by 3 Ninja Tales (The Rise of Tiger Claw; The Casey Chronicles; Mutants in Space!) (retail) (epub)
April raced out of the park toward the hockey rink.
Donnie just sighed. “That’s what she wanted to say?”
April threw open the doors to the hockey rink, her mind reeling. Was Casey okay? Was he hurt?
To her surprise, he was just fine. In fact, he seemed to be having the time of his life, finishing off a Footbot with his stick.
“That is how you play hockey!” Casey said, standing victorious over a pile of Footbots.
“Casey! Are you okay?” April cried, running out onto the ice without any skates, slipping and sliding.
“Of course I am,” he said, catching her in his arms. “Steady there, Red.”
He held her close, her heart beating fast. They smiled, staring into each other’s eyes. In that moment neither of them had to say a word. They both felt it—they were going to be more than just study partners.
Casey had never seen April so happy.
And neither had Donnie.
He was secretly watching them from the stands. Even though he had April back, her heart belonged to someone else.
The next day, April made her way below the surface. It had been months since she visited the Turtles’ lair. In a way, it felt like she was returning home. She got butterflies in her stomach when she glimpsed them in their natural habitat again: four mutant brothers gathered around the TV, watching some weird anime show together.
Like a family.
Her family.
“Hey, guys,” she said, surprising them.
One by one, the Turtles looked up from the TV set. They were all smiles.
“April!”
“You’re back!”
“What’s up?”
Even Master Splinter broke meditation to come out and welcome her back to the dojo after a long time away. “It is very good to see you, April.”
“I missed you, Master Splinter. I hope we can start training again soon.”
“Of course,” Splinter replied. “Whenever you wish.”
She respectfully bowed to her former sensei before turning back to the Turtles. She paused, shifting uneasily. “I never got a chance to tell you guys that I’m sorry … for everything.”
“You’re sorry?” Leo replied, remembering the events of that fateful night.
The mutagen.
The accident.
Her father.
“But we were the ones who screwed up,” Leo continued apologetically.
“It was an accident,” April said, speaking from the heart. “And more importantly, you’re my friends. I don’t ever want to hold a grudge again.”
“You’re the best, April!” Mikey said, offering her a slice of pizza. “To mark this day, I offer you … the Slice of Eternal Reunion.”
April looked the slice up and down. What had once been a scrumptious slice of cheese pizza had become a science project. “It has lint and dead bugs all over it.”
“I know. I just found it under my bed,” Mikey explained, cradling it like some priceless relic.
“It’s … eternal.”
Realizing April wasn’t going to touch the slice, Mikey decided to honor it the best way he knew how: by scarfing it down in one bite!
April stepped around the others and walked up to Donnie. The closer she got, the faster his heart beat. She locked eyes with him. “Thanks for always being there … even when I didn’t want you to be.”
She threw her arms around him.
And as if the moment couldn’t get any better, April gave Donnie a tiny kiss on the cheek.
Donnie felt a rush unlike any he’d ever felt before. Forget defeating Shredder and the Technodrome. Today was now officially the best day of his life. He stared at her with hearts in his eyes and only one thought on his mind: I love being a Turtle!
Mutant monsters and robot ninjas are takin’ over my city.
How long before those freaks hurt somebody close to me?
Like my dad.
Or my little sister.
Or April.
I’m not waitin’ around to find out.
All my life I’ve known that I’m meant for something greater.
This is my calling.
My destiny.
A true warrior has gotta be prepared.
Casey barely recognized his face in the mirror.
Since his battle with the Footbots, he’d decided to make some changes. He’d upped his workout—chin-ups, push-ups, you name it—and bulked up as much as he could. He needed to be stronger than ever. He needed to be able to take a beating. He needed to be ready for combat.
Next, he suited up for battle. He started with his hockey pads. Normal gloves were great on the ice, but for hero work, they needed a little something extra. With some industrial glue, he added rusty nails to his blocker, and voila! Homemade spiked gauntlets.
