296Ah, another update so soon! I must do them while the inspiration lasts!
TMNT are the property of Mirage, but once when I was driving through Utah, I met this hitchhiker who told me his name was Peter Laird, and I didn't really believe it, but he said 'cause I was so nice as to give him a lift, that one day I would own all his rights to the Turtles!
Catena
"Leonardo definitely was one of the three you encountered?" she asked, eyes narrowed in thought.
"Hai, Mistress Karai."
"Very well. You are dismissed."
The man reporting left, relieved. She had not been as upset as they had imagined she would be at their failure to capture the turtles. But they would be on extra alert. The fact that they'd been surrounded and outnumbered and yet had made short work of the twelve who had originally engaged them would not make for many happy training sessions. Still, no one was ordered killed, and that was something.
Karai, wrapped in a loosely fitting robe, turned her eyes to her assistant.
"Your thoughts on this?"
He bowed.
"I do not understand their presence. I do not think it was a planned incursion, judging from the report that the one called Raphael was arguing with Leonardo. This is what alerted our guards to their being there."
Karai allowed a smile to cross her face at the memory of the report:
"They were arguing... forgive me, Mistress Karai, but they were arguing about... you."
"Me? Explain."
The Foot ninja swallowed a few times, trying to find his courage. He was nervous enough without having to repeat words he had heard.
"I am waiting!"
"The one in red accused the one in blue of being... of being..." - deep sigh; braces self- "HOT for you."
Karai sat there, wondering if this fool was looking for a quick death. Then she realized that he was speaking the truth; only an idiot would fabricate such a statement.
"Well, it is nice to think that I have caused dissent among the brothers," she smiled slightly. "And I suppose I should be flattered. Whatever else, at least Leonardo is exposing himself. It is too bad that they got away, but if they are roaming out again, then we have a chance of settling old scores. Alert everyone. I want them all- alive if possible. I especially want the Rat!"
"Hai, Mistress," he bowed and left her alone.
She let the robe drop to the floor as she crawled back into bed, glancing at the clock- only a few more hours and then she'd have to be up for training. Then a meeting with Chaplin to see how he was progressing with her plans to locate the home of the turtles. Then a business lunch with Hun of all people.
She closed her eyes, and smiled.
"Leonardo is 'hot' for me? That is the funniest thing I have heard in quite some time. I shall certainly share that joke with him, just before I kill him."
Baxter entered the lab. It was too early for his assistants to be here, but it didn't matter. There was not much to do except check on the progress of the cloning process as well as monitor the activity of the brain.
Looking at the damaged organ as it floated in the small "healing tank" they had pieced together using Bishop's files, he marveled again at the stubbornness of Agent Grant in this process. The brain, though it showed signs of "healing", would never fully function.
"All we need to do is get it into good enough condition to transfer the consciousness into the cloned one," she kept insisting.
"Lady, it's been like this for months. There's not going to be any consciousness left to transfer. Don't you believe in a soul?"
"I'm surprised at you, Stockman! A man of science, discussing souls? How novel."
"Even Einstein believed in God."
"And you as well?"
Stockman stood in thought. Did he believe in God? Could he believe in a supreme being who allowed all the things that had happened to him to have taken place?
And yet here he was- "alive" in a manner of speaking. His brain carefully preserved and fully functioning, operating this artificial body that he had created for himself, his existence was due to science pure and simple.
Or was it?
As he thought over his amazing tragedies and miraculous survivals, he was tempted to believe that Someone up there must be looking out for him; SOMEONE up there must care.
"Unless this is my Hell," he wryly mused, slightly chuckling. "This is my Hell, my own personal Hell, where I exist as this thing, taking orders, alive without being able to live, playing Dr. Frankenstein for some crazy woman who is trying to recreate the impossible."
The door slid open, and Agent Grant entered the lab.
"Speak of the Devil," Stockman could not help saying, turning his robotic body to meet her. "Good morning, Agent Grant. Lovely morning, isn't it?"
