Chapter Text
The (comparative) stillness of the night was broken by a trio of roars. The first was the squealing of tires, coming from a pair of cars and a van tearing through the streets of northern Manhattan. The second was from the staccato cracks of automatic gunfire, the bursts exchanged between the vehicles whenever they stabilized enough to afford a good shot. And the third? That came from one of the shooters. A mutant lioness, half her body extended out of the passenger-side window of one of the cars, as she fired shots and curses in equal measure at the van.
“You think you can run!?” she yelled, firing a shot that skimmed one of the sideview mirrors.
The van swerved, ducking around another car before shooting down another street. The two pursuers did the same, cutting a sharp turn to keep on their heels. In the passenger seat of the van, Alopex swore, the mutant fox ducking back into the cabin. “They’re still on us!” she said, flicking out an empty magazine and pulling out a fresh one.
In the driver's seat, a mutant turtle grimaced. Wind whistled through the holes blown in the van, shaking his jacket and forcing him to tighten his grip on the wheel. “I can see that!” One hand strayed from the wheel, tapping commands into a wrist-mounted device. His mechanical eyes whirred, a GPS overlay appearing across his vision in conjunction with his normal vision. “Alright, we’re two minutes out. We’ve got to lose them.”
Alopex racked the bolt of her AK, peeking out the window. Bullets whizzed past her head, making her ears twitch as she pulled back into the cabin. “And how do we do that?”
“Grenade.”
“Что?”
Cherepakha pointed to a backpack sitting between Alopex’s feet. “Grenade.” Throwing the AK onto the dashboard, Alopex flipped open the backpack. Inside, after flipping through a pair of binders and a folded-up jacket, she found and pulled out a cylindrical grenade fitted with glass tubes containing sparking diodes and a small timer. Looking in the rearview mirror, he saw the two cars picking up speed, getting closer. “Set for five seconds.”
The fox nodded, adjusting the timer and pulling the pin. She hucked it out through the open window, watching it hit the ground once before detonating. The explosion was small, though tendrils of electricity shot out and coiled around the two cars. The one in the lead swerved, its headlights flickering, while the one just behind it slammed into it. The screech of brakes briefly echoed through the streets, disappearing as the van shot down the road and out of sight of the crash.
As soon as the two cars were out of sight, both Alopex and Cherepakha slumped back in their seats. They breathed heavily, adrenaline leeching out of their systems to be replaced by a tired exhaustion. “Damn,” Alopex said. “Didn’t think they’d come after us so quickly.”
“To be fair,” Cherepakha said, tapping a fist against the rear compartment. “We did steal all this.”
“Yeah, and I’ve never seen Pride out of Mutant Town,” Alopex countered. She zipped back up the backpack, then grabbed the AK and flicked on the safety. “Hob’s up to something.”
“He’s always up to something,” Cherepakha said. “Hell, we’re always up to something. Just the nature of the field.” Alopex shrugged, before leaning back into her seat and staring up into the roof.
Cherepakha, meanwhile, slowed down their speed and began turning. He made several turns and lane changes, attempting to shake any cameras. He drove in circles for about twenty minutes, letting the energy drain out of him. Finally, after deeming it safe, he pulled into one of the side streets running parallel to their destination.
Officially, it was called the New York City Quarantine Sector, though almost everyone called it Mutant Town. While most of northern Manhattan was hit by the Kraang Technodrome Attack two months prior, the region around Mutant Town was hit the hardest by weapons fire and mutagen bombs. Now, a massive steel wall was erected around the neighborhood, with the few accessible streets leading into the district being heavily secured and guarded. With the intermittently placed towers and patrolling guards in full tactical gear, it reminded Cherepakha of old pictures of the Berlin Wall.
Of course, they weren’t allowed outside of Mutant Town; no mutant was. Hence, they pulled off the street and into a nearby warehouse. Waiting for them inside were a half-dozen humans, wearing the signature silver ties and red cuff shirts of the Russian Mafia. “You’re late,” one said.
