| Mirage/Image Earth (Dimension A); New York City, April 5TH, 2089 A.D. |
“Something’s not right...”
A month ago he would have been called a murderer of billions; a self-righteous genocidal madman mad with power and delusions of grandeur on the brink of wiping out all of existence merely so he could be privy to play God and recreate all of Creation to his whim. A month ago he had nearly been successful, his efforts thwarted only by the unexpected combined efforts of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from the various dimensions he’d banished his brothers to upon their first confrontation in the 79TH Level of Null-Time. Had his efforts met with success the genocide he’d been forced to commit would not be remembered, and he would have gone on to be the honored guardian of the Utopia he was hell-bent to create and maintain.
Once he had been called “Leonardo” by his brothers and his sensei, but in his old age, The Shogun found precious little solace in clinging to the fading memories attached to that name. In his time; in his reality, his brothers had abandoned one another to either death or self-exile. Death or self-exile in the lonely, blasted post-apocalyptic world that was 2089 A.D. Earth, a sad, twisted world where even now mere children marched down the streets bearing swastikas and black face paint calling themselves Soldiers of the Revolution. Their sensei? Dead and gone a century before.
“No... no, heavens, this can’t be right...”
The Shogun was supposed to have been their fearless leader; the epicenter of strength from which they could always count on to draw upon. Splinter hadn’t meant to train a leader in The Shogun—he’d meant to train a replacement. Failing as such, he had spent his later years finding a way to reverse where he had gone wrong. In the infinite possibilities that the manipulation of time travel and alternate dimensions presented, he had thought he’d at last found a way.
“My God... no...”
All The Shogun had left were the aforementioned fading memoirs... fading memoirs, yes, but also a purpose. A purpose that burned within him even now, even after the grand scheme that he had meant to be his swan song had been wrenched from him in that final confrontation at the End of Time in 3689 A.D..
Yet on this day it was not mass genocide and dimensional cleansing that The Shogun turned his attention to, but something far more dire that represented a most immediate peril to not only his life, but the very fabric of existence.
On the Tri-D projected display the holographic dais The Shogun had constructed years ago before he’d finished the primitive time machine that had enabled him to travel to prehistoric times to take Savanti Romero’s power The Shogun was able to see through time and, upon its last modification, across even the multiple alternate dimensions he’d opened during his thwarted scheme.
“Computer, magnify sectors one through four, quadrants four-three, three-four, two-two, and one-four.”
Images flashed left and right across the holoprojected field of viewing of his younger brothers as well as himself early in the year 2001. Grim visions they were—visions of the Turtles laying as wrinkled forms, blood draining from the very pores of their bodies as they fell dying to their knees crying out for a help that never came.
Before The Shogun’s sunken, helpless, glaring eyes, his brothers died.
In every dimension, whether it A, B, C, or D, the end result as it played out seemed identical. The Turtles were doomed to die in the year 2001, the first year of the Third Millennium.
“This... is not supposed to happen... not like this...”
As his eyes reddened and welled, a single tear fell down The Shogun’s cheek.
| The 79TH Level of Null-Time (Dimension <Null>) |
Within the walls of the Palisade, one by one a congregation of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles materialized side-by-side one after the other until there were five.
Leonardo from Dimension A, red bandanna and artificial limb over the stump of his left hand; Raphael from Dimension B, tattered red mask on holding two sai joined together as a staff; Michaelangelo from Dimension C, grappling hook and rope in-hand; Donatello from Dimension D, trusty bo-staff brandished in both hands; Venus, also of Dimension B, kai-mi held close against her waist line.
The Mistress of Time, the ever-youthful Renet Tilley, presided over the gathering she’d arranged. She brushed a strand of her long, flowing blond hair out of her eyes before beginning, “You know why I have called you here, each one of you a representative of your respective dimensions.”
Leonardo was the one to offer response, first exchanging a look with his brothers and sister of alternate dimensions. “W-we are dying, Renet... dying, and we don’t know why.”
“I think I know why.” Donatello stepped forward. “I took blood samples from my brothers and I... the mutagen in our bloodstreams is destabilizing. We’re demutating... and our bodies can’t take it so our cells are breaking down, basically combusting on themselves.”
Raphael nodded in bitter agreement. “The Donatello from my dimension came to the same conclusion.” Leo and Mike muttered similar agreements of their own Donatellos’ findings—great minds thought alike.
“You’re right...” Renet agreed, “... but you’re also wrong. The timestream is being maligned... according to each of your respective histories, you are not supposed to die in this way! The root of your ailment lies not in your blood, guys, but somewhere else.”
“What do you mean? Where?”
Renet shrugged helplessly. “I can’t say, exactly, because it’s emanating from a place my powers can’t touch.”
“Where?” Leo repeated.
“You’ve been there before, Leo. You were there... trapped for several months in the body of a twelve year-old human boy. Do you remember?”
It was after his second of three confrontations with The Shogun, when The Shogun had thrust him for the better part of a year into a cruel dimension where the Turtles of Dimensions A, B, C, and D were celebrities and icons in comic books, video games, cartoons, television shows, and movies. “I’d just as soon forget.”
“This dimension has no name, but it somehow overlooks all of the dimensions I’m familiar with. For the simply lack of a better word, I tend to call this dimension ‘reality,’ if there can be such a thing.”
“But how do we stop what’s happening to us?”
Renet gave a heavy sigh. “I can’t tell you what to do or where to go or even who or what you’ll face, but I can pinpoint a location in this ‘reality’ that seems to be the focal point of your ailments. It’s as if a great, invisible hand is reaching through the dimensional gateways and squeezing each of your throats... I can’t describe it.” She shook her head. “I’ll send the five of you, each on behalf of each of your dimensions’ brothers, to Northampton, Massachusetts in this reality, January 15th of the year 2001 A.D.. All I can do at that point is wish you luck, and give you three days before I have to return you to your dimensions for better or worse.” She smiled timidly in vain. “Three days, guys."
The Turtles looked at each other uncomfortably. As before, Leonardo was the first to break the silence, offering, “We will need help.”
Renet gazed across the pleading faces of the five Turtles helplessly. She was testing the Paradoxal limits of the timestream just bringing the five of them together as she did. “I wish I could do m—”
“I will help.”
The five Turtles drew back at the sound of the deep, unfamiliar voice that emanated from behind them, some bringing their weapons to readiness out of habit.
“Who the—”
The speaker appeared, in a whirl of cloak stepping from the shadows. To the utter shock of the Turtles and Renet it was none other than The Shogun, no longer wearing the Japanese noh mask they had grown accustomed to him with during their past confrontations and displaying his wrinkled, elderly green visage. “My grand scheme may have failed, but my motives may yet be served by aiding you in this grim time.” The Shogun winced. “Our time is short, my brothers, and there is much to be done.” He looked to Renet. “Send us on our way, Renet.”