Number 73 - A TMNT story

Part One: The Lights of the City

It was midnight in the city of New York. Lights flickered, the bustling cars below leaving lines of lights throughout the scenery below. Beeping horns and TV screens filled the air along with the stench of the streets and factories.
Above the windows and the apartment buildings, a shadowy, hooded figure moved. A Foot Clan head ribbon fluttered as the hunching silhouette removed his hood, revealing the head of a Jaguar, and walked towards the edge, eyes gleaming in the city lights.
Behind him, another figure revealed himself. A mutated hyena stood, wearing the same Foot Clan uniform. In his paw, the corpse of another mutant, a swan, hung limply as he drug it across the roof, letting it fall over the edge into a dumpster five floors down with a thud.
"Number 73, any word from headquarters about our next objective?" The canine inquired, sheathing his ninjaken that had a glittering layer of fresh blood and wiping his hand off on his pants.
The Jaguar turned to face him, wiping blood off his own jaw with stained paws. "Nothing yet, 62. Perhaps it's best for us to retire for the night." He said, looking back over the city skyline.
  At that moment, 73's com pinged. He lifted his Foot-issued wrist-watch, reading the message. His eyes widened, his whiskers twitching as he licked his upper lip in a mixture of anticipation and reserved shock.
  "Something come up?" 62 asked, and 73 closed the message.
  "You could call it that..." 73 replied, walking past the hyena and into the darkness, shifting onto a four-pawed gallop across the rooftops. 63 shrugged and followed, sprinting on his hind legs.
After all this time, 73 thought as his claws raked across the concrete jungle's treetops.
I can't believe we've been given the big four as a task.
  Now, where the hell in New York are those turtles?

