Where Angels Fear to Tread - repost

[Red Lioness]

I decided to repost the fic here after all. Enjoy!

Background fics found here. http://www.fanfiction.net/u/661512/

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Six dark shapes slid beneath the black waters of the Cartegena port. You had to know they were there to see them. To the casual observer, they would simply seem like ripples in the wake of the American sloop that ghosted through the night towards the nearest berth. The dockworkers hailed the foreign vessel as the captain ran out to tie up.
“Hey, Senor! We’re going to have to search your boat!”
“That’s fine!” The captain, an older man with a grizzled gray beard, called back. “Because of customs?”
“No, because of that turtle-demon creature. Every vehicle that leaves or enters the city must be searched.” One worker announced, tying up the boat and leaping aboard.
“Oh, I heard about that! Has it been spotted since the—uh, you know, since it attacked?” The captain cried a bit more loudly than necessary.
“No, Senor, it has vanished. But we still have to search.”
“That’s fine. I know you’re still looking for it!” The captain almost bellowed. The dockworkers exchanged a puzzled look, but the captain wasn’t paying attention. He was watching six dripping shadows disappear into an alleyway.

“So what’s the plan, here?” Donnie whispered as the group ghosted from shadow to shadow. “Do we just ask around? ‘Oh, pardon me, have you seen our psychotically murderous relative? No? Well, let us know if you do.’ Of course, that would have to be in Spanish, which none of us speak . . .”
“Chill, Donnie; we’ll find her.” Leo whispered.
“Yeah, dude, think about it,” Mikey added. “Since when have we had to look for weirdness?”
“Um . . . . does that strike anybody else as weird?” Makai asked, pointing. Across the street, tucked into a niche in a crumbling building, was a shrine to Mary Magdalene, patron saint of reformed prostitutes, penitent women, perfumers, hairdressers, and, for some odd reason, tanners. It wasn’t unusual to find a shrine to a saint in a predominantly Catholic country, and even less so to find candles and tokens on said shrine, but St. Mary Magdalene’s offerings had taken a strange turn lately.

The shrine had come down with a bad case of turtles. There were turtles of every shape and size; sea turtles, water turtles, tortoises, clay turtles, stone turtles, wooden turtles, paper turtles, turtle pictures, turtle postcards, turtle-shaped candles, turtle-shaped jewelry boxes, turtle candies, turtle jewelry; anything that could be forced into the shape of a turtle was present on this shrine. Even stranger, in every instance where it was practical to do so, someone had either drawn eyelashes or lipstick on the turtles, or put a little pink bow on their heads, or whatever else could be done to make it very clear that these were girl turtles. There were some other tokens on the shrine; bottles of perfume or lotion, or makeup, but even these had been decorated with turtle stickers.
“Yeeee-ah, I think that counts as weird.” Pele murmured. A dark figure loomed out of the night, causing the group to melt back into the darkness. Closer inspection revealed it to be a young woman dressed in a long coat with a wide-brimmed hat pulled down low over her face. She paused in front of the shrine, looking back and forth to see if anyone was around. For a second, the street light illuminated her features. She had a black eye and a split lip, both of which were disguised with makeup. Only the shadows revealed the damage. She pulled something out of her coat and placed it on the shrine, then knelt down in front of it to pray. Voices coming from the street seemed to startle her and she hastily crossed herself then darted back into the night.
After a few minutes, the group of Mutants crossed the street to peer at the strangely decorated shrine with curiosity. The woman had placed a photograph on the shrine. It was Lilith; a screenshot of her primetime debut. The woman, or someone close to her, had glued black crow feathers onto the picture to form black wings. Donatello picked it up and studied it. He then flipped it over.
“There’s something written on the back,” he reported. He struggled with the foreign language for a moment. “I can recognize some of the Latin at the bottom. I-I think it’s a prayer.”
“A prayer?” Mikey echoed, obviously confused. Leonardo’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
“They’re worshipping Lilith?!”
“’Worshipping’ might be a little strong,” Donnie said quickly. “Catholics always say they don’t worship saints, they just ask them to intercede on their behalf. Like . . like . . like if you have a problem with the government, you don’t contact the president directly, you write to your congressman.”
“Why would they ask Lilith for anything?! She’s a brutal murderer!” Leonardo hissed.
“The television did say that there were many young women and girls bound for the slave trade. Maybe they see her as some sort of avenging angel,” Splinter suggested.
“That lady that just came by didn’t look like a captive,” Leo protested.
“She had a black eye and a split lip,” Pele observed. “Maybe her husband beats her up.”
“They say South American countries are very patriarchal, with not much in the way of equal rights,” Donnie said, looking down at the modified picture in his hand. “They gave Lilith feathered wings like an angel, but they’re black, which usually signifies evil. The government is calling her a monster, but maybe the women in bad situations see her as some kind of protector.”