Then he focused on his weapons. He taped up his old hockey sticks and stuck them in a sheath, which he slung across his back. There was room for more, so he added a baseball bat and an old golf club he found in a Dumpster to his arsenal. Those felt right. But deep down, he knew that to compete with robots and monsters and other weirdoes who had high-tech weaponry, he needed more of an edge. So he borrowed a potato masher from the kitchen and hooked it up to some old batteries to make his very own electroshock weapon.
Casey studied himself in the mirror and practiced his trash talk. “Who do you think you are?” he asked the imaginary villains all around him. “A ninja?”
He tested his electroshock weapon. It crackled with tendrils of electricity. He was pleased with the shocking results.
“Bring it, punk!” he said, trying his best to sound tough.
Perfect. Now for the finishing touch, he thought.
He needed to look menacing. He needed to harness fear and mold it into a mask. A face that would send a chill up the spines of bad guys everywhere.
And suddenly it hit him.
A goalie’s mask.
He blew most of his money on spray paint at the local art store. Enough to give his mask a fearsome facelift. He toyed with many different designs and finally landed on one that felt bad … to the bone.
A skull.
He covered it with glow-white spray paint.
Then he put it on, checking out his new look in the mirror.
He didn’t look like a kid anymore. He looked just as freaky as those mutant monsters waiting out there for him. He was a dangerous creature now, a force to be reckoned with.
“Scum-suckin’ mutated freaks of the world, prepare to meet … CASEY JONES.”
Casey Jones wasn’t the only one preparing for a fight. So were the Turtles.
As part of a new training exercise, Master Splinter had them report to the dojo with their weapons ready. The wise sensei stood before them with a solemn air until he had complete silence.
“My sons,” he said, admiring their flawless form, “you are truly becoming impressive warriors. But to grow as a team, you must know each other’s strengths and weaknesses.”
At that moment, Mikey broke his silence—by unleashing the smelliest burp ever! The fumes were so strong they wafted to Donnie’s nostrils and refused to let go.
“Right in my face?” Donnie gagged. “Really?”
“Garlic and clam pizza,” Mikey said with confidence.
Splinter ignored this. “This competition is a free-for-all. Last Turtle standing wins!” he announced, then gave the Japanese command to begin: “Hajime!”
“I’m still seeing spots,” Donnie mumbled. Mikey’s burp fumes had clouded his vision, which Raph used to his advantage. He snuck up behind Donnie and roundhouse-kicked him into the tree!
“Sorry, Donnie,” he said with a smirk. “It’s a ninja-eat-ninja world!”
Raph got his sais ready for his next victim: Mikey. He chased his little brother around the dojo, hoping to catch him off guard. He saw his opportunity.
Until Leo jumped in his way.
Sparks flew as their blades met—Leo’s katanas clashing against the cold
steel of Raph’s sais.
“What are you doing, Leo?” Raph growled. “I was goin’ for Mikey!”
“What part of ‘last Turtle standing’ don’t you understand?” Leo fired back. He shoved Raph, opening a clear lane to Mikey. Leo slid down the middle of the room and took out Mikey with one leg sweep!
“Aw, man!” Mikey yelped.
The score was even: Raph 1, Leo 1.
“Looks like you leveled up to the boss fight,” Raph taunted.
“I’m gonna wipe that smirk off your face … permanently,” Leo replied.
A hush fell over the dojo again. Donnie, Mikey, and Splinter all watched the face-off with intense anticipation. It was clear Leo and Raph were the two strongest fighters. But considering their advanced skills, shared fearlessness, and equal strength and speed, neither Turtle had a clear edge.
Each punch met with another punch. A block with a block.
It wasn’t until they began to disarm each other that things got interesting. To the untrained eye, it looked like Raph had Leo on the run, forcing him toward the tree in the center of the room. But Mikey and Donnie knew better; Leo was setting himself up to gain the higher ground in the fight.