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  Deep within the New York City underground, seven figures were making their way through the sewer.
  Two humans flanked the group, a red-headed woman with a ponytail, and a rather rough-looking boy with black hair and a hockey mask. The four humanoids in front appeared to be mutated, anthropomorphic turtles, each wearing a different colored mask. The turtle with the blue mask assisted the final of the seven, a senior rat, who walked with a heavy limp, his leg bandaged heavily. Everyone else toted equipment, personal items, and whatever else they could grab before they fled.
  The purple-masked reptile staggered a bit under the heavy weight of two large duffel bags, and clanking could be heard from inside of them.
  He winced, his arm injury, a large gash, not having fully healed. Ahead of him, the red-masked one looked back at him, his expression exhausted and frustrated.
  "Donnie, pick up the pace. They could be tracking us at this moment, and we need to get out of the city into somewhere else."
  Donatello nodded, hiding the bile building up in his throat. They'd been walking for days, and had only rested twice for a few hours at most. As much as he loved his brothers, Raph's attitude, Mikey's loss of materialism, and Leo's wannabe-levelheadedness had started to grind on his nerves. The injury to his shoulder want helping much either, and every step felt more exhausting than the last.
  Three days ago, the Foot Clan, armed with a new armada of mutant soldiers, had attacked and destroyed their beloved sewer home. The ambush had injured all of them, but Master Splinter, their rat sensei, had gotten hit the worst, his leg being almost entirely crushed. April had broken her wrist, leaving her almost defenseless, Mikey had a mild concussion and a chipped shell, and Leonardo now sported a large gash down his lip, of which Donatello had mended the best he could on their last rest. Everyone had bruises and cuts strewn about them, Raph being the new owner of a fresh black eye to top off the ragged bunch.
  Donatello had worked tirelessly, tending to wounds and caring for ailments while they made food with whatever they had or could find in the abandoned, grimy sewer.
  Though they were all bruised and injured, everyone had made it out alive. Spike and Ice Cream Kitty were with one of April's friends, and were unharmed, though Irma was a bit weirded out by the lifelike state of the feline dairy product.
  They managed to throw the Foot off their trail, but Donatello still had his doubts. Something didn't feel right about the whole situation, and his guard was as high as it could be with how exhausted he was.
  They came up to an old, rusty staircase running inside the sewer, leading up into one of the many abandoned buildings they used to use for scouting missions. Master Splinter whispered in Leonardo's ear, and the blue-masked turtle turned his head to speak to the others.
  "We rest here for now, we'll pack up in the morning as soon as we can."
  The others all let out groans and sighs of relief, and headed over to the ladder, everyone helping each other as best they could with their wounds.
  Donatello stumbled a bit as he went up, but Mikey was there to steady him.
  "Easy man, try to take it slow." He remarked as he helped push him up. Donnie set his bags down nearby and helped the others climb up. Eventually, they all ended up in a collapsed heap, legs throbbing and some already asleep just by touching the ground.
  Donnie looked up at the old, broken down former warehouse. There was a walk-up platform to the right, leading to a balcony of sorts that overlooked the area where they lay panting and checking wounds. His eyes traced the beams above him, the cross crosses supporting the heavy metal roof that encased them like a big, metal box.
  The purple-masked turtle breathed a sigh of both relief and remorse. He was glad everyone was still breathing, but the stress of his injury, his home being destroyed, the mutant army that appeared out of thin air, and having to care for everyone's wounds was a heavy weight to take on.
When did the Foot have a mutant army to begin with? He asked himself. Their regular human and robot soldiers seemed to be the exact same in numbers as before, meaning they couldn't have just mutated their own, so where in the multiverse were they getting these seemingly new recruits?
  Donatello's thoughts were interrupted by the raspy cough of his aged father, and he knew he would have to wait to rest. Getting up, he picked up his bag of all the medical supplies he could bring with before the sewer collapsed, and made his way to where Master Splinter sat, Leonardo at his side.
  Don prepared pain meds and gathered the bandages needed for his leg wound. Shaking, the old rat whispered to Leo, the larger turtle putting his head close to the rat's lips as he spoke. He nodded and gently helped him to drink water. Donnie worked in silence as Leonardo prepared the syringe with 2 milliliters of Morphine, Donatello on his knees next to Splinter.
  Splinter motioned for Donatello to come closer, and he obeyed, pausing his preparations.
  "My son. You've put on such a brave face during this journey. I know you must feel as if you have the weight of the world on our shoulders, but do not forget this is not your sole weight to bear. We are all having a difficult time in this trying day, so try to-"
  The rat stopped speaking, a heaving cough breaking his sentence. Leo put a hand out to steady him, and Donnie administered the Morphine, calming his sensei's shuddering breaths.
  Working at a brisk pace, he undid the bandages wrapping the mangled and busted leg, Splinter wincing in his drug-induced sleep. Leonardo assisted, holding the falling-apart leg in place as Donatello sprayed it with an antibiotic steroid. With limited supplies, he'd wished he'd grabbed rubbing alcohol as they'd fled, or at the very least a proper tourniquet.
  Donatello remade the bandaging, the sounds of creaking metal in the distance from the warehouse's battered outside tin layer the only noise for what felt like miles.
At least Sensei's doing better. Donnie thought as he unwrapped a surgical pad for his torn shoulder, having completed Master Splinter's leg bandaging.
Im not sure we'll be able to find a place to seek asylum anywhere in the City, but the Foot already know about April's family farm.
  With nowhere to turn, what's our next step?
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  Three miles behind the turtles, deep within the dark of the sewers and the subway system, 73 stood, hunched over on all fours, sniffing the air of the long-dried tunnel.
  "Anything yet?" 62 asked from nearby, scoping for any sign of their existence. 73 shook his head, getting up onto his back legs in a bipedal stance.
  "No signs, but they must have come this way. One track leads to a human subway station, and the other, an underwater gutter. They're all injured, so their safest bet would be the long route."
"I'm about 45-and-a-half-percent sure that humans can't breathe underwater anyway." 62 quipped, stopping as he spied something.
  "There." He said, pointing at a singular drop of dried blood. "Work your magic." 63 said to the Jaguar, who gave him a begrudging look, nose scrunching as he bared his teeth slightly.
  Bending down onto his knees and elbows, he inhaled the scent, following the trail in his mind.
A half-a-day old scent. Smells of incense and decaying cells. Much older than most. He thought to himself, getting a profile.
  "It's the rat. Let's go." He said, turning towards the rest of the tunnel, a slight draft making 73's fur ruffle as his eyes glittered with the chase.
  "You don't have to tell me twice." The hyena replied, as they both took off into the dark, the pattering of their feet fading into the distance.

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Howdy! I'm the author, and my name's Max. I'm a trans man and I like doing cringe fandom stuff here. Not like the government can stop me anyway.

Allow me to be quite honest, I'm writing this because I want to indulge in my guilty simping over Donatello, and CAN and WILL do so with a self-insert. Sue me.

Also, just for the record, I have a southern accent, so anything I say in these lil' commentary tidbits is 100% y'all-Ified.

Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this! I'm excited to show you how the story goes, but who likes spoilers?  It's midnight where I'm at right now, so I'm going to bed. I wrote all of this in one day, and I apologize if it's garbage.

Actually, I take that back. If it's garbage, that's your problem, not mine.