In an old church on the outskirts of the city, a nun looked around cautiously before unlocking the chain holding the door shut and slipping inside. The windows were boarded over but a few candles burned on the altar, not so much dispelling the shadows as accenting them. The nun approached the altar, knelt and crossed herself, then looked around the dark building as if searching for someone.
“Magdalena?” She whispered.
“Sister Consuela,” purred a low voice. Sister Consuela leapt forward with startling agility. Behind her, an inhuman shape melted out of the shadows without appearing to move.
“Please don’t do that, Magdalena! You’ll scared me to death doing that!” Magdalena didn’t answer. One corner of her mouth turned up lightly in a smirk. Consuela snorted. “How is your arm? Is the injury better?”
“It’s nothing,” Magdalena said casually, sparing the bandage on her left arm only the barest glance. “How is Sister Assunta?”
“She is recovering from her physical injuries. The spiritual ones will take longer to heal.”
“Yes. I expect they will,” Magdalena said sadly. Since the . . . the ‘incident’, her pale blue eyes always seemed sad. “Did she get my gift?”
“She did,” Sister Consuela sighed. “We decided against sharing it with the children. Symbolic though it was, I doubt Father Antonio’s heart on a silver plate would have done them much good.”
“I couldn’t find a golden one,” Magdalena said apologetically. Again Sister Consuela snorted derisively. Turning away, she began to unpack a cold dinner for the turtle hybrid.
“Well, now that all that ugly business is behind us, you can heal and come back to the orphanage to . . .” Consuela trailed off as Magdalena came fully into the candlelight to eat her meal. “Are you wearing makeup?”
“Yes. I like makeup.”
“And . . . . perfume, too. It smells like sandalwood.”
“I like it,” Magdalena reiterated, sniffing at her pulse points.
“Where did you get those things?!”
“From the shrines.” There was a long, awkward silence.
“S-so, you’ve seen those, then?” Sister Consuela said apprehensively.
“They’re hard to miss.”
“I thought you would have stayed in here where it was safe. You are still injured, after all.” Consuela snapped irritably. Magdalena raised one eye ridge.
“Are you afraid I’ll think myself divine because desperate women leave offerings to me? Don’t worry, Sister, I’m the same as I’ve always been.”
“Well, that is a relief.” Consuela said, relaxing slightly. “It’s just that some of those poor women . . . the requests they make.”
“You mean the ones to kill their fathers or husbands or pimps?” Magdalena asked, starting in on her chicken. Consuela laughed nervously.
“Yes, those do make me nervous.”
“You don’t have to be nervous, Consuela,” the turtle woman said soothingly, reaching out to give the nun a comforting touch on the arm. Sister Consuela smiled. “None of those men came close to laying a finger on me.” Consuela blinked, then looked confused. Her expression quickly changed to alarm.
“You-you mean . . . . you’ve been--*granting* those requests?!”
“Well, I did take their offerings,” Magdalena said, turning back to her meal. She sniffed at her wrist again. “And I love this perfume.”

“And you’re sure you can hunt this creature, Senor?”
“Certainly. We’re tracked similar creatures around the world. As bold as this one is, we will find her soon.” The tall Polynesian man in the gray suit picked up a picture from a shrine and studied it. Someone had given this new turtle-creature black wings; as if she were an angel . . . or a demon. How perfectly bizarre.

[Red Lioness]

“This just keeps getting better,” Mikey observed, looking down from above. “Makai, isn’t that the guy who caught you in Hawaii?”
“That’s him,” Makai whispered. “That’s Bane.” She cast a sideways look at Pele. The ‘older sister’ of the pair looked deeply ashamed. Uncertainly, the fair-haired turtle looked over at Leonardo. When she had admitted to him ages ago that she had once had feelings for Bane Pa’ahana, she never thought they’d cross paths with the human again.
“We’ll just have to find Lilith before he does,” Leo said firmly. Pele turned red. She felt odd; she wasn’t sure if she was relieved that Leonardo hadn’t reacted at all to Bane’s appearance, or disappointed that Leonardo hadn’t reacted at all to Bane’s appearance.
Makai turned around and slouched down with her arms crossed tightly across her stomach. After a minute or two, Mikey sat down next to her, putting one arm across her shoulders.
“What’s the matter, baby?” He asked softly.
“I don’t feel good,” Makai whispered, laying her head on his shoulder.
“You probably need to eat something. We haven’t had much since this morning. Let’s wait a few minutes for this jerk to leave and I’ll steal you something to eat, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you, ipo.” Mikey cuddled her close, kissing her forehead.
“Hey, I’ve got to take care of my bride.”
“Mikey . . . . .” Makai began.
“I know, I know. Can’t blame a guy for trying, though.” Michelangelo sighed, tilting his head backwards.
“Makai, Michelangelo . . .” Splinter said in a warning voice.
“Makai doesn’t feel good, Sensei,” Mikey said, still staring upwards.
“Oh, I see. You’ll get a crick in your neck if you keep doing that, Michelangelo.”
“I’m just watching the UFOs, Master Splinter.” Six more necks craned backwards to look up at the lights dancing across the night sky. “I wonder if it’s anyone we know,” Mikey mused.
“Looks like triangular ships; could be Triceratons,” Donnie observed. He turned back to his laptop. “According to this news site, people are claiming a UFO crashed just off shore a few days ago; it could be a search party.”
“Great; psycho Lilith, monster-hunter Bane, and now aliens. Who else is going to join in this little chase?” Leo wondered out loud.