And once Raph ducked behind the tree, using it as a shield against Leo’s oncoming strikes, Leo knew he had him. He ran up the branches, propelling himself into the air for an epic windmill kick! His foot clocked Raph right in the jaw, sending him skidding along the floor.
Leo was the last Turtle standing.
Raph opened his eyes to see Leo bowing victoriously before Master Splinter. He could feel the anger well up in his throat. He couldn’t believe he’d lost.
“Leo won it this time!” Donnie called out, which sent Raph over the edge. He picked himself up and growled, a blind rage overtaking him.
“Uh-oh,” Mikey warned, sensing that Raph was about to explode. “He’s awoken the beast!”
Raph charged forward and sucker-punched Leo right in the face!
Leo dropped like a cold fish to the dojo floor.
Donnie and Mikey immediately ran over. “Raph! What are you doing?”
Hearing the disappointment in Donnie’s voice, Raph snapped back into reality. “I—I—I didn’t mean to hurt him!” he stammered in a panic. He looked from Leo’s limp body to Master Splinter’s disapproving eyes. “It was an accident. Seriously!”
Leo slowly awoke. He sat up, the world coming into focus again. Nursing his throbbing head, he said, “Did anyone get the number of that bus?”
“We have spoken about this time and again, Raphael,” Master Splinter scolded. “Anger is a dangerous ally. It clouds your judgment. You need to control it, lest it control you.”
“But, Sensei, I wasn’t angry. I was just determined to win.”
Raph saw the way his brothers were looking at him. He knew that look. He had messed up. He had crossed a line. And there was nothing he could do or say to make it better.
Which made him angry all over again.
“WHAT?” Raph shouted at them, enraged.
“I said I WASN’T angry!”
But they knew that wasn’t true. And so did he.
Raph stormed out of the sewers, angrier than ever.
Raph hit the surface to try and cool off, but it was no use.
“This always happens!” he screamed. “I’m fine until those guys push my buttons!”
His temper was running hot, and the only thing that was going to make him feel better was to hit someone. Or something. Anything. So he went on a rampage, knocking over garbage cans, pummeling mailboxes, and even punching the air. Nothing was safe from his rage.
“It’s not like I was trying to hurt Leo,” he confessed to the night. It was a pity no one was around to hear his side of the story. He took a deep breath. Saying it out loud felt good. He was finally calming down.
“They just don’t get it,” he sighed.
From a fire escape ten stories high, Casey Jones could see everything. He was a crime fighter now. It was up to him to protect this great city he called home.
He took out his journal, chronicling another night on patrol:
My city is infested. A boil. A festering sore. It stinks with evil. Pure evil that only Casey Jones can face.
Casey smiled. That sounded good. Unfortunately, it was far from the truth. Over the past few nights, nothing had happened. No monsters. No mutants. No old ladies who needed help crossing the street. The city was quieter than the school library.
“Actually … crime fighting’s pretty boring,” he admitted.
Then Casey sensed something moving in the shadows behind him. It scurried toward him with amazing speed! “Yaaaaahhhh!!!” he shrieked, scurrying to get away from it.
A rat. Nothing but a rat.
Casey saw the pest and shuddered. He could deal with villains of any size, but rats? Ewwwww! They carried diseases and smelled like a toilet. They were his only weakness.
“I hate those furry little freaks!” he said.
That was it. Casey had had enough for tonight. He sheathed his hockey sticks and was about to pack it in, when he heard a commotion coming from the alleyway below.
Is someone in trouble?
Casey ducked, watching a street gang rough up a harmless old man.
The Purple Dragons—the meanest gang on the East Side. Those guys were the worst. They took the old man’s money.
Casey saw a glint of steel—one of the gang members had a knife.
Casey pulled his mask over his face. It seemed his hockey sticks would see some action after all.
Sid, the most muscle-bound member of the Purple Dragons, laughed at the old man. “Get his watch, too!” he told the other gang members with a chuckle. He thought mugging people was hilarious.
