Chapter Text
New York City. The concrete jungle of stone, glass, and metal. A city where the urban sprawl is never-ending, and the citizens that live there occupy every nook and cranny of the claustrophobic streets and alleys.
In the depths of the alleyways in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, crime is alive and well. In fact, it has been thriving. Powers have been shifting, and the lust for land has been rising amongst the many gangs in the region. The police have given up on patrolling certain areas in the city, leaving other gangs to seep through those cracks. But these streets don't belong to them… not by a long shot.
From a vantage point on a nearby rooftop, four figures in the dark observe a sequence of weapons being tossed into the back of a banged-up white van. These figures, shrouded in mystery, are not mere bystanders. They are the ones who will soon disrupt the tranquility of this criminal operation. As the gang members step out with the shipment of guns, it becomes obvious who the perpetrator is. The Purple Dragons: typical boisterous thugs who let their guns do the talking.
"Hurry up with those crates. You're about as quick as a goddamn tortoise!" One of the Dragons shouts, most likely their 'leader.'
"Hey! You try carrying hundreds of pounds of heavy metal and bombs! It ain't as easy as it looks!" Another one retorts, slamming the crate into the back of the van.
The sound of metal clashing against the vehicle's metal surface is far from subtle. The vibrant purple jackets worn by the gang members only serve to draw more attention to them. Their boisterous nature hasn’t attracted the attention of the police, but this neighbourhood has been abandoned for a while. Although it may be a small window for an attack, that's no reason for being stagnant.
The nearly successful heist is interrupted by something that rolls onto the floor. The Purple Dragons don't have enough time to process the smoke bomb below them before it envelops everything nearby in fumes. Four figures land down in the alleyway, circling the gang members, unbeknownst to them.
"Fuck! What the fuck was that?!" One of them squawks in disbelief, closing in on the van to stay close to the others. While everyone's vision is impaired, some of the Dragons fumble to arm themselves with the new toys they've recently acquired. The leader growls in frustration, pulling out his switchblade and pointing it into the near distance.
"Quit hiding behind your parlour tricks, and come fight, punks!" he roars, gritting his teeth. "You want our weapons so badly?! Then come out and get filled with lead!" As if they moved through the smoke like ghosts, a gruff voice echoes in the leader's ear.
"Oh, we're not here for your guns. Who needs guns when my fists can do it better?" Before he can send an insult back, the Purple Dragons leader is met with a deck to the face. He skids onto the floor with an 'oof,' the switchblade glides across the uneven concrete.
"In fact, I'll do you one better..." the voice continues to taunt. From the smoke, a figure begins to emerge. Once they fully come out of the shadows, it is clear the purple dragons are not dealing with rival humans. Whatever they are, they are short yet bulky, with two sets of pronged weapons in his hands.
In front of them, an anthropomorphic turtle stands tall, his forest green skin casting a shadow against the dim light. His gaze, framed by a crimson mask, locks onto the thugs. He lightly flexes his forearms, bound with worn bandages, then gives a subtle nod. His form-fitting black pants with vibrant red accents move lightly as he steps forward, the eager grin on his face daring the goons to make their move. "Let me introduce you to my sai..." he taunts, confidence pouring out through his stance alone.
Two Purple Dragons exchange a glance before one of them decides to charge the humanoid turtle with a battle cry. The turtle practically beams as he watches the lanky human throw his arm back to swing a high punch. The turtle easily ducks the attack, countering with another harsh hit to the man's abdomen, causing him to drop and recoil in agony. As one Dragon goes down, another rushes in to take on the intruder.
Before the Purple Dragon can attack the mysterious turtle, he is smacked with a small metal rod. He holds his face, groaning in pain until he is struck yet again.
"Sais are cool and all, Raph. But if you asked me personally, nunchakus clear sais any day!"
From the smoke, another humanoid turtle flips onto the scene. This one looks shorter in stature and rounder in appearance, almost boyish. He shoots the other turtle a cheeky grin, earning a grumble from Raph.
"What the hell, Mikey?! I had those goons!" Raph barks, glaring at Mikey with bitterness in his honey-gold eyes.
"Well then, you should've been quicker- head's up!" Mikey blocks another attack with his chucks, whacking the goon away from the two of them. A few metres away, the Purple Dragon leader has reached his limit. All the man can shout is "GET THEM!" and his lowlife thugs obey. Dropping his hands in frustration, Raph gestures to his right.
"Just stick to your zone, and I'll stick to mine!"
As more of the Purple Dragons begin to charge the two turtles, some of them stay behind to load up the guns. Not far away, the battle rages. Swings are thrown, and some are misses. When one of the men completes loading the ammunition, he raises the rifle to point at the closest target.