Two figures watched Bane Pa’ahana discuss strategies with the Cartegena police. One was a tall woman with almost supernaturally pale skin. Though she seemed quite young, her hair was pure white. She was dressed in a long coat and a hat that had been stylish in the nineteen-forties. Seeing her wearing it, it could have made a comeback.
“So, it seems we have competition in our search,” she said lightly. She had an English accent. The second figure was impossibly small and stayed tucked safely in the shadows.
“Bane Pa’ahana. A small-time ‘monster hunter’ that got a lucky break with a sea turtle Mutant in Hawaii; since then the American government has given him equipment and manpower to root out others. It hasn’t gone well for him, though; I understand he spent the last two months searching the American South for a meta-human girl with dormant powers, but she gave them the slip.” The second voice was female as well; the voice, in fact, held enough inflection and silken overtones to make ‘good morning’ sound like an invitation to bed. She also had an English accent; this one with a slight lilt to it.
“A meta-human? That’s not the usual target for a ‘monster-hunter’.” The pale woman observed.
“There were mentions of Mutants with her, but Sir Gentleman couldn’t discern the exact details.” The small figure stopped abruptly and sniffed the air.
“What is it?” The tall woman asked.
“I thought . . . . I thought I smelled something. Someone I knew . . . from long ago. Never mind; it must have been a trick of the night air.”
“This night was made for tricks of the mind,” the pale woman said with a smile.

Jorge absently patted the police dog at his side.
“Good boy, Diablo. Just one more hour and our shift is over. Then we can go home.” The German Shepherd yawned in a bored manner. The dog rather liked his guard duties; especially when it meant he got to bite someone. The police chief was fond of saying that if an animal could be charged with a crime, Diablo would have to be brought up on charges of police brutality. The beast liked his job a little too much. Jorge looked back over his shoulder at the empty house behind him. A man had been murdered there. Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered the veteran officer, but everyone said it was the work of that turtle-creature that had appeared a little over a month ago. He and Diablo were guarding the crime scene against reporters and other lookie-lous that had no business being here.
Diablo suddenly growled at the house, his hackles rising. Jorge whipped his flashlight around. For the briefest second, a shadowy figure appeared in the window. Jorge swore and rushed inside, Diablo snarling eagerly. The pair reached the bedroom where the murder had taken place in record time.
“Police! Freeze!” Jorge roared, pulling out his service revolver. Diablo started to bark menacingly. A shadowy figure stood in the center of the room, surrounded by bloodstains. A big shadowy figure; no, a huge shadowy figure. Diablo’s barking faltered for a second, then started again, this time tinged with a note of desperation. There was a faint rasping noise as the figure’s black hood brushed against the ceiling fan as it turned to look at Jorge and Diablo casually.
‘Mother of God,’ Jorge thought. ‘That fan has to be almost seven feet off the ground . . . . and this guy’s stooped over.’ The poor light from the street lamp leeched the colors from the room and the hood obscured most of his face, but this guy was dark skinned. And then he smiled.
‘Teeth.’ Was the first thing that popped into the police officer’s head. ‘Whatever this guy is teeth, he’s not human teeth. What the hell is it doing here teeth? Is it helping teeth that turtle creature teeth?’ Diablo’s barking had deteriorated into desperate, high-pitched yapping. The strange figure sniffed the air delicately.
“Mmmm, such a delicate scent; like flowers on a blood-soaked battlefield.” The stranger announced. His voice was unbelievably deep and resonant; like the kind of voice James Earl Jones would have when he grew up. Diablo started to back up, barks deteriorating into pathetic whines. “She has style, for such a young killer,” The stranger observed, studying the blood-drenched scene. “Will she be impressed that I walked the universe to find her?” Diablo reached the end of his leash. The dog tugged backwards experimentally, trying to drag Jorge away. When the human refused to move, the dog urinated on the floor as a sign of submission. The stranger looked over at the dog and Jorge made the fatal mistake of pulling the trigger on his gun. There was a sharp crack of the gun firing, the hiss of metal on metal and new bloodstains joined the old ones on the floor.

