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Btw, if anyone wants to interact with Ultraman and his opponent, by all means he's free for interaction/assistance!

I think @Bluetommy jumped into the fight!
Great work so far everyone!

Sorry for another novel of a Turtles post haha

April O'Neil sat back and watched as the cameras rolled through her section of the main Techno Cosmic Research Institute, or TCRI for short. She had no idea why they were here. Probably interviewing Doctor Jordan Perry and Baxter Stockman, the two mega geniuses that ran the place. She was nothing more than a college intern, trying to get something that looked good on the resume. She would love to work there full time, but she was low woman on the totem pole as of now.

She was smart, sure. She wouldn't have been able to get this position if she wasn't. Especially as nothing more than a freshman engineering student. But there was a long way to go before she could have a real career here.

TCRI was known for many technological advances in robotics, medicine, and computing. More of a think tank than a product creator, they were out to better humanity, which was something April was desperate to do as well.

Still, there were strange things about the place. Large swathes of the building were heavily secured, and she had never seen anyone come in or out of them. No one talked about what was going on in there, which led April to believe it was some sort of top-secret, government project.

"Looks like old Perry got himself some more screen time," Irma motioned towards the crew and pushed her glasses back up her nose. "Guy just can't help himself."

"No," April shook her head and pushed her red hair behind her ear, "but he's doing good work here. Sometimes I don't blame him for his vanity."

"Yea," the other girl shrugged. She was older than April, but an intern as well. The two were working on fixing bugs in the programming of autonomous exterminator robots that Baxter Stockman, Perry's partner in the TCRI venture, thought could rid the city of its rat problem. It was a good idea, even if April didn't think it would ever really work. "But he can come off as pompous now and again, can't he?"

April chuckled, "I think that's just the English accent, Irma."


Incense smoke wafted through the dojo as the four turtles sat on their heels, their knees on the ground.

Splinter paced in front of them, leaning on his cane as he did so. Once Leonardo had returned from his excursion to the surface, the master had gathered his sons in the dojo, but that was nearly half an hour ago. Since then, he has been silent, pacing the floor, searching for the words to say to his children.

What he would say would change everything for them. It would make them targets. It would thrust them into war.

"Ever since our transformation," Splinter began, finally, "I have known we were special. That we were changed for a reason. What that reason was, I could not be sure. Still...I have always remembered things from before we became what we are, unlike the four of you. Some of those memories were nothing more than vague shadows, dancing in a flickering flame. Some were solid and formed like moving statues. They were where our training came from. They were why I was always certain some threat was on the horizon, even if I could not remember what it was."

He took a seat in front of his children and exhaled a deep breath, rustling the fur around his mouth, "Most of my memories were of the latter variety. Until the red moon. That night, it was as if my mind had be thrust into a raging waterfall of knowledge. My past, everything that has happened to me, flooded back into my mind. It was too much to bear all at one time. Which is why I shut myself off from you. For that, I apologize."

"We understand, father," Leonardo tried to console his sensei. "I can imagine that was a difficult time."

"Brown-noser," Raph muttered under his breath before receiving an elbow to the shoulder from Leo.

Mikey chuckled.

Splinter merely smirked. His sons were still children, even if they were trained in the art of ninjutsu. Being shinobi did not change their nature. He was heartened by that. He just hoped they would be able to keep their spirits in the trials to come.

"Thank you, my son," Spinter continued. "As I sifted through my memories, attempting to piece together my life, I remembered how I came to be at your side. Before I was on the streets, I was the pet of a man named Hamato Yoshi. Yoshi had come to America from Japan with his wife, Tang Shen. The two were happy and in love, and at some point, Shen purchased me as a pet. I spent my time in my cage watching my master run exercises in his own dojo, teaching young ones as I did you."

"Whoa!" Michelangelo exclaimed. "He was like your sensei, sensei!"

