TMNT and various evil villians are owned by Mirage. That's all there is to it.

Frankenstein Wannabe Part B

"Mikey! Be careful of that leg!" Leo admonished him yet again.

Mike bit back several snappy replies, sighed instead, and stopped what he'd been doing; kicking the punching bag for practice with his right.

"Leo, it's fine," he patiently said, trying desperately to keep the childish whine out of his voice- for the fifth time today.

Since the casts had come off, he'd been nearly smothered by everyone, and it was driving him mad. His injuries had been the slowest to heal, and he had been so excited when Professor Honeycutt, under the directions of some Utrom doctor he'd been in contact with, had removed the casts so Mike could finally get up and really walk, he'd jumped up without support and had nearly wrecked the right one by falling heavily.

"Now, Michelangelo," Honeycutt had chided him. "You must take it easy. Your muscles are very weak from inactivity, and they are not going to support you easily for some time."

"My son, you must rebuild your strength slowly," he kept hearing on a daily basis from Splinter, when some training exercise proved too much for him, and he would with great embarrassment collapse to the floor, desperately trying to keep from crying in frustration.

"Jeeze, Mikey, take it easy, will ya?" even Raph was chiding him, when he tried jumping from the ladder that lead to the upstairs to the floor as he usually did when it time to eat- and ended up nearly breaking his right leg again as he hit the ground heavily and sharp pains had shot through him, causing- you guessed it- another fall on his shell.

"Mikey, you're not going to get stronger by reinjuring yourself," Don had tried to explain, and had provided him one boring night with a lot of information on bones, muscles, traumatic injuries, rehabilitation, and statistics on the high probability of complete recovery.

Yet Mikey uncharacteristically would listen without saying anything, not so much as a whine. He would vaguely sigh, or answer as politely as possible. Even he couldn't understand it.

Well, to tell the truth- he sort of did understand.

He had managed, during the first few weeks after the battle with Shredder, to overhear enough to know that they had all feared for his right leg. Both had been badly damaged, but they had apparently kept from him just how bad the right one had been injured. Even the Utrom doctors, he discovered, had feared that they would not be able to save it. And yet they had.

It had taken every bit of their advanced skill and a lot of luck- but they had saved the leg.

And everyone knew it "except him"- like he would be too sensitive to handle the truth, he had sniffed with hurt pride upon discovery. So he had tried harder than any one to regain his strength- and at the same time, had allowed them to ride him morning, noon, and night regarding it- he realized just how much they'd worried about him, so how could he complain?

No matter how annoying it was?

And every time he was forced to sit and watch training while the others carried on full force, he would pull out the much-used copy of Frankenstein and reread sections of it.

He'd struggled his way through it, and in spite of the language he had come to truly enjoy the story. He sort of felt sorry for the Monster, even though he ended up killing so many out of vengeance. And he had thought that Victor was to be pitied- until it began to dawn on him that he had brought so much of this on himself by sheer heartlessness.

He had created a hideous creature just to prove he could- and then had rejected it.

He sort of understood the rejection part- after all, most of the world would reject him and his brothers. Some would welcome them, as Casey, April, Silver Sentry and others of the "super hero" community had come to; some would be like Bishop, positively drooling at the chance to slice and dice and examine every last piece of them under high-powered microscopes.

Bishop. The more he came to understand the characters in the story, the more he saw Bishop in Victor Frankenstein- except for the humanity part. Mike was sure that Agent Bishop was the most inhuman human that could possibly live. Even Hun had more human emotion and feeling than Bishop.

"You readin' that again?" Raph's voice cut through his thoughts. Mike looked up to see that practice was over for the afternoon.

"Well, it's not like I have much to do, is there?" he replied, a trace of his old self showing through.

"You're scarin' me, Mikey," Raph shook his head, helping his brother stand up and heading to the showers. "You're not parked in front of the TV channel surfin', and you're not playin' video games. You're readin' a really old book- again!"

Mike didn't answer. He had tried to talk with each of his brothers about the book, but each attempt had been unsuccessful to say the least.

Raph: "Get the hell away from me with that."

Leo: "I found the lack of honor in Victor Frankenstein rather troubling- he allowed a poor maid to be hung for his own little brother's murder, when he knew for a fact that the Monster had been the one to do it, and his only reason for keeping quiet was because of the dishonor it would bring upon himself if everyone knew what he'd created."

Don: "There's no way that could possibly happen in real life- that Shelley woman didn't know much about Science. All the body parts would have been way past the sell-by date."

Only Master Splinter had understood and tolerated Mike's questions and thoughts about the story; he was the only one who had tried to answer Mike's concerns and requests for clarity.

"But why should anyone really feel sorry for the Monster, Sensei?" he had asked one night. "I mean, I sort of feel sorry for him, but he was so evil. Was he really human? How could he be human and do all that?"

"There are those who would say that the Monster was indeed more 'human' than the man who had so callously created him," he had replied, and Mike spent many days pondering this pronouncement. It made him think of one of the songs from Raph's Rob Zombie CD- "More Human than Human". Not the words, of course- just that phrase.

More human than human.

Bishop smiled with satisfaction. His Slayer was in top form.

If only he could say the same for the six "super soldiers" he'd developed.

Unlike the Slayer, they had started out as human. He had tried various DNA experiments with them, using what he still had of the Rat Splinter's blood and fluids, as well as some of what the Turtles had so unwillingly provided.

They were fast and powerful- but not too stable. These six "volunteers" had managed to survive the genetic manipulations the longest. The others...

Well, their families were being well-provided for.

He really needed more of that Rat's DNA- his fluids- his blood-

And the Slayer was going to help get it for him.

Since the fiasco with Saki, Bishop had managed to survive losing everything he'd worked for- but his program had been sadly reduced. And there was constant scrutiny on top of it. It had been quite a battle of wills to keep the manner of those mysterious deaths of all those "volunteers" a secret from their families, much less the United States Government.

He gazed at one of the monitors which had on the world news. In Japan, the new Utrom ambassador was being feted and treated like royalty.

The Utroms, from long experience on Earth, coupled with their experiences in New York concerning not only their hasty departure earlier (A/N: see "Secret Origins") but their recently acquired knowledge of Bishop and his organization, had decided that Japan, where they'd spent the most of their enforced exile, was the place to begin their overtures of friendship with the peoples of Earth.

The Japanese were so honored and excited! The history alone that the the Utroms could provide regarding ancient Japan (from first hand experiences!) was so mind-boggling, every historian in the country was in line to question them- no matter how many months in advance they had to book an audience!

The Utroms had also, to facilitate the friendly feelings, set up a demonstration of their memory pods- the things where all Utrom memory, experience, and so forth was collected and catalogued. When the first chosen historians were given the opportunity to experience Japanese history through the "eyes" of these peaceful yet determined aliens, they were immediately declared National Treasures, and everyone vowed to endure their safety.

Bishop sighed with disgust.

"They have no idea... no idea what will come of this," he muttered once again, loud enough for everyone to hear- but they'd been hearing it for so long, they pretended to not notice.

Oh, they didn't show indifference! Bishop was not a man to be crossed.

"They will learn the hard way," he muttered, as he turned his eyes to his pride and joy, his Creation. "And then they will be begging for help."

The Slayer stood, impassive as ever, awaiting orders.

"Now, my friend, we must go hunting," he said to him, a twisted smile on his face. "We have a few items to collect for the next phase of our research."

And, beckoning the Slayer, Bishop walked out of the room, closely followed by his prototype.