A little over a week later, Don and Makai were holed up in an abandoned building. Donatello was parked in front of his laptop, a pair of headphones over his ears. Recorded conversations were fed through translation software and churned out again for his approval. Makai was nearby. The female's abdomen was slightly swollen, explaining her mystery 'illness'. Makai was busy cooking a meal in a makeshift oven made from an old oil drum.

Donnie rubbed his face and heaved a sigh. A moment later he sniffed the air with interest.
"Mmm; that smells good. What is it?"
"Squab," Makai said, nodding to the pile of pigeon feathers in the corner. "Again."
"I like how you say it; 'squab' sounds so much nicer than 'gutter bird'," Donnie chuckled. Makai grinned, standing awkwardly and walking towards him.
"Well, we've just got to make due with what we've got. But I'd kill for some rice pudding and mahi-mahi about now. Have you got anything from those tapes yet?"
"Well, every cartel in the city has a price on Lilith's head, but none of them seems to know where she is. This one guy, Don Gonzalez, has even set some voodoo guy on Lilith's trail; they're even going to sacrifice an Andean condor to try to take her down somehow."
"Wow, that sounds like desperate measures to me." Makai reached Donnie and held out a still-smoking carcass. "Want the first one?"
"We can split it," Donnie said, pulling off a leg and chewing at it reflectively. Makai followed suit, leaning back against the wall and placing one hand on her belly. Donnie looked at her for a moment, then looked back to his computer.
"So . . . . . should we be looking for a disposal place or a nice warm beach for that?" Donnie nodded towards her stomach. Makai gave him a look.
"I *know* it's not fertile, if that's what you're trying hint at," She said. "I told you before."
"I know, but . . . . I mean . . . . you and Mikey . . ."
"It hasn't gone that far yet." Makai assured him. Donnie was silent for a minute two.
"There's something I've been wanting to ask you," He said quietly. "But every time I try think of how to say it, I sound like a total dick. That's not how I mean it."
"Okay . . . . . I'll keep that in mind." Makai said cautiously. Donnie fiddled with his pigeon for few seconds longer, then looked up at Makai.
"Honestly, what do you see in Mikey?"

[Red Lioness]

Makai's brow ridges drew down sharply.
"I told you it would come out bad!" Donnie blurted, holding up his hands in supplication. Makai drew in a deep breath.
"Okay. I'm keeping that in mind." She growled. "But why exactly do you think Michelangelo has nothing to offer a woman?"
"It's not that I don't think he has anything to offer a woman. I mean, I know he's really nice and doesn't pressure you for much and you'd have to go a long way before you found a sweeter guy, but . . ."
"But?" Makai prompted.
"But . . . . you're really smart. And Mikey's . . . well, Mikey's really not."
"You think so?" Makai challenged. "You think Mike's stupid? You think he can't take one look at you and know how you're feeling or why and instantly start cracking jokes or teasing or doing whatever it takes to cheer you up?"
"Uh--," Donnie started, but he didn't get a chance.
"You think he's too stupid to realize that everyone thinks he's dumb and incapable of being serious? Do you think he likes being told he's stupid to his face? Do you think it doesn't get to him?! 'Cause it does!! But that doesn't matter to Mike! He's so empathetic he routinely puts other's feelings ahead of his own and would bend over backwards to make them happy rather than focusing on his own wants!"
"Like wanting to call you his bride?" Donatello returned, finding an opening. Makai had the decency to flush.
"Hey, this isn't about me!" She snapped, pointing an accusing finger at Don. "Besides, you aren't Mr. Perfect! I saw those pictures from Fantasy Fest on your computer and I was shocked, Donnie!" In retrospect, Makai would have reflected that it was a cheap shot. Donnie wouldn't have been a normal teenage boy without having a couple of topless pictures on his computer, but Donatello's reaction seemed far too much for such an infraction.
"You-you saw those?!" Don blurted, his cheeks flushing almost purple. "I-I can explain!" He cried. "It was Fantasy Fest!! I never drank tequila before!!! And I needed some beads!!!!"
"What are you talking about?" Makai asked. Donnie stared at her, then turned back to his computer.
"nuthin'" He mumbled. The sea turtle's eyes lit up.
"What did you do?!" She asked gleefully.

