Chapter Text
The sound of your slow-clicking heels are loud in your ears. Each step is like a screech, echoing in overlapping waves. Your eyes flit around the dark hallway, searching for any trace that a person had gone down this way.
The building had noticeably been abandoned for decades. You’re shallowly surprised it remained this intact for this long. It used to be a school, you recognize. Broken desks stuck up from the ground like weeds in a dying field. Gaping holes in the walls brought in light from the permanently bright sky outside, casting a shadow on half of your face. The brightness bothered you, your eyelids somewhat squinting as you stared at the ground.
You stop at a crossroads; you’re greeted with two diverging hallways, two choices. Neither of which you truly had the ability to decide on. Because if you really had a say in the matter, you wouldn’t be here to begin with. But that’s a thought you’re minutely aware of. One that’s instantly squashed, drowned out by the constant hushed utterances of the same vile command you’ve been forced to hear for the last thirty years.
Your eyes catch a difference in the shattered glass among the wreckage of the floor. The glass has been crushed leading up to the hallway on the right. Upon lifting your head, you see that a door, barely hanging by its rusted hinges, is open. Loose. It swings lightly before finally crashing to the ground, a cloud of dust pillowing around it.
The boy was not good at hiding his tracks. Not as good as he thought he was.
You walk in that direction. You step into the doorway, entering what may have been a classroom. There are not many holes here, not enough light. Undeterred, you saunter inside. Your hand reaches behind your back, palm ghosting over the cold metal of your rifle. Its sleek black material glinted when the light from outside managed to catch it, the tip glowing with a purple luminescence.
As you walk by a wall, you happen to pass by a mirror. It seems strategically placed, as though someone had placed it there. Its jagged, broken cracks seem to stem from the center, where a bullet is embedded. Like a web, the fractures fan out towards the outer edges, reflecting a very disfigured caricature of your form. Like a curious animal dazed by the sudden realization that, yes , it has a face—you lean forward, trying to make sense of what you were looking at.
A faint breath tickles your mind.
You can make out the shape of your unaged face. Your split, cracking lips twitch for a second. Begging for an ounce of moisture. The once white sclera of your eyes have long been replaced by a sickly hue of green that bleeds into your iris, turning it into a near jaundiced type of yellow. Your lips separate to reveal an abundance of saliva, pink in color, dripping down your chin. You lap at the saliva, watching it hang and drop from your tongue. You’re so engrossed in this image, this copy of you that mimics your every move.
A metal object hits the floor, the impact echoing behind you. You pivot on your heels. Without hesitation, you reach behind your back and pull your rifle out before you. Like you had done a million times before, your eye finds the scope and your finger rests on the trigger. There’s no other sounds or movements. Only a single, empty aluminum can that spins on its side, eventually coming to a slow stop. You bare your teeth at seemingly nothing at all.
An itch in your debilitated brain reminds you that something does not come from nothing. Your sickly eyes roll up just in time to see a dark figure come down upon you. Despite your superior speed, the bottoms of someone’s worn boots make an indent on your back as a heavy weight pins you to the ground. You recognize immediately that it is the boy who pins you to the ground with both of his padded knees. Having narrowly avoided cracking your nose and chin, your cheek collides with the vinyl tile instead.
“You always fall for the mirror trick, every time. I’m hoping this will be the last time, auntie,” he whispers.
The boy’s gloved hands latch onto the tiny device embedded into the back of your neck. A particular tug on it sends your mind into high gear. You hiss and seethe with anger, clawing at the floor in near desperation. You do everything you can to buck him off or reach for your weapon, though not out of your own volition.
Fortunately , it laid too far out of reach.
The device fizzles, your vision flashing white for a moment. A horrid pain shoots down your spine. But, with it, came the brief sensation of clarity. It wasn’t just your mind that had interpreted the pain, you felt it. A visceral, sensory pain that left you gasping for air in relief.
Unfortunately , your body reacted on its own; a burst of strength had you lifting yourself off the ground and knocking the boy to his rear. You spin around and lurch at him. He’s quick to retaliate by swiping the spiked end of his weapon at you, nearly gutting your stomach.
Something slams into you from the side, smashing you into the mirror. Your head ricochets against the weak wall, earning yourself a bloodied bruise on the forehead. Glass shatters into several thousands of pieces. Some puncture your body suit, slicing through the tough, thin latex. Your head is spinning as you collapse to the ground.
“Sensei! You found us! I almost got it off, I think we can do it this time!” the boy exclaims, his voice distorted and distant.
