Turtlefied Meme Trash

“They said they were going to sell us to a lab!” Donatello said “They’re pretty mad at you!” Leonardo interjected “They offered like… a billion dollars to who could beat you! Did you fight them? Are y’going to fight them?” “Fight bad guys?” Mikey asked, eyes turning starry with awe “this mean you’re a superhero Papa?” “No no. Just a normal hero” Raphael answered his younger sibling, nudging him with his elbow “Superheroes have to have super powers dummy!”

“Look, will you please be quiet for a moment?” Splinter whispered back, tone far harsher than it had been before “If you’ll just stop asking questions and let me focus-”

Suddenly there was a click, but it didn’t emanate from a lock finally loosing it’s hold on the cage door, it was the click of a revolver from the outskirts of the ring behind Splinter. He froze, another flurry of clicks slowly surrounding him as barrels of guns peaked out of the shadows all around the fighting ring. Lights came on one by one, revealing the once empty space was now filled with men who’s weapons were fixed upon their one target in the center of the arena. Yoshi stood up and turned around, quick to realize his situation. In the back of his mind he’d had a bad sense about what he was walking into from the beginning, but his desperation had silenced his natural instincts.

There was a familiar crumb-clogged laugh. The obese form of Don Visioso sat just behind his line of hired gunmen, shoving another handful of popcorn into his mouth as his lackey’s infiltrated the ring from all sides and apprehended their target.

Despite the brief disappearance of the doorboy, the warehouse was opened up from the inside by the time 8:15 rolled around, and the swarm of thugs entered with loud anticipation and heavy indecisive footsteps like a pack of feral dogs. The world within was dim as the air filled with a shallow layer of smoke that further obstructed the view of the audience. There were a few lamps illuminating the back where a makeshift bar sold watered down alcohol and overpriced cigarettes, but most of the group eventually found their way to the edges of the spotlighted ring, like they had been turned from excited wolves to wandering moths. Of course the light wasn’t the main attraction, but rather the man standing calmly and quietly within the ring, feigning confidence even while his wrists were fastened to one of the four corners by a set of handcuffs.

He didn’t bestow the group with any sort of response, though he was forced to move his head slightly to the side in order to dodge glass bottle that was thrown his way by a drunken attendee. To his luck there was enough sportsmanship in the unruly crowd to put a stop to that, and the convicted assailant was immediately ushered out in a flurry of shoves and blows, knocking him about until with a final toss from the bouncer he was sent stumbling to the ground outside of the warehouse. The doors were shut behind him, and he groggily rolled over onto his bruised stomach and tried to get to his feet. Somewhere in the midst of his dizzy efforts, a large and cold foot pressed him back into the dirt as someone- or something- walked over him. They were from a pair of newcomers, utterly unfamiliar in appearance, well dressed but off in their arrival time. The drunken outcast squinted through his haze, and noted that one of them held something shaped vaguely like a gun.

“Hey!”

The two suited men halted and turned around at the drunkard’s shout. Their faces were identical and the gun they held was strange and unearthly, looking more like the prop to an 80’s scifi film than a legitimate weapon. Seeing this, and taking in the unsettling oddities through his alcoholic fog, the outcast simply squinted and muttered something unintelligible about ‘no violence’ as he stumbled away. The suited men glanced at each other for a moment, and looked at their instrument.

“The Mutant Scanner brings us to the place that is known as this place” one said to the other

“Kraang, mutants are not to be pursued in the places known as the places that are filled with that which are known as ‘witnesses’” his partner replied

“Protocols do not forbid that which is known as a ‘brief examination’ of the mutant location”

“Kraang is correct in that assertion”

“Then let us proceed with caution.”

Thus, the gun was folded up, and the two monotone men went in. They hadn’t really any solid indication of what they were getting into, though they had done enough research on the subject of human behavior to recognize an underground fight when they saw one. The shackled captive standing in the spotlight raised no questions with them, as the object of their interest was not at all the fight itself.

They scanned the room slowly and methodically, trying to indicate their vague unidentified target, which was a good deal more difficult now that their machinery wasn’t allowed to be put into use. However they suspected they’d know their target when they saw it, and one of them was certain they spotted the mutant when they noticed a lighted balcony just off from the ring, wherein a hideous thing sat between two armed men, shoving two ice-cream cones into his mouth at once. “Some mutated species of blob fish” was the Kraang’s guess, but his partner was quick to disagree.