Before Donnie could make any protest or confession, there was a rustling and Mikey, Leo, Pele and Splinter slipped in through a back window.
"Hey, we're back!" Mikey called.
"Mikey!" Makai squealed, going up to him and hugging him tight.
"Hey babe," Michelangelo murmured, hugging her back. He seemed distracted, peering cautiously out the window they had just vacated.
"We checked out some of those murders attributed to Lilith, but Sensei doesn't think it was her," Leo reported.
"No . . . no, the scent was different. Strange . . . but at the same time, eerily familiar," Splinter said, casting a look out the window. The scent of the strange murderer had unnerved him, but nearly so much as the *other* scent he had caught.

After all this time . . . . why did *she* have to be here? And now, of all times. It was never pleasant when mistakes came back to haunt you, but at this point in his sons' lives such a revelation could cause a rift between them that might never heal.

"That last one couldn't have possibly been Lilith," Pele declared, breaking through Splinter's thoughts. "Lilith is only about Makai's size; some of those bloodstains were down strokes from five and a half feet."
"True," Leo said shortly, pausing to look back out the window.
"What's making you guys so restless?" Donnie asked.
"Don't you feel that?" Leo asked, shuddering. "Something doesn't feel right."
"We thought we were being followed, so we circled for hours," Mikey related. "We never caught anything for sure; not so much as a shadow. It was just a bad feeling." Mike put his arm around Makai and hugged her close. "Enough of that! What smells so good?"
"Offhand," an unbelievably deep voice purred from the shadows. "I'd say it's the delectable little dish on your arm." The poor light glinted off of sharp teeth.

Within seconds, all six warriors had their weapons trained on the shadows.
"Who the hell are you?! How'd you get here?!" Pele demanded. "We made sure no one was following us!!"
"I didn't need to follow you; I only had to trail the scent of a ripe female." There was movement in the shadows and the sound of sniffing. "By all the darkness in the universe . . . . after a lifetime of solitude, such a scent might drive a man insane." Mikey appeared in front of Makai as if by magic.
"Who the hell are you?!" Leo repeated. "Show yourself!" The stranger did so. There were gasps all around. The newcomer was a turtle . . . . . . sort of. He had the requisite shell, three fingers and green skin, though his shell was rimmed with jagged spikes and wickedly sharp claws adorned his fingers. Compared with the four brothers, he was huge; his height somewhere between six feet and heaven. Instead of a mask, he wore black goggles. A dark cloak helped hide most of his weapons and gear, though he had thrown one side over his shoulder, exposing his craggy plastron, a bulky belt and black trousers. His feet were bare.
"That scent . . . you are the second murderer!" Splinter cried. The stranger paid him no mind.
"Who *are* you?" Donatello asked. The strange turtle spared him the slightest glance.
"My true name is lost to the ages. But long ago, the vultures named me Slash." Slash stopped, his attention divided between Pele and Makai. "I came to this miserable planet looking for the dark-skinned female from the broadcasts, but after eight hundred years alone . . ." He paused, flashing a Makai and unpleasant grin. His smile was all jagged points. "There's no sense in being picky."

Looking back, everything seemed to happen at once. Makai never could remember who made the first move; she recalled Donatello, Leonardo and Master Splinter flying forward only to be knocked away like bowling pins. Mikey looked at Makai briefly over his shoulder.
"Run, baby," he whispered.
"Mikey, no," she whimpered. Slash moved towards them like the wrath of God; terrible and seemingly unstoppable. Michelangelo turned towards the juggernaut.
"Keep your stinkin' hands off my wife!" he roared. Mikey ducked under Slash's sidekick, bring his nunchaku around to slam into the giant's thigh with terrible force. The strange turtle merely grunted, grabbing Mike by the arm and slinging him around to take out Donatello and Master Splinter, who were trying to attack again. Slash brought his elbow back sharply, slamming it into Pele's face. The small turtle's lei'o'mano clattered across the floor as she collapsed. Makai gasped, turning to flee. Slash's fist closed on a handful of her hair, pulling her back towards him.
"These connected strings of keratin are odd to me, but the do make useful handles, don't they?" He purred. Makai hit him upside the head with one of her pahoa, opening a deep gash in his cheek. "That felt like a caress," he announced.
"N-no . . Makai . . ." Mike groaned.
"Hmm, what's this? Gravid, are we?" Slash grabbed Makai by the throat and lifted her up to eye level. "Don't worry; the eggs actually break quite easily before they're laid."
"Leave my sister alone!" Pele cried, levering herself upright. Blood streamed from her mouth and nose. This strange turtle was lethal; he was going to kidnap Makai and have his way with her, maybe even kill her! Even if she lived, Makai's beautiful spirit would be crushed; she'd never be the same happy-go-lucky girl she was. And Mikey . . .
"Let go of my sister!" Pele repeated. "Take me instead!"