“The Mutanimals are operating outside Mutant Town,” Cherepakha said as he hopped out of the driver's seat. “They were the buyers.” The enforcer nodded, following next to him as they moved to the back.
When they reached the doors, other enforcers had already thrown open the door, revealing the stacked boxes filling the interior. “Usual route,” Alopex said, joining Cherepakha. “The EPF has stepped up sewer patrols, so watch yourselves. Our contact should be waiting with the money.”
The boxes were unloaded swiftly, carried through the warehouse to a sewer access ladder. After being tied up with ropes, the boxes were lowered down to the waiting crew. “Get rid of the van when you’re done,” Cherepakha said. Taking the backpack from the passenger's seat, he pulled out a pair of long coats and tossed one to Alopex. “До свидания.”
Throwing on their jackets, the two mutants slipped out of the warehouse. Both stole brief looks at the towering wall, before moving along. “He’s definitely planning something.”
Cherepakha nodded at Alopex’s statement. “Obviously. But the Shredder has been lying low since the Kraang Attack, and we haven’t seen much from the Turtles since they hit the chop shop last week. I imagine they’re focused on Hob, so they’ll take care of him for us.” With a final passing look at the Mutant Town wall, the two of them headed back to their hideout.
<~~=~~>
“Coast is clear,” Leonardo said, pressing open the manhole cover. Mikey followed after him, with Raph taking up the rear. They quickly replaced the cover, slipping into cover behind dumpsters along one wall. Eyes flashed in every direction, looking for threats but finding nothing. Finally, after they were certain they weren’t being watched–
They stepped out onto the street.
Mikey stared around in amazement, taking in the city during the day. Sure, there was still obvious damage from the Technodrome attack; cracked building facades, weird-looking plants growing out of the sidewalks, and a general run-downness to the area. Still, they were out in the day. In the open. And no one was crying out in terror or running away from them.
“Man, it’s weird being out in the open like this,” Mikey said, adjusting his hoodie and sweatpants. The baggy clothes were the only things he could get fitted over his shell, but they were still uncomfortable.
Raph snorted, shrugging, “Frankly, it’s weird seeing other mutants that don’t want to kill us.”
There were only a few others out on the street, shuffling past uncomfortably and trying to keep their heads down. Like Mikey and his brothers, they were mostly bundled up in loose clothing, though many had sections pulled taut by their mutations. Even with the few individuals present, the menagerie of different creatures was somewhat impressive. It was mostly different types of mammals, ranging from cats and dogs to weird-looking antelopes, though there were also some reptiles, birds, insects, and other creatures Mikey couldn’t identify.
Raph did have a point, of course. Most of the mutants that they had tangled with before had been hostile to them. Plus, considering how they were mutated en masse and against their will, it was pretty sad. However, and while he would never say this out loud… it was kinda nice to be around other mutants. Of course, they weren’t anything alike in most cases, but it was a novel experience. Being able to be out in the open without anyone looking at you like you were a freak.
He wondered if Donatel– If Cherepakha was here in Mutant Town. His long-lost brother and Alopex had both lain low ever since the Kraang attack, running their slice of the criminal underworld from the background. If that meant they were relaying orders while stuck in here, or if they were out in the rest of the city. He knew that the Russian Mob had a headquarters above a nightclub near the edge of Mutant Town, but that didn’t mean they were there. Even if Cherepakha was evil and a criminal and whatnot, Mikey just hoped he was ok.
They came to a brief stop as an APC rumbled past, quickly followed by a pair of Humvees. All of the vehicles were painted matte black with stark white letters spelling “EPF” painted on the side. While foot patrols weren’t common in Mutant Town, the EPF presence was still felt everywhere.
“Hate those guys,” Raph muttered. “Where’d they even come from?”
Leo sighed. “You know as much as I do, Raph. They came out of nowhere after the Kraang attack and cordoned off the area. Threw all the mutants in here and keep them from leaving. They apparently report to the UN. That’s it.”