"Indeed," Splinter smiled at the youngest turtle. "His teachings were stored in my mind, only usable after our transformations. But he was a fierce warrior, and the guardian of a terrible secret."

He stood again, turning his back to his sons, the red robe he wore was the color of dried blood in the candle light, "Hundreds of years ago in Japan, there was a clan of shinobi called The Foot. While I have taught you to use ninjutsu with honor and to defend the weak, The Foot had no such scrupules. They worked to dominate Japan and its people, ruling behind a puppet government. All of this was done to serve their leader Oroku Saki, also known as the Shuredda. Saki desired power, but his true goal, as legend goes, was immortality. He desired to steal the secrets of the gods themselves, and live forever, dominating the planet as he did."

"Nothing more than a fairytale, I'm sure," Donatello scoffed.

Leo wasn't sure. He put his hand into the pouch on his belt and ran his finger over the mask Alopex had given him once again.

Leo looked over at Donnie. While Don was admittedly a scientific genius, he had closed him off from their father's spiritual teachings. Don didn't believe in chi or yokai or tengu. He believed what was in front of him. What he could feel. Leo felt his brother was weaker for it, and hoped he would see the light.

"Maybe, my son," Splinter turned to acknowledge him. "But his soldiers followed his beliefs fanatically. They were willing to die for Saki's goals. And they did. A force rose up against The Foot and their puppet regime, and drove the clan into hiding. Some believed Saki died that day, but he did not. Instead, he was placed in a stone casket by the clan's mystics, and placed into a deep sleep, from which he would be awakened by a descendant."

"Oh come-" Donatello was cut off by a look from Master Splinter.

"The casket was guarded by the line of Saki's elite guard, being passed down from generation to generation," the rat continued. "All the while, it was hunted by the Shoguns' own shinobi. None wanted the Shuredda to return. Eventually, the casket was taken from the Foot, and hidden. Its location was known only by a select few, and that too was passed down through their lines. My master Yoshi was the last of that line."

"Wait, so he knew where the casket was?" Leo realized. "He came here to America to hide. To make sure Saki wasn't found."

"Yes," Splinter nodded. "The Foot began to reemerge in Japan, and Yoshi was afraid that they had found out that he was the last to know of Shureda's location. So he took his pregnant wife to New York, believing they would be safe there."

"But they weren't," Mikey groaned, knowing what was to come.

"No," Splinter sighed, the sadness in his voice was evident. "The Foot found our home here in New York. In their attack, my cage was knocked open and I was able to escape. Their leader at the time was a girl no older than you are now. She threatened to kill Shen if Yoshi did not reveal the secret of Saki's resting place. He did so, and she killed her hostage anyway, leaving Yoshi to his shame and failure. I watched as my master took his own life in the ritual of seppuku, his body falling next to Shen's, their eyes locked on one another even in death."

Leonardo could see the wet streaks of tears running through the fur around Splinter's eyes, and his heart broke for his father. To witness all this tragedy, brought on by such dishonorable actions, brought anger to his heart.

"Monsters," Raphael growled, outwardly showing the same anger as Leo. The two were more alike than different, Leo was just better at keeping his emotions in check, or at the very least masked. "The dishonor. The barbarity. You always taught us to be better than that."

"And as I said, The Foot has never believed in honor," Splinter closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. "And now they are our responsibility to stop."

The brothers looked at each other. Leonardo could see the determination in everyone of them's eyes save for Donatello, who had never been excited at the thought of fighting. Leo wanted to stop the Shuredda before he could finish his goals. Raphael wanted to bring someone so dishonorable to justice. Mikey wanted to avenge Yoshi and Shen. Even Don felt a twinge of anger at the story.

Splinter said with an air of destiny, "I believe we were created to stop The Foot and Saki from their goals. While my master was never able to see his child take up his burden, we can do so. We are the last of the Hamato line, as unorthodox as we are. We are tasked with finishing Oroku Saki, once and for all."

"But sensei," Mikey asked, "where can we even start to find him?"