That put a stop to everything.
"What's this?" Slash asked, an unpleasant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Let my sister go and take me instead; I'm not gravid. There won't be any egg to break. I - I won't fight you."
"Pele, no!" Leo cried, struggling to rise. Slash raised an eye ridge, lowering Makai back to the floor.
"You won't try to escape, either." Slash added. Pele cast a look over at Leo, who shook his head in horror.
"All right. Let my sister go," Pele said.
"Mmm, nice try. You come here first, little shell. Then I shall release this one." Pele hesitated.
"How do I know you won't keep both of us?"
"If I wanted you both, I'd have you both," Slash pointed out. He held out one hand. "Come." The small turtle did so, shaking slightly.
"Pele, no! Don't do it!!" Leo yelled, starting forward. Slash took hold of Pele, one large hand easily spanning the nape of her neck. Only then did he release Makai.
"Pele, no!" Makai cried, throwing her arms around her sister. "Don't do this for me!" With an impatient growl, Slash tore Makai off of Pele and threw the gravid female at Leo with all the strength he could muster. Makai crashed into Leonardo and sent them both sprawling. Slash tucked Pele under one arm like she was nothing more than a stuffed animal and bolted into the night. Donatello and Master Splinter dashed after them. Leonardo practically threw Makai off of him and followed suit.

[Red Lioness]

Mikey went to Makai quickly, meaning to just check on her, then follow the strange turtle. A hoarse scream of pain brought him up short. Makai was curled up into a tight ball, her breathing a fast pant.
"Makai? Baby, what's wrong? Where are you hurt?" A wordless moan was her only reply. Michelangelo tried to pull the sea turtle into his lap. "I need to see where you're hurt, Makai! Show me!"
"Nnn-nnn-nnnegg!" Makai managed, spitting through gritted teeth.
"What? I don't understand!" Mike cried. Then he stopped abruptly, looking down. A strange, warm fluid was oozing around his knees. It was mostly clear, tinged here and there with blood. Mike's eyes widened in horror as he saw the fluid was running out from between Makai's legs.
"Oh God," Mikey whispered. The force from colliding with Leo had ruptured the egg in Makai's belly.

"Damn and blast, Silve; I told you we would be too late!" A cultured voice with an English accent cried.
"Perhaps not," an equally cultured voice replied. "There appears to be someone injured. We can at least help them." Mikey whirled around.
"You stay away from Makai! She's--," Michelangelo stopped dead as he saw who he was speaking to. "What? Who are you?"
"Please do not be alarmed, we mean you no harm," said the owner of the first voice, a tall and almost supernaturally pale human woman. "Agent Whitestocking and are here to assist you! Is your friend hurt? Does she require medical assistance?" Michelangelo's eyes were locked on Agent Whitestocking.
"But you . . . . you're--,"
"Just let us take the female to our medicos. I can testify first hand, they're spot on with fixing up Mutants. Can we take her?" She asked. Mikey looked down at the strange woman in front of him, then down at Makai, who was in far too much pain to even react to the others' presence.
"Y-yes. Please help Makai."
"There's a lad; it will be all right." Agent Whitestocking took a few steps back and snapped out a small radio. "Mother, we need a medical lift at our last broadcast location; tell the medicos with Mutant experience to pull their thumbs out and get prepped."
"Now then," Silve leaned towards Michelangelo. "Where did your compatriots go?"

Slash was fast; impossibly fast. He breezed effortlessly from shadow to shadow, moving with grace and stealth that bordered on the supernatural. Pele wished she could scream for help, but the ingrained urge to stay silent and safe made her hold her tongue. The others would be after her. Leonardo would save her; there was no way Leo would just let this beast walk away with her. The trouble was . . . she couldn't see them. And this Slash was good; a little too good. Pele knew Leo would be after her, she knew he would track her down . . . . . she just didn't know if it would be in time or not.

Without warning, Slash threw her down in a dark alley.
"This will serve our purposes," he announced, shedding his cloak.
"Uh . . . uh . . . wait! I -I could dance for you!" Pele blurted. The boys loved to watch her and Makai hula. Slash began working at the buckle of his belt.
"As much as I appreciate your desperate attempt to stall for time, little shell, I believe I'll skip the appetizer and go straight for dessert. Come now, little shell; you did volunteer for this. You even gave your word of honor that you wouldn't fight back or try to escape." Slash purred, shedding the rest of his gear.
"Yeah . . . well, I lied!" Pele blurted, driving one of her lei'o'mano between Slash's exposed ribs and bolting for safety. A lei'o'mano is not an elegant weapon; it was designed to murder people in the most excruciating way possible. The stabbing spike was sharp wood with a wide base and was prone to splintering; it was a very dirty weapon that would leave a gaping hole sprinkled with infection-causing bits of wood. Pele drove in so deep that the sharks' teeth around the handle cut into the strange turtle's side.

