Splinter paced in front of his sons at a loss for words. He had always
been one to know what to say, when to say it, and to say it succinctly
as possible. But tonight his normal ability to find the correct thing
to say was a loss.

His sons had had their first real failure. It was something he had
worried about the minute Leonardo began talking about their potential
ally in Karai. It smelled like a trap, but Splinter allowed his thirst
to finish his master's mission blind him to the convenience. The girl
was Foot, and had taken the helmet with ease. Now the return of Oroku
Saki was all but guaranteed.

Leonardo was beside himself. He believed he had completely failed as a
leader, and that was not something Splinter could allow to continue.
The eldest of his sons was too integral in getting his brothers to
work as a team.

"My sons, tonight we have failed," he finally started. "No. I have
failed. After the loss of your sister, I kept us hidden for too long.
I allowed our enemies to grab hold above. And now we are paying the
price for that. But I promise you that we will win this fight against
the Foot. but there is only one way that will happen. We need to stay
together and strong. As a family, none will be able to stand against
us."

"Can we possibly do this alone, master?" Leo looked up, breaking
Splinter's heart by how forlorn the young turtle looked.

"We can," Splinter was resolute. "Those who stopped the Splinter and
his army all those years ago numbered in the dozens. Now he has far
less power, and we shall ensue it stays that way. Do not hold your
heads low, my sons. This war is just beginning, and when the dust
clears, we will be the ones to stand tall. I promise you that."
[hr]
"These pictures, Ms. O'Niel," Professor Fenwick looked over the
printouts at April. "They are legitimate? No photoshop? No cheating?"

"No, professor," she shook her head. "Those are the turtle creatures
that the Purple Dragons were talking about the other day. They're
real. I saw them with my own two eyes."

Fenwick became suspicious, "And what were you doing down in that area
during what, by all accounts, was a battle in gang warfare."

"My...uh...Dad has a place down that way," she looked down at her own
feet. "I was visiting him and heard the explosion. I grabbed my camera
and ran towards it. Happened to come across them in the alley."

"Very well," he nodded. "This picture and the story will go up on the
front page of the school paper. Hell, you might even get coverage from
one of the bigger papers in the city. Well done, Ms. O'Niel."
[hr]
The car pulled up in front of the sleek, futuristic looking Manhattan
tower, and the man in the backseat nodded in approval. It wasn't as
big as Stark's or Osborn's, and certainly not as flashy as either of
them. Still, it was impressive, and the inside was said to house
technology just as impressive as the other two.

The man stepped out, and buttoned his suit jacket and adjusted his
tie. His dark hair was cropped tight to his head, and sunglasses
across his face. His pale skin fit in well with the cold that was
hanging over New York. Behind him, two other agents also emerged from
the car, dressed similarly.

He reached the reception desk and smiled coldly, "Hello. Agent John
Bishop. I believe Doctor Jordan Perry is waiting for me."

"Ah, yes, Agent Bishop," the receptionist, a pretty blond thing,
returned his smile with about as much sincerity as he had given her.
"Welcome to TCRI. Please proceed to the top floor."

The three agents were silent as the elevator shot up dozens of floors
in an instant.

When the door opened, a foppish man with an English accent in a lab
coat greeted them with a wide smile, "Agent Bishop! Welcome to TCRI.
It's good to have you here. Please, take a seat."

"Doctor Perry, I assume?" Bishop asked roboticly.

"Yes, yes," the man motioned towards the seats in front of his desk,
one of which was filled by a black man in glasses and the same coat
Perry wore. "This is my colleague, Baxter Stockman."

"How do you do?" Stockman asked nervously.

Bishop nodded curtly before turning back to Perry,"I'll be blunt,
Doctor. We're here because of this."

He slapped a newspaper clipping from the Daily Bugle down on Perry's
desk featuring a picture of four, gigantic, anthropomorphic turtles.
It had been such a big story that it knocked Spider-Man off the front
page of the paper, a rare sight in these days.

"I'm sorry, what agency are you with again?" Perry asked, puzzled by the paper.

"Sentient World Observation and Response Department," Bishop
responded. "You can call us SWORD."

"Ah, well, I'm not sure-"

"Doctor Perry, we believe that these turtles may be alien in nature,"
Bishop cut him off, not wanting to waste any time. "We at SWORD
believe the Techno Cosmic Research Institute can help us track them
down. So, the question is, can you?"

Perry and Stockman exchanged glances. The leader of the research
institute shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Yes, Agent Bishop. I
believe we can."
[hr]
"Are you crazy!?" Stockman raged after the agents had left the
building. "They could bring down everything we've worked for here!"

Jordan Perry held up his hand to quiet the other scientist, "Do not
lecture me about the protection of our enterprise, Baxter. I have
sacrificed more than you could ever imagine to get to this moment. A
group of government lackies will not stop the progress we have made.
Besides, the turtles themselves are not extraterrestrial."

"But what made them is," Baxter shot back.

"True, but once the rumors started circulating, we knew we would have
to take care of them at some point," Perry explained. "Now we can give
these foolish agents some toys to do it for us, while our work will
continue uninterrupted."

"And if they find out that we were the ones that made the turtles?
Even if it was an accident?"

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it," Perry waved off the worry.

"What if we lure them in with the asset?" Baxter mused.

"Absolutely not," Perry snapped, slamming his hands down on his desk.
"I will not sacrifice the one viable test subject we have. It is out
of the question."
[hr]
Dozens of Foot Soldiers lined the chamber at the top of the skyscraper
that looked out over New York. They were splint into two even groups,
lining a sort of aisle that led up to a throne, on which sat the body
of Oroku Saki, still clad in his ancient armor, his head wrapped in a
bandage, not unlike an Egyptian mummy.

From the other side of the room, Karai and her older sister Pimiko
stepped into the dim light. In Karai's hands was the Shredder helmet,
and in Pimiko's were the Shredder's blades.

Pimiko, almost fifteen years Karai's elder, motioned for her sister to
go first. The elder and younger sister were robed in ceremonial Foot
garb, each with smaller versions of Oroku Saki's bladed shin and
forearm plates. Pimiko's hair was sort and spiky, as it always was.
Karai's was out of her eyes thanks to the food headband across her
forehead.

She approached Saki's body and placed the helmet on his head, reciting
the incantation as she did, "I reunite you with your helmet. May it
protect you, and give you the vision to speard the Foot Clan across
the known world."

Karai stepped back as Pimiko stepped forward and began attaching the
blades to each hand. When she was done, she continued, "I give you
back your blades. May they strike down all that stand in your way. And
now that the three parts of the Shuredda have been joined once more,
may you rise and lead us once more."

As the final syllable left her lips, the body of Oroku Saki spasmed as
if a jolt of electricity shot through it. Suddenly, his hands gasped
the throne he sat on, and a great cough emerged from the helmet as
life returned to the master of the Foot Clan. The man stood, towering
over all others in the room, and the metal of his armor caught the dim
light and reflected it through the room.

The Foot Clan members fell to one knee in reverence, and Karai and
Pimiko each did as well with a reverent gasp, "Grandfather."

Saki looked down at both of them, confused, before looking out over
New York, "How long has it been?"

"Over four hundred years, master," Pimiko responded quickly.

"Four hundred?" the venom was palpable in Saki's words. "There is much to do?"

"Yes," Karai nodded.

"Then we shall waste no time. Our enemies will die a swift death, and
the dominion of the Foot will reign once more."
[center][h2]COMING NEXT SEASON[/h2]
[h1]CITY AT WAR[/h1][/center]