"Easy, Mike," Leo said, tossing the mask onto the floor of the dojo. "He's in New York. Alopex saw him and his ninja."


They were gaining on him.

He shouldn't have done what he did. He knew that before hand, but he was tired of sitting around doing nothing. The Purple Dragons were poisoning his neighborhood, and if he just sat around no one was going to stop them.

The hockey mask he wore over his face bobbled up and down as he ran through the streets of Harlem. He would have to secure it better if he ever did this again.

Of course, that would depend on if he even made it out of this alive.

The Dragons had been running drugs in the area for a long time. He knew that. But recently they were getting more aggressive. They were getting violent. And they were recruiting people from the local high school. That was what really set Casey Jones off. That's what made him take down one of their lieutenants just a few minutes ago. He beat the bastard down with a baseball bat. He wasn't sorry about that. But he was definitely disappointed in the fact he didn't notice the five other guys across the street.

He made a turn down an alleyway. A wrong turn down an alleyway. He found himself facing a dead end.

"Casey," a familiar voice grunted at him from the mouth of the alley, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"

The teenager turned to find Arnold Jones, his father, standing at the lead of the men. He stood at six-foot-five, a good two or three inches taller than Casey. He was a tank of a man, even if his alcoholism had covered a lot of his muscle with fat over the years. Still, ever since the mysterious new boss moved into the city he'd trimmed down and become more like his old self. The vest he wore loosely over his chest showed the dragon tattoos on his chest and arms. He was Casey's father once. Before Casey's mother died. Before the drink took hold of the man. Before he joined back up with the Dragons and began to turn Harlem into a hell hole.

"Attila," Casey spat the man's nickname. "Thought you'd be out somewhere brainwashing kids for your new master. Does he know you're out without a leash?"

"How the hell do you know-" Arnold cuts himself off. "You go home. You never do this again, and maybe we can forget this ever happened."

"Screw you, old man!" Casey rages. "I ain't ever gonna live under the same roof with scum like you again. I'm not gonna stop until I wipe you and your gang out of New York."

Rage filled Attila's face before he looked at the other men next to him, "Boys, let this be a lesson. Sometimes you have to whip your son to make him see reason."

Arnold Jones approached Casey, the devil in his eyes.


The warehouse was dark, but he could see the rows and rows of initiates standing before the dais he was now seated on. Dozens of new men and women for his clan. All the best, brightest, and strongest the streets of New York had to offer. Some in the clan believed it was foolish to recruit here. They believed the legion of shinobi they brought with them from the homeland would suffice. They believed introducing outsiders would dilute The Foot's power.

They were fools.

Oroku Saki knew that in order to win, in order to achieve his goals, he would need to use every asset at his disposal. These new Foot Soldiers knew this city better than he did. They knew its workings. That would be invaluable. His trusted guards and granddaughters would be able to kill his enemies, but he needed these spies to feed him information.

The Shuredda knew the knowledge he sought was here in New York. He needed only to find it, and then his quest would be at an end.

He rose, and Tetsu, his chief drill sergeant, called out to the recruits, who bowed. On either side of him, his granddaughters looked up at him. Pimiko looked at him with a fierce pride, the same that he felt in her. It was her who reclaimed The Foot's destiny by killing her disappointing father and returning the Clan to its ninja ways. Before that it was nothing more than a two-bit crime family scuffling with other Yakuza dogs. On the other side was young Karai, still full of insecurities and wonder. Still, she was skilled, and he saw great things in her future.

Saki looked from side to side, scanning the crowd. He saw his elite guard scattered throughout the crowd, giving the illusion that everyone in The Foot was equal.