Slash never even flinched.

"Such nasty toys you play with, my dear," he commented, grasping both of Pele's forearms. He twisted them neatly until the bone cracked, then backhanded the small turtle across the alleyway. Pele's head slammed into the brick wall of the building and she slumped down, leaving a small blood trail from her head wound. Only then did Slash remove the lei'o'mano from his side and toss it down amongst the garbage. To Pele it suddenly seemed as if the world was a very long way off. The light started to die from her vision and it occurred to her that things would look much better after she had a good sleep. The clatter of her weapon hitting the pavement popped her eyes open again. There were wisps of smoke curling from the blood-drenched spike. As she watched, the blood started to bubble up and boil away.
'What an odd way for blood to behave,' she thought. And that was the last thought she had for a long time.

Slash lifted the unconscious female by the hair and looked around for an appropriate spot to do the dirty deed. He tossed the girl down in a pile of garbage. The alien turtle started to lean over her, then stopped. Quick as a flash, he whirled and caught the knife that was flying at the back of his head at terminal velocity. He caught the knife. Even he was too slow to do anything about the flying kick that hit the handle of the knife, driving it into his eye socket.
"Bloody rapist!" a mellow voice growled. Slash's universal translator clicked as it kicked over to another language. He brought his right hand up to block, but not into time to stop the machete that sliced through his throat like soft butter. She had to have launched all those attacks at once to deliver them with such lethal grace. Slash went to his knees, squinting at the black-haired, blue-eyed vision before him even as his own sight went dark.

Magdalena stepped back as the larger turtle collapsed. Another turtle? Another one like her? Was he a demon as well? She looked over at his intended victim. Now this was . . . . . what? She looked like a turtle as well, but her coloring was all pale whites, creams and golds. If the dark-skinned one was a demon, did that make this female an angel? That was silly; it was simply ridiculous. Angels and demons and whatnot; it simply couldn't be true. A burning smell made Magdalena look around. The pooled blood around the fallen turtle was starting to boil. Magdalena's eyes widened. She went over to the female and hefted her onto her shoulder. They needed to be away from here. As Magdalena arranged the gold-spotted limbs of the smaller turtle, she got the strangest feeling of deja vu . . . .

[Red Lioness]

Leo, Master Splinter and Donnie dropped down into an alley. Leonardo cast around desperately, finding no clue that there was anyone here in the past few hours.
"Sensei?!" He growled tersely. Splinter sniffed the air, then shook his head. Leo gave a wordless shout of frustration and kicked a garbage can. "How could you lose the scent?!" He demanded.
"It was the tannery," Splinter admitted quietly. "The smell was too strong."
"We'll try a couple of blocks North, then!" He declared. Donatello and Master Splinter exchanged a look.
"Leo . . . . . it's been a couple of hours," Don said quietly. Leo froze. The temperature in the alleyway seemed to drop about ten degrees.
"So?" He hissed.
"So . . . . . I'm just saying, when we do find her . . . . . she might be . . . . hurt." Donnie would go into what else she might be. Two females on the entire planet . . . . . . . for the love of God, let that maniac realize how precious they were and not kill Pele when he was done with her.
"My son? As difficult as this is, please realize that even if this monster takes Pele's body, you will always have her heart." Splinter tried. Leo's fists clenched until his knuckles were white. Then he sagged dejectedly.
"Why?" He asked. "Slash wanted Makai, he wasn't even interested in Pele," Leo whispered, half to himself. "Why did she volunteer for it?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Donnie asked. What seemed like a microsecond later, Leonardo was about an inch from his face, all fury firmly in place.
"Obvious? Obvious?! No, Donnie, it's not obvious!! Why don't you enlighten me?!" Leo roared.
"She-she was protecting her sister!" Donnie blurted. "The same way you'd protect us, Leo!" Leonardo subsided slightly, staring at Don as if he'd never considered that fact before. "Haven't you seen how much Pele's changed since we met her? Every day she tries to be more like you."

A spotlight suddenly illuminated the alleyway.
"Well, not the one we were expecting, but nothing to sneeze at," a smooth voice declared. Bane stepped out of the group of soldiers bunched up at the street entrance. Leo's brow ridges knitted together sharply.
"You." He snarled. "You betrayed Pele and Makai to the government!! You led Pele on and then betrayed her. It was you." Donnie looked at his brother; Leonardo was casting around for someone to take out his rage on and from the looks of things, he had just found him.
"You know Pele and Makai?" The human asked. "I'm surprised Pele would ever admit the part she played; such a cold-hearted thing." Leo gritted his teeth together so hard Donatello heard them creak. The purple-clad turtle looked at Bane with a mixture of sympathy and amazement.
"Buddy, did you ever pick the wrong time . . . ."