“April said she was looking into finding out more,” Mikey said. All three of them watched the vehicles disappear down the road, Mikey frowning as they went.
Like with the new mutants themselves, Mikey had mixed feelings about the EPF. Sure, they were jerks who threw them all in here without any real support. Many services were still broken, and gangs had started forming to take over the power vacuum. Mostly led by Old Hob. On the other hand, he knew why they were so heavy-handed. They were scared. A giant orb of death had just shown up and mutated thousands of people! Humans were scared of individual mutants, let alone thousands of them. Of course, being conflicted didn’t mean that he couldn’t dislike them.
“Come on, guys,” Leo said. “Leatherhead’s waiting for us.”
<~~=~~>
Old Hob was a simple mutant. He had been mutated for a long time; if he were still a normal cat, he’d probably have croaked years back. Instead, he was still alive and kicking. He had simple tastes in everything: Clothes, food, entertainment. Even his ambitions had, until recently, been pretty simple. After working as a hitman for years, he had taken over his own gang, and simply went about raking in as much dough as he could and holding sway over as much territory as he could.
Now, however, everything had changed. Well, not everything, but his ambitions were certainly no longer simple.
Standing on a catwalk above the abandoned warehouse he now called his Headquarters, he surveyed the operations going on below him. Mutants of all stripes moved throughout the warehouse floor, engaging in a variety of tasks. Some of the larger mutants moved crates full of weapons or drugs to and fro. Others were packing those same crates. A few, outfitted with makeshift hazmat suits and gas masks, were carrying in vials of glowing green mutagen, carefully loading them into secure storage vials.
This was his new empire. After the alien invasion and subsequent erection of the Mutant Town wall, his old gang had crumbled. Most of the human pricks hadn’t been happy working for him in the first place. This was just the excuse they needed to bail. In a matter of days, he had lost everything, his territory and hustles eaten up by the Purple Dragons, the Italian Mafia, or were shut down by the cops.
Well, screw the lot of them. This opportunity? It was something else. Overnight, the population of Mutants in New York City had gone from him, those Russian enforcers, the Turtles, and a handful of psychos to a population in the thousands. Thousands of mutants that were scared, ashamed of their new forms, and thrust into a ghetto with limited access to working infrastructure and necessities only supplied by a shady government organization.
Influential figures were bound to rise. People like Hob. Since the government obviously didn’t care, he would. The mutants they shoved in here were better than the humans. Stronger, faster, more durable, possessing the best traits of the animal kingdom. He told them that, and people flocked to him. And thus, the Mutanimals were born.
Steps, clinking on the metal of the catwalk, came up behind him. “Boss,” said the voice of Sally Pride. He turned as he saw her come up the last of the stairs to stand next to him, arms folded. The mutant lioness was wearing a studded leather jacket, a red tank top with the black ‘M’ logo of the Mutanimals, and pair of patched jeans. “We got hit.”
Old Hob tightened his grip on the railing, looking over his shoulder at the lioness. “Whatcha mean?”
“What I said,” she snapped back. “We got hit by those Russian mutants. Alopex and Cherry-whatever-the-fuck. Stole the van from the sellers just as we arrived. I tried to get it back, but we lost them.”
He turned away from his lieutenant, snarling. He had tried to play nice with those two, even before this went down. Mutants had to stick together, and what did they do? Carry on working for their human boss like good little attack dogs. Traitors to their own kind, right along with those ninja turtles. “We lose anyone?”
“No one dead, if that’s what you mean,” Sally said. “Diamond, Bandit, and Ray got beat up kinda bad in the crash. But we all made it back; none of us got caught by the EPF.”
Hob nodded. “Good, good. You did good, Sally.”
“But boss, we lost–”
“I know,” Hob said, holding up his hand. “But, better we lose some supplies than lose anyone.” The mutants were no use to anyone dead, and if they were taken… Most mutants caught in wider NYC by the EPF were just thrown back into Mutant Town, usually after being beaten a little bit to squeal on anyone else out there. But sometimes, mutants just… disappeared. They’d lost two good mutants that way; after being caught outside, they just never came back from EPF custody.