“Negative. That which is falsely labeled a ‘mutant’ is just what some humans look like”

The Kraang further examined the fat man, staring through it’s expressionless gaze until he could confirm his partner’s correction. "That is... that which is known as... unfortunate”

No sooner had they made their criticisms did the fat man called for the unruly room’s attention. The identical newcomers paid momentary attention to the announcement, hoping it would aide them in their search, but they quickly lost interest. They cared for neither the reputation of the captured human nor the offer of money to whoever could succeed in beating him, all they wanted was the mutant their tracker had picked up on. Then something new caught their attentions: a the small glint of something hanging from the rafters high above. They both stared, their mechanical eyes zooming in on the darkened ceiling until through the shadows they saw the outline of a cage, and a tiny pair of green eyes looking down at them.

“Raph they’ll see you!” Leonardo scolded, pulling his brother back from the edge of the bars. Raph returned this tug with a sharp shove that caused their cage to sway. “I wanna see Dad fight!”

“Don’t worry Leo” Don muttered from his end of the cage, where he prodded his tiny finger into the padlock, working his brain to try and figure out his father’s progress in undoing it “it’s dark up here. If we get out of the cage now, we can prob’ly sneak down without being seen!”

“An’ fight the guys fightin’ Dad!” Raph added, going right back to watching what was going on below. By now things were finally getting exciting. The cuffs holding Yoshi in place had been undone, leaving him free to combat the first opponents climbing up over the ropes and into the ring. Leonardo wisely gave up on dragging his brother away, afraid of shaking the cage again, their perilous position up in the rafters only adding to his instinctive caution. “How do we get down once the cage is open?” “I dunno…” Donatello replied, jostling the door testily “but maybe we can be sneaky and get it unlocked first?”

“M‘kay. How do we get the door unlocked though?”

“I dunno!” Don suddenly snapped, his broken focus causing him to loose patience “Dad used a lock pick, but the bad guys took it!”

Leonardo narrowed his brow, frustration and fear tempting him to cry. Just old enough to have a sense of pride, he instead decided examine each of his brothers to see if any of them needed comforting. Raph was still trying to catch a glance at his fighting father, Donatello struggling to figure out how to undo the padlock, while Mikey… who had been oddly silent this whole time… continued gnawing on the thoroughly cleaned chicken bone as he tried to catch a peak of the pandemonium from over Raphael’s shoulder. With a frustrated humph Leo yanked the bone from his youngest brother’s mouth, and was about to throw it through the bars when he paused in realization. He looked the slobbery bone over, finding that without the sinews and the meat clinging to it it looked thin and pointy, like a caveman tool.

A spark of hope alighted in his tiny chest, and he hurried to Donatello and held it out “Will this work?” Donnie turned and looked at the bone his brother held. He appeared skeptical, but he took the object with a sigh and a nod before he  wriggled the end of the bone into the padlock, trying to see what gears he could configure with his measly tool.

Hamato Yoshi had walked right into a trap, and he was still trying to determine how much of that was bad luck or just his own stupidity. However, as was the pattern, the terrible twist of fate was peppered through with small instances of good luck, just enough to keep his hopes alive.

The throwing blades Yoshi had hid on his person were overlooked when he was frisked, the knives small enough to evade the searching fingers of those more accustomed to unveiling hidden revolvers. He had also convinced Don Visioso to allow him the keep the chest armor after informing him of his unfortunate collision with the car. He argued that if he went down too quickly it would make for a terrible show, as well as create bad press given the value placed on his defeat. Visioso, thankfully overconfident, fulfilled his simple request, but only after testing Splinter’s claim with a commanded strike to the ribs, causing him to buckle in pain before the gunmen took hold of him once more and dragged him into his restrains. There was undoubtably a feeling of indignity when Splinter was locked into the handcuffs, but it paled in comparison to the sinking helplessness he felt when the turtles were taken away once again, lifted high into the rooftops where their cage shackled to the rafters.

So here he was, his children dangling thirty feet above him, weaponized goons positioned all around to ensure he didn’t pull another stunt, the fat man himself sitting at a safe distance away, stuffing his face as he watched his captive fight for his kids like this was some sort of cheap gameshow.

But Yoshi still drew breath, and the turtles were still in his sights, thus… though the situation was bleak… there was still a chance of the situation somehow turning out okay in the end.