his own blood, hot, drip onto his head. Two long claws had pierced through his wing, where it had closed when he'd ducked, just before it could pierce his head. The Shredder tore his gauntlet free, and Hudson felt his skin rip like wet brown paper. He stumbled back, eyes watering with pain.
"Pathetic!" The Shredder backhanded the old gargoyle, and he went over the rail, falling to the floor below.
With a cry of fear, Goliath leapt, arms outstretched. Hudson landed heavily into his embrace, Goliath crashing to the ground, cushioning his elder's fall. Hudson ground his fangs, squeezing his old eyes shut. Leonardo started climbing the ladder.
Goliath felt sick. Hudson's wing was a tattered sail, blood and brown, a ragged hole as big as his entire head clean through the skin. Hudson pulled his wing against his body instinctively, blood soaking his armor.
"I'm… fine, lad." He grunted. "Help him." He pointed a shaking claw up to the catwalk, to the wounded Splinter.
Goliath's eyes flashed. He saw Hudson's spatha, lying on the ground. He took up the sword in one hand, and he dashed up the wall. Claw and talons punched through cinderblock, and he scaled the height. He leapt, propelled by a flap of his wings, spatha clasped in his hands. With a roar of fury he brought it down upon the Shredder!
Shredder sidestepped, the blade cleaving the railing! Shaangg! He looked up at him, red lights in his helm narrowing. "I remember you, tengu. You were wise to run before!"
The Shredder opened his palm, pointing it at Goliath's face. There was a puff of white powder, and Goliath reared back, eyes burning! He swung Hudson's sword blindly, the Shredder easily batting his strikes aside, like a cat with a toy. A punch, jab, knee, and a haymaker to the cheek sent Goliath backwards into Leonardo! Leonardo crumbled under Goliath's weight.
The Shredder coolly strode to the weakened Splinter. He picked up the old rat by the collar of his robe, his feet dangling uselessly above the ground.
Leonardo managed to wriggle himself free of the tangle of Goliath's limbs. It was just long enough to see the Shredder cast one disdainful look in his direction, and casually toss a smoke pellet.
Sirens whined, closing in. When the smoke cleared, Shredder and Splinter were gone.