“You tell me what it was, and I can try and get replacements,” Sally said. Ah, that was why Hob liked her. One of the most dedicated mutants he’d ever met. When he’d found her, she’d been lost and scared, barely clinging on. He helps her get back on her paws and gives her a purpose, and now she’s loyal almost to a fault. If Hob believed such a thing was possible, of course; one could never be too loyal.
“Bomb parts,” Hob said. “Wireless detonators, specifically.”
Sally nodded, saying, “Got it”, before she seemed to register what he said. “Bomb parts? For what? IEDs?”
“Think bigger, Sally,” Hob said, pointing down at the warehouse below. Specifically, at one of the mutants bringing in the mutagen samples. “EPF got most of it, but we got our own supply of this stuff. Why do you think that is?”
At Sally’s shrug, Old Hob sighed. Loyal, sure, and definitly cunning, but she had some issues with seeing the bigger picture. “We’re all crammed in here like rats in a cage, Pride. The humans out there? They think we got the plague or some shit.” He turned back to her, grinning. “Well, they want a plague? We’ll give ‘em one.” Catching on, Sally grinned back just as savagely.
<~~=~~>
The room was dark and silent; the only light came from a pair of candles and a small, cube-shaped device in front of him. Oroku Saki knelt in the room's low light, his eyes locked on the cube, studying it. It was a chrome silver, gleaming in the dim light from the candles. Its own light was a dark purple, emitting from small lines running across its surface.
Remaining perfectly still otherwise, he closed his eyes. As always, visions came to him. Tang Shen, his beloved… Hamato Yoshi, stealing her from him. Tricking him into murdering the one he loved. Claiming his daughter as his own. The rise of the Foot and the destruction of the Hamato Clan. More recent memories came to his mind as well. The news story displaying a Hamato Shuriken. His first battle with the mutant turtle sons of Yoshi. His duel with Yoshi as the Kraang Technodrome lay waste to New York. All these thoughts swirled in his mind, the rage building in him causing his fists to clench.
When he opened his eyes, the cube was still sitting there. However, kneeling across from him, sat Kitsune. Her posture, her white silk kimono, her pinned back hair; all of them were picture perfect. The kitsune mask that she normally wore sat on the floor between the candles, exposing her smooth, doll-like features and hypnotic green eyes. “You are conflicted, Saki,” she said.
“The Kraang offer much,” he said.
Kitsune clicked her tongue. “You spoke with them?”
“With the one they call Kraang Sub-Prime,” Oroku Saki said. “He offered us robot soldiers, as many as we could need. They want nothing in exchange.”
A shallow nod came from the woman across from him. A hand glided up, hovering in a brief circle around one of the candles. “You suspect a trap.”
“I suspect they want to use us,” Oroku Saki said. “We do their dirty work. Arm us, and have us kill or distract their enemies. Let them accomplish their plans in the shadows.” The Foot Clan had done the same in the past; it was the only reason figures such as Xever and Sterenko were associated with him. Proxies were useful… Unless you were the proxy. Then, you were only a pawn.
“Then do not let them be the chessmaster,” Kitsune said, rolling her fingers around the flame as if she were playing with a kitten. “We can use them just as assuredly as they plan to use us.” She looked up, smiling faintly, her eyes keeping his attention. “You wish to kill the Turtles and Hamato Yoshi anyway, do you not?”
Yes, yes, he did. Even as he sat there, he felt a burning impulse to kill Hamato Yoshi. The rat had disfigured him, tried to strip him of his birthright, and stole his beloved… Yes, he would die; he will rend Hamato Yoshi and his sons down to scraps. “The first of these robot soldiers will arrive in a few days,” the Shredder said. “I must return to Japan. I trust you will be able to oversee things.”
“Of course, my Lord,” Kitsune said, bowing. When she returned to her seiza position, her smile had grown into something hungry. Something predatory. “It would be my honor.”