"Welcome," he said in a normal tone that still seemed to boom through the large area. "Welcome my family. Today, you take a step into a larger world. After tonight, you will leave behind any petty problems and connections you had in your own life. They are meaningless in service to the Clan. Your family and your friends are now beneath you. They are not worthy. But you are. For you now take a step into something that is bigger than yourself. Something bigger than they could ever hope to understand. Destiny bends to the will of The Foot. It will be you that shapes the future. Together, we will claim what is rightfully ours...and the world will cower before us."
As in player-controlled villains? I wouldn't have an issue with that if someone wanted to play as one.
I should have a post up tonight or tomorrow
@HenryJonesJr Btw - is it possible to make villains by any chance? Or not just at this moment if ever?

Not sure what you mean by “make villains”?

Also, sorry for my obnoxiously long first TMNT post everyone. Most of them will not be like that. That post was written over the span of 2 months and I just kept adding to it.

"Cowabunga!" Michelangelo's voice bounced off the sewer pipes as he sped though the sewers of New York City. The teenage turtle couldn't help but smile as he sped through the concrete tubs and soared over chasms where they dove down towards the deeper bowls of the city. Every so often he would pass a moving train car or get a glimpse of the city above him, which would light up his imagination with a thousand possibilities.

Mikey loved humans. Well, he technically didn't know any humans, but he loved the idea of them. He watched them on TV. He watched them from sewer grates. He marveled at how many of them there were, and how different they all were. He wanted to meet them. He wanted to be friends with them. He wanted a real life.

Of course, he also knew they could be dangerous.

He still had nightmares about the night his sister was taken. The night the van sped up next to his family as the scrounged for food and scraps in the city. The men inside tried to take all of them, but Father had managed to fight them off. But he wasn't fast enough to save Artie. The scene plays out in his head nearly every night. He missed his twin more than anything in the world. The two of them were the youngest of the family, and were the only two that were related by blood.

Of course, the departure of their adopted sister had hit him hard as well. Leo and Raph had been butting heads more and more lately. Donnie seemed more closed off than ever.

Mikey just wanted his family back.

He sighed as he reached their lair, pulled the false pipe by the otherwise unseen door, which then swung open, revealing the cavernous chamber on the other side. Old, dark, wooden walls lined the main room of their home. Donnie theorized it had once been the hideout of bootleggers during the age of prohibition, and that hypothesis definitely fit. The main room was like an ornate meeting room, full of old books and furniture. Above them, a system of mirrors reflected light all the way from the river down into their home. The turtles had made it their own, of course. Donnie updated the electronics, and TVs and video game consoles were now interspersed with the turn of the century woodwork.

The lair had been boxed in by construction, and it was more than likely no one knew it was there. The walls around it were thick. There was always a chance that humans would find them, but Donnie was doing his best to make sure that wouldn't happen.

Branching rooms came off the main chamber, featuring bathrooms, the boys' bedrooms, a full kitchen, a dojo, and their father's room. There was even a big space that was blocked off by a cave in, which Donnie and Raph used as a workshop.

"Anyone home?" Mike called out, receiving no response.

He shrugged and plopped down on the old, Victorian couch before turning on the old Super Nintendo they had managed to salvage. If no one wanted to hang out, he was at the very least going to beat Link to the Past.


The sound of fists hitting a heavy bag echoed dully through the dojo, as the lone figure struck the training tool over and over again.

His hands were taped up from above the wrist all the way down to his knuckles, but the repeated punches still bruised and broke the green skin underneath the protection. He was in the training room too much. He knew it, Leo knew it, and Master Splinter definitely knew it. He wasn't even training. Not really, anyway. He was just in here taking out his frustrations.

He had too many frustrations.

He was mad that they barely ever left their home. He was angry that Master Splinter, after all these years, still would not tell them why they were training in the ninja arts. He was pissed off because Leo never asked the questions he needed to. He was frustrated that he wasn't allowed to do more to help the humans above.

But most of all his was furious that his father ignored the fact that their sister had been missing for the better part of a decade.

It was all getting to be too much.