"You are in a cheerful mood," she observed, her face a mask of indifference. "Why does that not put me at ease?"
Baxter "shrugged", his holographic face expressing slight amusement at her words.
"What is the progress?"
"Well, I believe that another forty-eight hours is needed before we attempt to stimulate the brain to see if activity is possible," he said, bringing up the current readings on one of the many computer monitors for her to review. "Though I would be more confidant if we had access to the work of your intriguing Dr. Baker. Any word on that front?"
Grant made a face.
"One of our operatives reports that there was a disturbance at the waterfront some night before the blizzard hit," she reluctantly told him. "Apparently an organization you are no doubt intimately familiar with located and for a brief- a very brief- time, had the good Doctor in hand. And then there was a fight, and he was rescued as it were- by those mutants."
Stockman did his best to keep his holographic face from registering his amusement at the tale. He had already heard it gossiped about in the lab by one of his technicians, who was a drinking buddy of the operative in question. Karai was playing "Shredder" evidently, and for some reason she and the Foot were after Baker as well.
The fact that the Turtles had been involved strangely did not surprise nor bother him. They of all parties involved would keep this man "safe" for the moment, and that would be a relatively good thing. Much as he would love to see if this project could be pulled off, he felt a strange sympathy for the scientist, forced to do others' bidding, no freedom to pursue one's own interests, and constantly under the threat of death.
"No matter," he found himself saying. "I'm sure he will surface shortly. I doubt he will want to stay in hiding for long, especially if you carry out your plans regarding his 'safe' person."
Agent Grant froze for a moment; who had been spying?
"I am sure I do not know what you are implying," she said carefully.
"Oh? My mistake. You know how it is, stuck here all day, exposed to the gossip of others while trying to concentrate on boring old work," he apologized, going back to the computer and studying the latest readings.
Grant studied the scientist, weighing his words carefully. Someone was going to pay once she found out who was spreading her business around.
She was the only person in the organization who knew of Baker's "safe" person. Or rather, she HAD been. Not even Bishop had known what she'd found out after months of exhaustive searching for the runaway scientist. She could have had him recaptured many times, but she had had her reasons for not acting on her information.
But now... now rumors were circulating. Great. Just great.
Her phone went off, putting a halt to her current train of thought.
"Speak," she said.
"You're wanted on the private line, Agent Grant," came the news. "Washington is calling."
Grant swore. More bureaucratic bullshit no doubt. Along with Bishop's position she had inherited a lot of his headaches, many of which dealt with funding and the huge amounts of red tape that went along with it.
"I'm on my way."
Without a backward glance she left the lab. Stockman allowed himself the luxury of a good laugh.
"Ah, sometimes I quite enjoy this place," he chuckled, going about his work.
Foolish outsiders! Why do they keep coming? They must long for death!
He surveyed the remains of the two who had so carelessly allowed themselves to be trapped by him. They had come with weapons. They had come to "shoot some rats". They had come to kill his friends.
Now they fed his friends, fed them with fresh meat, the first they'd had in quite some time.
The fear of this place had spread, yet there were still those who came looking to prove something. And when those that escaped reported it to others, and many would come to snoop and pry and examine, they would find NOTHING!
His friends were quick to learn how to disguise their presence in this vast place. Under his guidance, they had quickly mastered the way of Invisibility when it came to surviving here.
The Way of Invisibility... where had he heard that expression? He could not recall ever hearing it before, not even in his previous life as- as- whatever he had been.
"Victor"
There was that name again- at least the pain that usually went with it did not cripple him up into inaction. He was mastering the pain of memory finally.
His gaze returned to the leftovers. Soon they would have to hide the evidence. Bodies tended to draw the attention of others, and as powerful as he and his friends were, they could not cope with others when they came in large numbers.