A familiar voice replies, “Good job, kiddo, but let’s not celebrate too early. Once we finally get it off her, I’ll treat us all to some nicely cooked rats, yeah?”
As you lift your head, you see that the blue one had successfully located his colleague. Scrambling on all fours, you hiss through gritted teeth and launch yourself at the large mutant turtle. You grapple onto his body, sinking your overgrown nails into him for purchase. He quite literally tears you off of him using his prosthesis, and pins you to the wall. The front of your chest wall struggles to expand against the brick wall with each gasp of air you take.
“This is the closest we’ve gotten to getting this thing off. It’s dangling by the wires,” he sucks in a breath through his teeth, grabbing hold of the device and yanking it hard .
You scream from the pain, but somewhere in that thatch-infested mind of yours, you’re filled with nothing except the happiness for potential freedom. Your hands bang against the wall, muscles still not belonging to you. You’re in a strange limbo between awareness and unconsciousness. You think but you cannot act. You are, but you are not.
You feel another set of hands. They’re assisting in the removal of the device. Your brain, your body does not like it. Sparks ignite as you feel the device beginning to finally leave your body. A guttural shriek escapes your throat, the faint tickle of blood trickling down your skin eliciting an involuntary shudder. You still continue to fight against them.
“It’s coming off!” the boy shouts.
Not a second later, you feel the device and all its alien wiring leave your body. You drop to the ground on your knees. You place your palms on the wall, using it as leverage.
“It’s off, it’s off,” the blue one says, panting hard. He lets the device fall from his hand, discarding it on the dirty floor.
You feel weak. Sick to your stomach. You want to throw up. You want to close your eyes, but you find yourself unable to. It’s like you’re still stuck in a daze.
“Auntie?” the boy murmured softly.
“Casey, don’t move,” the blue one warned. He then whispers a familiar name, one that you had uttered from him and his people for the last few decades. His footsteps inch towards you. “Is that you? Are you there?”
Slowly, you rise to your feet. Wobbling side to side. Your shoulders bump your ears with each huge gulp of air you take. Your eyes slowly pan to the two individuals. You bare your teeth, a scowl forming on your face. You don’t mean to. You can certainly feel the tug on your muscles, moving with a mind of their own still. You can control how you think, but you cannot control how you act. Like a ghost in a suit of armor, except the armor is the one with the reins.
Despair appears across their faces.
“It… didn’t work?” the boy says with complete disbelief. “I thought that… the device… So it didn’t matter? It never mattered?”
The blue one shakes his head, slowly. “Case. We have to prepare for the worst outcome possible. We’ve exhausted all efforts. If it comes down to us versus her…”
You cough on some saliva, spitting the pink phlegm on the floor between your boots.
In a flash, you’re running towards the large mutant. You jump and kick off of him, sending him to the opposite side of the classroom. The boy raises his weapon, almost managing to hit you. You merely kick it out of his grip, letting it scatter to the ground. He throws a punch at you, but you dodge and grab his arm with both hands. He howls in agonizing pain as you bring it down on your knee, bending and snapping it in a way a joint should not normally allow.
It’s like being forced to watch a horror movie, and you’re forbidden to look away. You try with all your might to will your body to heed even the simplest of commands. You could not.
The blue one dashes after you. You evade his sword with a single step. Your hands latch onto his wrist as you perform a somersault, taking him with you. As he lands on the ground with a thud , you place a knee down on his neck and twist his arm into submission. He brought his fist down on the ground in frustration. You rendered him immobile.
The boy , however, was not fully incapacitated. He still tried to attack with the one good arm he had, his bladed-weapon back in hand. Your eyes nonchalantly peered at his incoming figure. You had no choice but to bounce and flip away to avoid his attack.
“Casey, I need you to run. Find Mikey. Tell him to open a time portal—he’ll know what to do from there. And you will, too.” The one in blue grimaces. “When you’re done saving the world, do me a favor: grab a slice for me.”
The young boy stares at his master with a look you recognize as pleading.
You wish you could emote the same. Your face only remains absent.
“Sensei, I–I can’t.” There’s tears in his eyes. “I won’t abandon you.”
“You’re not,” the mutant says, smiling as his grip tightens on his sword. He quickly pulls out what seems to be a piece of paper, and scribbles something before shoving it into the young boy’s hands. “You’re saving our family.”
“But–”
“Go!” the one in blue commands, pushing the boy away.