His brothers shared some of his concerns. They were all better at hiding it, in different ways. Mikey pretended to be dumb, aloof, and a clown to mask the fact that he's torn up about Artie to this day. Don threw himself into his tinkering and reading to mask the fact that he's uncomfortable with all the combat Splinter seemed to be preparing them for. Leo focused on a mission he doesn't know the goal of in order to pretend that he had a purpose. They were all broken in some way.

How could they not be. They were mutant turtles gifted human intelligence and amazing abilities by a random accident. They were bound to be fucked up in the head.

"You are troubled, Raphael."

The soft, almost melodic, tone of Splinter's voice carried over the relative silence of the dojo. It was a sound none of the turtles had heard in days. Ever since the red moon, Splinter had been alone in his room meditating. Over what, they didn't know, but here he was.

Raphael turned to see the tall, slender, human-like rat standing in the door, leaning on the cane he always had with him. These days, his dark, chestnut-brown fur was tinged with more and more grey. He may not have been as fast as he once was, but he was still wise beyond his station.

He made his way to the center of the room, and sat cross-legged before motioning for Raphael to join him.

As the young turtle did so, he asked, "Master, it's been a while."

The rat sighed, and the fur around his mouth ruffled, "There was much to think on, my son. Too much. For too long I have kept our family here. For too long I have believed we were safe. That we could be happy cut off from the outside world whenever possible. I believed I was training you, but for what I was never sure. Until the blood moon. Until I remembered."

Splinter trailed off, staring into the dark corner of the dojo. Raphael, on the other hand, had a chill run through him. He had never heard Splinter talk as he was. It was almost as if he was scared. Even when they lost Artemisia, he kept his calm about him.

"Master?" Raph asked with a quiver in his voice.

His father looked down, his warm, brown eyes meeting his adopted son's. He smiled, "I'm sorry, my son. It is time for us to have an increased presence on the surface. We have hid for too long, and I fear it may have allowed our enemies a foothold we could have prevented. Now we must ensure they do not get more."

"Enemies, father?" Raphael asked, almost with an intense hunger. He had been training for so long. It was time to show what he could do.

"I will explain later when Leonardo returns," his father smiled calmly. "He is visiting your sister in her new home."

"Alopex," Raphael said, his eyes narrowing.


The clicking of keys going up and down echoed through Donatello's room as he idly surfed the internet. Everything that came across his screen sent him slumping deeper and deeper into his chair. The humans were fighting. The humans were killing each other. The humans were polluting. The humans were persecuting some of their own kind.

The world they had been born into was dangerous and deadly, and all Donnie wanted to do was help them. Yet he was stuck below the surface, unable to really use his scientific knowledge in any meaningful way. The internet helped. He could reach out, but he was only so believable over the internet and not in person.

His father believed they would help protect the world from some unknown threat. They were training in combat by the time they were able to walk. He drilled them nearly every day. They were masters of hand-to-hand combat, or very nearly at that level.

Don hated it with all his heart.

He didn't want to fight. There was enough violence in the world. He had better ways of helping, yet all Splinter wanted to do was hone his fighting ability. He was tired of it.

"Donatello," the voice of his father came from behind him. "When Leonardo returns, we will meet in the dojo. There is much to discuss."

"Understood, father," he responded, more coldly than he intended. But his father knew of his frustrations.


He watched from the shadows of an alley as the cars stream down the street like an endless stream. At least, what he saw from streams on TV. He had never seen one in real life. If he spent the rest of his life in the city, he probably never would see one. That was an odd thought. Spending his entire life in this humongous, sprawling organism of concrete and steel. It didn't feel right, deep down. He was an animal, after all. Or at least he was. He still wasn't sure what he was.

Still, staying here forever, never getting out, seemed weird.

New York was his home, and up until that part of his life, it was his entire world. He rarely saw the surface, as Master Splinter decreed it off limits outside of the times they needed to scavenge.