What he did not find funny, however, was being knocked to the ground unexpectedly. Sid found himself lying on the concrete, shooting pains throbbing through his skull. He picked up the strange circular object that had nailed him.
A hockey puck? “What the—”
Sid stopped short. He couldn’t believe what he saw standing before him—a deranged hockey player!
“You slimeballs picked the wrong night,” the demonic skull-face growled from the darkness.
“Nice outfit,” another Purple Dragon sneered. “Who’s this clown?”
Casey Jones stepped out of the shadows. “I’m the last guy you see before you wake up in the hospital.”
With that, Casey gave the Purple Dragons a fight they’d never forget. Wielding his hockey stick, he swatted, jabbed, and struck the gang members down until they were crumpled on the ground and begging for mercy.
If this had been on the ice, he’d have about two dozen penalties, but on the street, this was a just comeuppance for a gang that had terrorized the city for too long. And it was being watched from afar by a mysterious figure perched high on the rooftops—Raphael.
Part of him enjoyed seeing the Purple Dragons get creamed in a fight, but he knew this masked vigilante was going too far. “That guy’s out of control,” Raph said, spinning his sais. “Time for a little intervention.”
Casey teed up another puck, aiming squarely at the Purple Dragons. He called his own play-by-play once again: “Casey Jones shoots—”
One of the thugs took off toward traffic. Casey whacked the puck with all his strength, nailing the moving target in the back of the head.
“And he scores!” Casey celebrated.
“Hey, man … enough!” Sid pleaded, wincing from the pain. “We give up!”
But Casey ignored him. These thugs needed to be taught a lesson, and going easy on them was not an option. Besides, did they go easy on the innocent people they mugged and beat up daily? No.
“I ain’t finished with you lowlifes yet,” Casey told him, prepping his hockey stick for another hit.
Raph dropped into their midst, undetected by Casey Jones. He snuck up and swiped Casey’s hockey stick, then quickly disappeared into the shadows.
“What the—?
!” Casey gasped, realizing his hands were empty. He looked around but couldn’t see anyone else. So he reached for his backup weapon: a baseball bat. “Who’s back there? Show yourself!”
The Turtles didn’t like to reveal themselves to humans, but Raph knew there was no other way. So he took a breath and emerged from the darkness.
“Another mutant?”
“Got a problem with that?” Raph said, and gnashed his teeth.
“Wait. What are you? Like some kinda … turtle ninja?” Casey busted out laughing.
Raph fought to keep calm, but this masked maniac was really steaming his shell!
Casey kept chuckling, and the Purple Dragons saw their opportunity to sneak away. They took off running.
“Hey, you filthy scum, I’m not done with you!” Casey yelled, about to pursue them—when he felt the turtle’s hand holding him back.
“Let me handle this,” Raph said.
Casey shoved him. “Outta my way!”
Raph was incensed. There was no reasoning with this hockey hothead. All he seemed to understand was pure rage. Now Raph knew how his brothers must have felt when they had to deal with his temper tantrums.
“You know, anger is a dangerous ally,” Raph said, quoting Master Splinter. Funny—when Splinter said it, it sounded so calm. But Raph was irked. And coming from him, it sounded less like friendly advice and more like a threat.
“So why don’t you cool off for a while?” he added, shoving Casey back. Hard.
“That’s it, lizard. I’m done with you.” Casey roared. He charged at Raph, belting out his signature war cry: “GOONGALAAAA!!!”
He slashed at the turtle in a fury of spinning thrusts and wild haymaker punches. But Raph was too quick for him.
Raph caught Casey’s stick with his sais, artfully throwing him off balance. “I told you, back off!”
And just when Casey was about to retaliate, Raph delivered a spin kick to his chest. It sent Casey hurtling backward into a Dumpster, the wind knocked out of his lungs. Casey Jones didn’t know the meaning of the word quit.