Donatello and Master Splinter sat against the brick wall, trying to avoid each other's gaze. The television images of Lilith bloody to the elbows had started a Mutant scare that shook the world. A picture of Leonardo right now would have started a species war. Blood ran down his face and chest, dribbling down the crevices of his plastron and dripping onto the pavement around his feet. Donnie had the nagging feeling he should have helped the soldiers somehow. They probably hadn't deserved to be dismembered. Of course, that would have meant getting in front of Leonardo. Even Sensei hadn't been that brave.
"Let's go." Leo snapped. Donnie blinked, focusing on what Leo was actually doing. A few bloody scraps of Bane's suit was being wrapped around a large lump.
"Jesus, Leo," Don gawped. "You're not taking that with you, are you?"
"It's for Pele," Leo growled, knotting the fabric to his belt.
"His head?" Splinter echoed in horror.
"Flowers are more traditional," Donnie said weakly.
"This bastard hurt Pele," Leo stated. "And I'll give her Slash's head on a plate before this thing is through." Leo paused to wipe some blood off his face. "Master Splinter, do you think you could pick up the scent?"
"Er . . . " the rat looked around at the pooled blood congealing on the asphalt, drowning every scent for blocks around. Then he looked back at Leonardo. "I'll try."
"Don't think of it as wholesale slaughter," Donnie murmured under his breath. "Think of it like very primitive therapy."

[Red Lioness]

Pele opened her eyes. 'Open' was almost too strong a word for the slight crack of blue against the red and gold of her eyelids and cheek spots. She whimpered slightly. Every bone in her body ached and most of her felt like she was on fire. Her right cheek felt tight and hot, almost packed full. Someone had bound up her arms as if they had been broken. A vague memory of fear and pain washed over her. She whimpered again.

A plump face entered her field of view and smiled. A nun. Nuns weren't so bad; it could have been a lot worse. The nun spoke softly, but Pele couldn't understand her and honestly didn't think she could summon the effort to try. The nun pressed a glass to her lips. Pele drank gratefully. It wasn't water like she had thought, but a sticky liquid that made a blissful numbness wash through her body. Pele closed her eyes again.

Sister Consuela sat back.
"She was seriously injured, but she should recover. She is young and strong."
"Good."
"Magdalena!!" Came an excited squeal. A young girl charged at the green figure standing in the doorway. "Sister Consuela's nursing your angel friend! We helped!" Magdalena scooped up the girl and balanced her on her hip.
"Isabel! I see you helped. Errrr . . . . where did you get all the feathers?"

The girls of the orphanage had been busy. Saplings had been bound together in a sort of wing shape. These were tied onto the golden stranger's shoulders with rope. Feathers had been glued onto the framework. Soft downy feathers, long shimmering white feathers, even dove gray pinion feathers nearly ten inches long.
"They started out by ripping up pillows," Sister Consuela said sharply. Then they started mugging the chickens." Magdalena fought back a smile. She had thought some of the pullets had looked a bit threadbare. "Then they started snaring seagulls! Dora nearly lost an eye to a cranky gull and I made them stop. It's not funny!" The nun growled as Isabel and Magdalena snickered. Magdalena suddenly sniffed dramatically, looking wistfully at Pele.
"You never made me any wings," she sighed. Isabel slowly turned to look at the open doorway. A black hen, showing far more intelligence than your average chicken, recognized the gleam in the little girl's eyes and bolted for safety. Isabel quickly wriggled out of Magdalena's grip and ran after the bird, calling to her fellow orphans.
"Come on! We have to make some wings for Magdalena!! Help me!" Sister Consuela glared at the turtle woman.
"They'll be off the lay for days now, I hope you know."
"Tonight I kill Don Gonzalez," Magdalena said softly. "The raids will not stop until I do."
"Don Gonzalez? But he is a murderer! He surrounds himself with killers!"
"He is worse than a murderer. He is just a butcher. Even if he lives in a palace as rich as a king and has his own private army to back him up. He is just a butcher." Magdalena sighed. "His bodyguards are very dangerous. Please don't begrudge me my wings." Sister Consuela paused, her eyes widening at the realization that Magdalena did not expect to survive the night.
"All right. Enjoy your wings. I hope you fly very high with them."

[Fang Wolf]

It's Very Good Fics...You have Write.....:)

[Mandi-chan]

Yay, an update!

Awesome to read, as always.

I look forward to more!