As the torrent of traffic continued to flow, he looked to the sky. There the moon shone big and bright above the city like a spotlight. It had only been weeks ago when the moon was as red as fresh blood. The color made the face in the moon turn from a benign old man to a wicked, sneering demon ready to devour the world it watched over.

Some said the red moon was an omen, a sign of the ends times. He wasn't sure about that, but he had noticed his father acting strangely ever since that night. So maybe people weren't all that far off the mark.

The cars stopped, and he peaked his head out of the alley to make sure no more were on their way, and that the street was clear of pedestrians. When he was sure he was alone, he dashed across the street with surprising speed. On the other side, he kicked off the sidewalk and sailed over a fence, landing on the other side in a junkyard.

He had been here many times before to visit his sister. She had been living here for the better part of a year under the watch and care of her new family. Thinking about it still brought a bitter taste to his mouth, but if she was happy and safe, he couldn't be too mad. She'd come back to them when she was ready. He was sure of that.

What he wasn't sure of, totally, was her new protector. Hob was a mean son of a bitch, and his motives had never really been clear. But he kept Al safe, so he was tolerated.

He weaved his way through the rows of garbage, following the path he knew by heart at this point. The mountains of junk were something to awe at. Him and his brothers often sifted through it, looking for anything they could use in their home. It was a treasure trove, and they were thankful for it.

It was an odd space in modern New York. Something left of a bygone era, somehow untouched by the city's changing face.

Before long, he came across his destination. Rising up in the middle of the junkyard, hidden from everything around it, was a sprawling shack. Built out of pallets, plywood, and corrugated steel, it stood like something out of the Mad Max movies he watched with his brothers. While they lived underground, this is where his sister now resided.

He approached, and before he reached the front door, a squawk rang out in the night above him. He looked up to find Pete, a large, anthropomorphic pigeon perched on the roof, "Hi! I'm Pete!"

"Holy shit you can talk now?!" the interloper asked with surprise.

"Hi! I'm Pete!" the pigeon replied.

"Okay...," the other one look at him sideways. "I'm gonna go inside."

"Hi! I'm Pete!"

"Okay, pal," he chuckled. "You stay Pete."

The door to the shack, an old door to a shipping container, creaked loudly as it swung open. The warm, orange light poured out into the rubbish. As he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he heard Pigeon Pete call out that he was, indeed, still Pete.

The door slammed shut, and an old, upside down dumpster popped off the ground. From the opening came a tangle of red, armored limbs, before a face with stalk eyes and crustacean features.

"Ah! Private Leonardo!" the huge hermit crab Herman snapped a quick salute. "Good to see you, soldier."

Soldier. That's what Hob saw his family as. Soldiers in the inevitable war between mutants and humans. None of the mutants knew where they came from, really. Hob thought their "births" were providence. He thought they were destined to come about. That they were part of a new, natural order of things. He also assumed that meant a clash between their kind and the humans. Leonardo was young, but he was a solid strategist. He knew of about ten mutants in New York. Even if there were five times as many, there were millions of humans to every mutant. That wasn't going to end in a victory for Hob.

Plus, Leo had no desire to fight the humans. They were flawed, sure. Many lacked the honor he valued so much. But they were good, deep down. That much he was certain of. Even if they didn't always show it, there was good in them.

"I'm not a soldier, Herm," He rolled his eyes at the crustacean. "Just Leonardo."

"Whatever you say, Private," Herman responded. "The time will come when you see your mistake!"

Moving further into the hovel, Leonardo came across the kitchen, where he found Old Hob, the leader of this band of mutants, as well as Alopex, his estranged sister, sitting at the table. When he entered, Hob turned to face him with his good eye, the other hidden behind a patch. The old alley cat had lost the eye before his mutation. He snarled at the turtle, bearing his sharp teeth, and ruffling his greying orange fur, "Turtle."

"Hob," Leo nodded. The turtle never understood why Hob hated the humans so much. Maybe it was from his time before the mutation, when he was living on the street. But whatever the reason, it was intense. "My sister said she wanted to talk to me. Mind if we do that alone?"