You make a move to prevent the young boy from leaving, but the large mutant guards him with a sword. The young rebel takes one last look at both you and his master before fleeing the room. Part of you hopes that he gets eaten alive. Part of you prays he finds ( redacted ).
“Your target is me, not him. Don’t you want to finish your mission?” he taunts you, flashing a smile at you.
Your eyes squint. Your protocol succeeds in prioritizing your main task. You could sense yourself thinking about eliminating the orange one later.
In need of a weapon, you search for your rifle. It’s laying behind him. Getting to it would be difficult, but you know that you’ve managed several times without it.
“I don’t know how else to stop you,” he says, as the two of you begin to circle one another. “I don’t know how else to save you.”
You sneer at him.
“If you’re still in there,” he says, never breaking eye contact with you, “I’m so, so sorry.”
You are unable to say nor do anything that even remotely reveals you acknowledged his words. He rushes forward with his sword in hand, swiping left and right. His technique has changed, you noticed; there is more conviction in his movements. Faster, more lethal. You find yourself struggling, for once.
A harsh stomp from the outside causes the building to tremble. Cracks in the walls widen, letting in some semblance of light.
You lose your balance for a second, regaining it quickly as the blue one cuts into your thigh. A cry passes through your grit teeth, your torso twisting to elbow him in the face. He instead grabs it and flings you against the nearest wall. You make an impact with it, the entire thing coming down. A burst of light comes into the room, brightening up a good portion of the run-down classroom.
Outside, there were the Kraang’s forces running amok the land. The black creatures galloping in waves beside the feet of the large robotics, who disintegrated anything in its path with red, hot beams. What caught your eye however, was the yellow-like portal multiplying in size by the seconds. The orange one stood in front of it, the markings on his skin glowing a similar shade. Beside him, the boy .
Your eyes widened in sudden realization that you were tricked. Distracted. Behind those angry eyes, you were yearning for them to hurry .
The one in blue yanks you back into the classroom. Your body rolls, landing on its back. You’re met with the daunting view of the blue one standing over you, the tip of his blade hovering over you. His foot comes down on you.
You glance at the growing portal. You’re too far away, you could not catch up to them in time.
“You’re not going anywhere, old friend,” your opponent tells you, thrusting his sword down at you.
You use your strength to lift his foot off you just enough, enabling you to roll to the side. His blade clashes with the ground. You spot your discarded rifle, just within reach.
You crawl as quickly as your flexible limbs allow, wary of your opponents shadow casting over you. Your hands grasp hold of the large gun at the same time as he prepares to strike. You turn over and block his hit with the gun, metal against metal. You knock him back by pushing, knocking the duller side of his blade against his face. It’s still sharp enough that it cuts into him, granting him a clean, new wound that runs across his face diagonally.
As he staggers back, you angle your gun upwards and shoot at the roof. It comes toppling down on top of the mutant, large pieces of the frail construction crumbling down into a large mass of plaster, concrete and support beams. Without a second to waste, you aim your crosshair at the orange one. Through the scope, you suddenly find that the mutant simply began to crumble away. Evaporated. In a bright flash, he was simply gone. Gone to the wind, like the dust at your feet.
Another one was eliminated, albeit through self sacrifice.
It would be in vain.
The portal the orange one created had multiplied in size. You would not allow anyone to get through that if it was the last thing your mind forbade.
Your crosshairs land on the boy , the back of his head right in the center of your lens. He turns his head around, presumably in search of someone. For help. There’s a look of horror as his eyes find you. But he isn’t looking at you, he’s looking past you.
Your finger pulls back on the trigger. A bright bolt of red shoots out and makes its mark in the center of the boy’s eyes. Permanent shock registers on his face before his body slowly collapses.
You don’t get to see it hit the ground. Thundering, quick-paced footsteps echo behind you. Spinning around, you fire at the large mutant turtle who came hurtling at you. He’s suddenly upon you, slamming you into the ground painfully. Above you, with furious, angry tears pouring out of his eyes, is the blue one. The mutant has his massive hands enveloping your shoulders, pinning you down. Teardrops land on your face, plopping on your skin. Your cheeks twitch in response, not liking the hot, wet texture.
The blue one is heaving. Unspeaking. Unmoving. A minute feeling of remorse squeezes its way past the barricade of mind fog. In contrast, your body wriggles underneath. Growling and snapping your teeth like a rabid animal at the mutant.
He’s trembling above you, sucking in air between his teeth. Blood drips profusely from a wound in his torso.
You had managed to shoot him before he tackled you.