The nunchuck-wielding turtle continues as usual, smacking his opponents with his small metal rods. Before the Purple Dragon can open fire, the rifle is whacked out of reach. As his eyes dash to how far it is from him now, he notices a lankier figure from the corner of his eye. He turns to face the opponent head-on, fists clenched, only to be shoved aside by a large staff.
"That wouldn't be a wise choice if you ask me..." the lanky turtle asserts, holding his bo staff in an offensive position with legs spread and the staff pointed at the goon. "Going after my little brother and using such an amateur-grade gun? I mean, it's difficult to figure out which choice was more stupid."
The man grits his teeth in seething rage. He rushes to attack again with a tackle, but this offensive move is blocked by the staff being placed in front of him. With a smirk, the turtle shoves him back and swings the staff forward with a harsh uppercut, knocking the man out cold.
"You ok, Mikey?" The slender turtle asks, checking in on his baby brother. Once there's an opening to talk freely, Mikey cries out.
"I'm good, Donnie! Didn't need the help, though!" Donnie rolls his eyes in response to what he perceives as his sibling's cockiness. However, it doesn't take long for him to rush in to support the other two turtles anyway.
Amid the crossfire, the leader of the Purple Dragons manages to escape out of sight for now and behind the van. Trying to be discreet, he rummages through the crates, searching for one weapon in particular. The enhanced tracking rifle is an imposing piece, with its sleek black metal body and a series of glowing blue lines tracing its contours like veins. This device can open fire on a target even as it moves. Once it locks on a target, there is no escape. Through the scope of the gun, he assesses the easiest target to lock on to.
The turtle with the bo staff is blocked out of the line of fire, taking on two of his men at once by twirling the staff to keep them at bay. The one with the nunchucks is moving too quickly to lock onto. The third turtle seems to have just finished beating down a goon in a one-on-one with his carapace turned to the rifle. Pushing the button to lock onto the target, he gets ready to pull the trigger.
Suddenly, the attempt is halted once again by a fourth turtle. However, the dual katanas this one wields are immobilizing. The turtle moves the blade's tip against the Purple Dragon leader's carotid artery. His gaze cuts through the air, sharp and unyielding, radiating a cold fury that could freeze a person in their tracks, paralyzing them with the raw intensity of his stare.
"Give up now. This fight is over..." The fourth turtle asserts. His voice is quiet yet authoritative in tone. The Purple Dragon leader manages to gulp down, his Adam's apple bobbing against the tip of the blade. Somehow, he manages to offer a smug grin in return.
"Heh, who said this fight was over?" He replies, raising a brow. A glance behind them would confirm that the four anthropomorphic turtles have entirely wiped out the other Purple Dragons.
In what seemed like a last desperate attempt to have the upper hand in this scuffle, the scraggly human man bumps the edge of his katana, getting it off his neck. Then, he quickly points the tracking rifle at the katana-wielding turtle to fire. However, even this last-ditch effort was thwarted. The turtle reacts instantly, swinging his blades in front in an arc-like pattern. The barrel separates from the rest of the rifle, falling onto the floor. Then, the man is met with a kick to the abdomen, sending him to the ground.
"Surrender now if you value your life." He reaffirms, holding both swords out in case anyone tries to resist again. "Lay down your weapons." The Purple Dragon grits his teeth, tensing up in frustration at how quickly this battle turned against them. His eyes dart between his fallen goons and the anomalies of nature that have beaten them effortlessly. With a grunt, he tosses his away from him on the ground. Little by little, his men follow suit.
As the men are tied up in the back of their van, the four turtles regroup and assess the situation. Donnie kneels and searches through the banged-up crates for what weapons the Purple Dragons took. Donnie whistles, resting his hands on his hips.
"Well, good thing we got here when we did, Leo..." Donnie replies, glancing up at his katana-wielding brother. "This little heist could've given the Dragons a leg up with running these streets."
"Psh, they wouldn't have gotten far. We woulda've caught them." Raph retorts, crossing his arms against his plastron.
"Heck yeah, we would have!" Mikey chimes in, wrapping an arm around Raph, earning a half-hearted grumble from his older brother. From the back of their van, one Purple Dragon seems to have some bark left in them.
"You think you've won just because you stopped this small heist?! Ha! Not a goddamn chance! Once we get outta here, we'll track you freaks down and fill all of you with holes!" The four turtles appear unbothered on the surface, but it is Leo who intervenes. He strolls over to the back of the van, staring down at them with an eerie calmness. "Your weapons are coming with us, and so are you," Leo says, his tone leveled but sincere. "These streets now belong to the Foot Clan. If you play your cards right, Master Shredder may show you mercy. Until you answer him, I suggest you consider the cards you hold carefully..." Then, the van door slams shut, leaving the men to ponder in the darkness. They are prisoners in a war that has only just begun.