"She ain't your sister no more," he growled and stood. He stood a head taller than Leonardo, but while the turtle and his brothers were built short and powerful, Hob was tall and lithe. His muscles constantly tensed, as if he would strike at any moment. Leonardo always felt uncomfortable around the cat. "She's a member of the Mutanimal Liberation Army. She has a purpose now. A real purpose."

"Whatever, Hob," Leo grunted. "Just let me talk to her."

"Or what?" he smiled meanly.

"Back off, Hob," Alopex finally spoke up. "I told you he was coming. You said it was fine."

The arctic fox's white fur waved as she moved between the two mutants. She was as tall as Hob, but looked bigger, mostly because of the puffed out fur. She was the quickest fighter Leo had ever encountered. She may not have been as strong as him and his brothers, but she could hold her own with her speed.

Hob mumbled something before leaving.

Once he was gone from the room, the two mutants took a seat at the table. Alopex looked down before meeting Leo's eyes, "He's right, you know. I'm not your sister."

"Oh come on, Al," Leo rolled his eyes. "Not this nonsense again. Of course you are."

Her face turned angry, her sharp teeth showing, "No, I was just a fill in for your real one. A replacement for Splinter to try and make amends for his failings. Nothing more."

Leo's eyes narrowed, "You can tell yourself that all you want. But deep down you know it's not true. We miss you. We want you to come home. You don't have to believe me, but it's the truth."

She shook her head before changing the subject, "Whatever. That's not why I told you to come."

Alopex shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she continued, "I was scouting the city the other night for Hob. We're trying to track gangs, the mob, and other criminal organizations. Just to get a lay of the land. See who we could use on our side if things go south. Well, last night I came across a fight club in the Bronx. Kids, not much older than us, fighting in a ring. Not a huge deal, I thought at first. A lot of the gangs have initiation fights. But this was different. It was being overseen by ninjas."

That got Leonardo's attention, "Ninja? Your sure?"

"Yea," she nodded. "A large group of them. Stoic as they watched the fights. Probably twenty or so in their shozoko. Five more had kasa and special markings on their uniform. Maybe elites or an honor guard. Those were situated around a dias with three...well for lack of a better term thrones. Two young women in the same elite garb sat in the lower chairs. They looked like they could have been sisters. But above them...above them was the one that was clearly in charge. This dude radiated bad. He was garbed in both shozoko and armor, with bladed claws attached to his forearm armor. His helmet looked like a cross between a buzz saw and a samurai. There was just an...intensity about him. Gave me the creeps."

Leo took the information in. A group of ninjas in New York City was about the last thing he ever expected to see. Could this be why Master Splinter was hold up alone? Could it be related to the red moon?

"I also ended up fighting one of them," Al admitted next, reaching into a band on the floor and tossing Leo a mask. "I took that off of him. I wasn't paying attention and he got the jump on me. Probably a lookout. Didn't stick around to see if there were any more. Whoever these guys are, Leo, they're smart. They're talented, and they're recruiting for something big."

"Yea...we'll look into it," Leo nodded and looked down at the mask, running his finger over the emblem on the forehead.

It was nothing more than a red foot.
Okay, the IC kick off post has been put up, introducing a "villain" that will be the "big bad" for the season. Captain Nemo will pop up every now and again for multiplayer events where the heroes can start to get together and fight together.

And with that, the IC thread is open and people can post to their heart's content.
I just got told today I'm back to working 50+ hours a week. I'll make time on weekends, but I'm no longer sure I can make time on weekdays. If that's an issue please let me know.

Nah, I'm only expecting a post a week from people, and at the bare minimum a post every 2 weeks, so no pressure on getting a huge output of posts every week.
So I just had a boneheaded move. Was hoping to have the kickoff post up tonight, but I accidentally just lost 1/2 of what I had already written. Still hoping to have it done tonight...but it might not be up until tomorrow
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