Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Fan Fiction ❯ Bad Places ❯ Chapter 4

Part 4

On the first day Leonardo remained in his room, fighting off sleep for hours until he crashed, falling past dreams and into a calm nothingness. When he woke up, he didn't know how much time had passed but the lair was dark and he didn't hear anyone else, so he guessed he'd slept the entire day. He lay still for several minutes, and as he grew less drowsy, a heavy soreness crept over his body. As he adjusted himself on his bed, each movement made a muscle ache or a joint protest.

The stream on the lower floor flowed loud enough for him to hear it. If no one else was awake, he could sit on the small bridge Splinter had made them build and watch the water go by. He sat up slowly, wincing as a dull throb started in his head. Memories of being thrown against a wall, falling down flights of stairs, punches from creatures twelve feet tall or even simple flying debris, chunks of masonry exploded towards him, all came up, and he figured that he'd feel the headache now that the distraction wouldn't matter. All things considered, he was lucky he didn't have a concussion.

He turned on the paper lantern beside his bed and shielded his eyes until it wasn't so bright. On the table, a tall bottle of water stood next to an apple and a folded note. He picked up the note and read Donatello's messy script.

April bought us some groceries. There's plenty in the fridge. Even if you don't eat anything, at least drink some water. Splinter said something about you going to her place and Raph'll never let you live it down if you collapse during a fight.

Leo half smiled and set it aside, looking at the bottle and apple. For once he didn't feel sick, but that was because they resembled the scant supplies they'd occasionally scavenged. Canteens and rations were the norm, and the small amount here made it possible to eat. As long as it wasn't so big or colored so that it looked like severed limbs or flayed skin or...he grimaced and pushed that out of his head. Water and apple. He could deal with that.

Finished, he headed downstairs. The stream made the only noise, water rushing from somewhere off into nothing. He stepped onto the bridge and sat down, watching the water go by. A blue glow came from the monitors on standby in the corner, and the light highlighted the water's surface, black with silver ripples. Looking into it gave the illusion of stars, like a substitute night sky.

He wondered where it disappeared to. It seemed too clear to come from the city, he was sure it came from the ocean. Its scent even had a tinge of salt to it. Michelangelo often joked about sharks swimming upstream, but if he thought about, that wasn't all that farfetched. They'd never explored the stream and he often wondered if it was a security risk. Probably not. Just another instance of what Raphael called the paranoid perfect leader.

He never told Raph he had dreams of pitching his brother headfirst into the water.

With a quick glance to make sure he was alone, he got up and walked around to the stream's edge, then eased into the water. It wasn't deep, only a couple feet, and it flowed strong enough to force him to brace himself from being swept back. Amazing that it could be so clean. He held his hands out on the surface. His arms still ached but the water was near freezing and took the soreness with it.

A deep breath, and then he knelt, submersing himself entirely. Louder underneath, the water roared as it rushed by and tried to take him with it. He opened his eyes and watched it come at him, seeing only the light filtered a few inches down. Unable to make out the edges of the walls, it was like sheer motion embodied running over him and through him and away. He didn't want to look behind himself. The water was taking something out of him and he didn't want to see.

After some time, he wasn't sure how long, he stood again and shivered. The pain was gone, at least for now, and he climbed back onto the floor. Pain was replaced by cold, but it was a fair trade. He didn't head for the bathroom towels but instead went into the practice room. He flipped on the lights and one of the light bulbs popped and died, leaving one corner dim. His swords lay in that corner, clean and side by side. One of his brothers had probably done that. New sheaths lay beside them, clean and unmarked by claw marks.

He briefly wondered if his old sheaths were so ruined that he couldn't use them again, clean them up and repair them. Throwing them away felt like a betrayal. He turned away. Stupid.

His body didn't want to practice but he forced himself through kata after kata, stumbling a little as he went through moves he hadn't practiced in months. Move by move, he went through them slowly, less for actual practice and more to calm himself. Mind numbing routine could block out some of the worse memories. He hadn't thought of her except twice now and he wanted to keep it that way.

Some perfect leader.

Real perfect.

Damn.

He stopped, standing still for several seconds, arms out in a move that would've blocked a hit and disarmed his opponent in one motion. A useless movement now that he thought about it. He'd never used it in real combat. And not once had he'd used it in the game.

--"A simple game, like running a maze, only I'll be surprised if any of you make it through. When you're bleeding to death with one of my creatures chewing your throat, just remember that it's all in the name of science. I'll be sure to name my new discovery after one of you."--

Pure killing moves. Forget any notions of fair play and honor, save for helping the guy next to you and fighting the urge to leave the girl behind because she was too slow. She could take out the bigger ones before they got too close, and he could nail the fast little ones when they got by his swords.

And then she was gone. That it was inevitable didn't help. That they made it didn't help. And the next time he saw that bastard--

He dropped out of the block and into a duck that would avoid sharp slicing claws, then a kick that would sweep its legs out. As it fell, something small and quick bounded over its body, mouth gaping wide so that its teeth caught the only bit of light for a moment. Instead of ducking, he spun to his left to avoid it and slashed backwards, cutting it in half. It hit the floor and slid to a stop, and he was already turning to decapitate a more humanoid shambling thing. Blood sprayed the walls and it fell backwards as the larger thing he'd tripped got back to its feet.