He went outside and stood in the late afternoon sun. The snow was in piles here and there. It was warmer than it had been, but not warm enough to melt the snow. Just as well. The cold would help disguise the stench of death for a little while longer, until all traces could be erased.
The wind blew, sending swirling grains of fine snow wisping into the air, dancing across the ground and between the buildings, pretending to be blizzards like their creator had been. He smiled at the snow as it played around him, blowing up before his eyes to dance and spin and fly to its heart's content...
There had been a face in the snowstorm... a green face. Despite the coverings against the elements, he was sure the face was green, green and familiar...
Now, as he watched the miniature versions of that larger storm, he wondered again at the face. He knew that it was real. He had seen it before, back in the old place, when he'd found that creature on the roof. It had called him that name: "Victor".
Briefly he closed his eyes against the coming pain, but he mastered it, and it passed almost as quickly as the blowing snow before his eyes.
Drawing in a deep breath, he went about his business of caring for his friends. He would also need to get some food of his own. He could not bring himself to share in the current meal. That he would never do. He would go foraging later, when it was dark.
Soon it would be time to dispose of the bodies.
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
"Mikey."
"Leo."
Leo placed himself between the door and his brother, arms crossed.
"I need to know where you are going," he demanded. Mikey smiled winningly.
"I think you're just trying to live vicariously through me, my bro!" he replied, patting Leo on the head as if he were a small turtle tot. "Then again, I guess that's all you have now, isn't it?"
Leo counted to ten. Twice.
"Does Splinter know you are going out?"
Mikey hesitated just a millisecond before saying "Yes", but it was noticed by Leo and pounced upon at once.
"Sensei! Mikey says you-"
"Tattletale, tattletale, hanging on a bull's tail" Mikey chanted, dancing away from his brother's suddenly outstretched hand.
Splinter came in to witness something that usually involved Raphael as the one chasing Michelangelo.
"Michelangelo, where are you going?"
"I promised April I'd come over and finalize my plans for the memorial," he smoothly said, not really lying- he had promised April he was coming over, especially as she was helping him with the food aspect. But he did plan on a slight detour.
It was still afternoon. In his disguise he could quickly exit the sewer where he and Raph had entered that day, and scope out that abandoned place quickly. He did NOT plan on a building to building search. He figured that he'd be able to determine that only ghosts dwelled there rather quickly, then it was off to April's for some last minute planning and (with any luck) dinner; it was Don's turn in the kitchen tonight, and Mikey was NOT looking forward to canned soup again.
"When do you plan on returning, my son?"
"I'll be home in time for late-night patrol! I promise!"
Splinter nodded.
"Be careful out there. We do not need to draw any more attention to ourselves. And mind those stitches! I do not wish to put them back in again."
Mikey grinned, gave his dad a quick peck on the cheek, waved cheerfully at Leo, and left.
"Sensei, should he go alone? I mean," Leo said before Splinter could form the opinion that Leo was trying to get out of his grounding, "shouldn't Raph at least go with him? Or Don?"
Splinter had to admit, his son had a valid point. But he trusted Michelangelo.
"I believe that it will be all right," he said. "But it would not hurt for one of them to go to April's later to make sure he gets home safely. I fear that the Foot will be out tonight, in greater numbers. But Michelangelo will be careful."
Leo shook his head, unconvinced.
"I just have this feeling that he's not telling the complete story," he murmured, serious but unable to put a definite name to his worry. "I just have this feeling..."
Splinter looked at Leonardo for a moment, trying to decide if this was a true concern or just another example of his recent childish behavior.
Something about the way Leonardo was speaking began to make Splinter worry now.
Then the rat shook himself.
"I have to trust him, Leonardo," he said finally. "I have to trust that he is telling the truth. What reason would he have to lie? It is not as if he is on punishment."
Ouch! That hurt, father!
As if realizing that as well, Splinter placed a hand on Leonardo's shoulder.
"It will be all right. We must not borrow trouble. Michelangelo will be all right."
Because I will see to it myself!