Then, still trembling, he manages to gather both of your hands into one of his above your head. He cringes, struggling to keep his eyes on you as raises his free hand. His large sword emerges, setting off all kinds of alarms in your head. Your body takes it as a threat, but there’s a growing part of you that only sees what’s about to happen as sweet relief.
You only wish your old friend could see it through.
You’re able to slightly regain control of your facial muscles, but it’s a battle against your own mind. Your lips twitch and tremble, unable to create a proper expression.
Your old friend is still panting above you, tears never ending. The fine lines in his face are more noticeable to you as he grimaces at your clear struggle. A lot more things have become clear now. Like how you can finally say his name in your head. All of their names.
Donatello.
Raphael.
April O’ Neil.
Michelangelo.
Casey Jones.
Leonardo .
He is that last one alive.
The last one alive.
You will yourself to say something.
At long last, you are able to do something on your own.
“Leonardo,” you rasp, eyes flitting back and forth between his watery ones.
Then, he lets out a laugh. In disbelief, he begins to cackle wildly. “This life has been too cruel to us, hasn’t it?”
Your mouth drops open, slightly. Lips parted, a low sob escapes your dry throat. For once, you could actually fully comprehend his words. You could hear them. React to them. And it led to an immense overflow of emotion.
Guilt. Fear. Sadness.
His bellowing laughter is cut short by a wince. He drops his sword and brings a hand to the wound on his stomach, seething in pain as he attempts to place pressure on it. He collapses atop you a second later.
“ Leo ,” you say again.
It feels squeamishly odd to be able to control your own body again after so many years, but that is an afterthought. You roll Leo over onto his cracked shell, placing your smaller hands over his wound. He flinches at that, drawing his legs up towards his body as he howls in pain.
The blood doesn’t stop oozing. It stains your skin and gloves.
He’s beginning to pant faster. Harder. He’s gasping for air. Despite this, he’s still trying his hardest to maintain a smile.
“It’s okay,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He lifts a hand, cupping your bruised cheek. It shakes against your skin as he repeats, “It’s okay .”
Your mouth is open, yet nothing comes out.
His hand drops. His breathing slows. He’s squeezing his eyes to get them to blink. Eventually, he doesn’t get to complete his last blink. His entire frame stills. His eyes are fixed, and his smile has frozen in place.
You’ve been screaming your lungs out, and you didn’t even know it. Not until your throat burned. You clutch Leonardo’s body, wailing out in agony at what has become of your family. What you’ve done to your family.
The ground shakes again, the roof suddenly being peeled off the building. The bright red sky comes into view, the Kraang’s bastardized machinery locking their spotlights on you. They seem to have realized that you are no longer under their control.
Your neck is bare, with fine holes lined up in a circle, dripping blood down the tough material of your body suit. The lack of a Kraang Injector sold you out.
At once, they zapped towards you. Luckily, you avoided the searing hot beams before they could manage to disintegrate you. Unfortunately, Leonardo’s body was vaporized . The sight sets you into a panic; you didn’t know what to do. For the last thirty years, you have always been forced to do everything. Now that you finally have freedom, it’s as though you’ve forgotten how to think.
As you blink through the tears and stress, you scramble back against a wall—which breaks, forcing you to fall back and tumble down a steep hill. You bump into something. As you lift your head, you find Casey’s unmoving body right beside you.
The look on his face is haunting.
“Oh, no…!” you cry out, covering your mouth with a bloodied hand.
A bream of hot red shoots over your head, the Kraang’s mechanical monster’s gaining on you. You gaze upon the portal Michelangelo had created—you think you know the purpose of it, but without his guarantee, you’re at the mercy of your own speculation.
You must go through. For your family.
As another beam wipes out the young child’s body, you jump and dive directly through the shrinking portal. Your own scream suffocates you as you’re squeezed through the tightest space your body has been through. Your bones feel crushed, thinned out into sheets of printer paper. There’s too much stimulation; between the vivid colors and odd sensation of being warped through time—you black out.
Your back is throbbing with an awful ache.
Your lids peel back, a dark yet bright atmosphere greeting you in the form of nostalgia. Familiar jumbotrons are blasting loud advertisements, voices overlapping one another. People are walking past you, over you, as if you were a typical everyday sight in New York—some oddly dressed person covered in blood, laying down in filth on the side of the dark street.
You slowly rise to your feet, wobbling some.
“I was right… ” you mouth to yourself.
You don’t waste a second running off to where you know you need to go.
With no plan or help, you run home.