Now he had room to slice low and take its legs off properly, and he cut up as it fell, cutting through its chest and carving through its shoulder. Another small thing leaped off the wall at him and he had to overextend himself to run it through, leaving him open to a white pale thing dropping off the ceiling. A long knife flicked over its skin and disemboweled it so that it would have died if it hadn't hit the wall so fast that its neck broke. Or at least, something inside it snapped, probably not a neck since it didn't seem to have one. He would have said thanks, except there was another one, and another, and another, and another...

Killing moves. Those were useful. Pain disappeared as he replayed fight after fight, side by side with an ally he didn't have to worry about, didn't need someone to look after and protect him. For a little while, the weight lightened and went away.

The sound of Splinter's tail sliding across the floor broke him out of the memory. If it was dragging on the floor, that meant his master had just woken up and he had time to return to his room. After practicing for so long, he was tired--

Wait. He wasn't tired. He looked down and saw that he was still in the block, arms out and one hand open to grab the hilt of a sword, instead of the low and extended slash he thought he'd been in. How long had he been standing like that? He slowly stood straight, each movement pulling a sore muscle. Heading for the door, he gathered his swords and new sheaths as he went. He moved quietly by his master's door, knowing Splinter probably heard him go by and wondered why he'd been so quiet in the practice room. Maybe he thought he'd been meditating.

He was back in his room when his master came out and began rousing his brothers. He listened to their grumbling as they woke up, as they found out he still wasn't coming down for breakfast, and as they headed off to the practice room. When Donatello came up to his room to see if he'd eaten, he feigned sleep. Another apple and water bottle were left. Sometime during the day he fell asleep again, and perhaps because he'd already revisited the game, he didn't dream about it.

Just as his brothers were going back to bed, he woke up again. Back down to the practice room again. The soreness gradually went away but the memories didn't. He repeated this for two more days.

On the fourth day, Splinter met him in the practice room. The Five Claws would strike soon. He had to go to April's immediately. Before anyone else woke up, he took up his swords, picked up his worn copy of Sun Tzu, and left.

A few minutes moving through the tunnels took him to a manhole cover and up onto the street. A warm breeze blew through the alleys as he walked, the sounds of distant cars and rats digging through trash faint in the night air. He kept to the shadows and dark corners until he found a conveniently closed dumpster next to a fire escape. A good leap off of the dumpster got him to the bottom railing and he climbed to the roof from there. After that, his trip went much easier, leaping the gaps between buildings and occasionally using the streetlights as stepping stones from one low rooftop to the next.

Once he reached April's block, he came down to the alleys again and looked around. No one was out but the Five Talons had left symbols spray painted everywhere. He stopped and examined one, surprised by the amount of skill involved in making the five dragon's claws, white with blue edges, curled as if reaching towards the viewer. More intricate than anything else spray painted nearby, this had obviously taken a long time to make and meant they weren't afraid of anyone.

He noticed there were fewer as he got near April's shop, and none around her place. Obviously they were afraid of his brothers, at least for now. He came around the back and snuck in, bypassing her burglar alarm and creeping through the hall. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been training with Splinter and he wanted to see how far she'd come.

As luck had it, he spotted her practicing with a single katana, carefully moving through an intermediate kata. Her motions were rough and jerky, but he could see the improvement. A few more months and she might be an interesting exercise. Not a challenge, yet, but an exercise. He knew the kata and waited until she turned her back to him, then crept up behind her and tapped her shoulder.

"Surprise."

"Yiieee!" The katana clattered to the floor and she spun around, falling backwards until he caught her waist and helped her steady. She gasped and put one hand on her shoulder, glaring. "Darn it, Mike, I told you never to...Leo?"

He didn't get to answer. She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely, tears starting to squeeze out of her eyes.

"Oh my God it's really you! I mean, I know Donatello told me and Raph kind of rubbed it in Casey's face and Mike swore you were fine but I was still kind of edgy 'cause you were gone so long where were you and oh it's so good to see you again!"

He smiled and hugged her back. "I take it you missed me?"

"We all did..." She leaned back and looked at him. "You all right? You were gone for so long."

"I'm fine. A little tired. But better now."

After a moment, he realized Splinter or one of his brothers must have told her not to ask too many questions, since she didn't ask where he'd been or what had happened, and he knew she had to be curious. She took him downstairs to the basement where Splinter had stayed during his absence, and filled him in a bit more on her problems. The Five Talons had recruited a few more members, mostly guns and girls but one was apparently very accurate with a knife and another extremely fast with a shotgun. Fast, since aiming isn't all that important with a shotgun.

"Shouldn't be too bad," Leo said, glancing around the room. There were four futons, a small refrigerator and a television, and a bookshelf in the corner. He tossed his book on the nearest bed and tried not to look too eager. "The others should be here tomorrow. I doubt they'll try anything too soon."

"I kind of wish they would," she said, "just to get it over with. Oh well, I guess it'll come fast enough."

"It'll be all right," he said. "We've handled worse."

Once she left, he sat down and started to read. Nothing would happen until the sun went down, of that he was sure, and for now he wanted to review old rules and tactics he'd begun to forget.

"When an army marches through mountains, forests, precipitous land, swamps, or any place that is dangerous to march, it is moving on difficult ground."

"Ground that has a narrow access and tortuous exit, whereby the smaller enemy force can crush my larger one, is enclosed ground."

"Ground in which only a desperate fight may offer survival is death ground."

"Therefore, on difficult ground, keep moving."

"On enclosed ground, devise stratagems."

"On death ground, fight."

TBC...

Note: "The Art of War" by Sunzi or Sun Tzu, depending on your translation. Available online for free in many places and worth the read.