It begins with the anomalies. There aren't many of them, and there's no pattern as to when or where they strike. Here, a character from a children's storybook come to life; there, a board game pulls in a group of students, trapping them within its pocket dimension until they reach the goal. A man unjustly fired from his dream job as a weather anchor loses control and transforms into a supervillain, weather-related super-powers and all; when sense is eventually smacked into him, he's left confused and powerless.
One or two have even occurred in the Hidden City. Nobody is sure what's causing them, or how to stop them in the long-term. Even when the anomaly is set back to rights, the root cause remains elusive.
For Donatello specifically, it begins with the door to his lab; with the simple act of stepping through, with the simple desire for some space. But the lab vanishes from in front of him, and the door vanishes from behind him. He's somewhere else entirely. Alone. He'll catch the briefest glimpse of … a feather? Beautiful and opalescent, glittering like a ghostly moonstone. And then it too is gone.
Welcome to London, Donatello Hamato. Hope you enjoy your eventual capture by creepy scientists and your confinement in their creepy underground scientist laboratory.
For Miya, it begins with a text message from Leo. A creature like a bipedal mutant turtle was captured four days ago by a shady organisation and spirited away to their lab. It, or perhaps they, have — had — tech, some kind of advanced communicator and a metal shell, but they're completely feral. He asks if she knows what's going on, if she wants to do anything.
She drops everything. Texts Leo back to ask for full details; she'll take care of it. Another text goes to Kit, who offers to leave his conference early and join her. It's tempting, but … no, she can handle this one by herself. She promises to keep him updated, and then she's off, a combination of wings and magic letting her span the hundreds of miles in mere minutes rather than hours.
The lab is hidden deep, deep beneath a shabby terraced house in a crappy part of town, a sprawling underground network of labs connected by tunnels. It's high-tech. It's ridiculously secure. And nobody would ever think to look twice from the outside. Luckily, Leo is good at what he does. His intel gets her past the front door without being spotted, and to the hidden elevator shaft. The rest is up to her.
When Draxum selected turtles, he had done it for their natural defenses and survival instincts. Even the Spiny Soft Shell had its advantages. The shell may be more vulnerable, but there is a trade off for speed, maneuverability, and being just downright vicious.
Usually, this traits were able to be tactically used with Donnie's intelligence and calm intellect. Unfortunately, falling through an interdimensional is rough on one's body. Especially when he finds he isn't able to contact his family, through phone or Ninpo, with everything muffled mystically speaking. Its stressful, its very stressful.
Then he gets hit by a tranq.
The thing is, mutant biology is a lot hardier then a creature of his equivalent size. Its something he always has to calculate for their medicines and sedatives. Raph always needs something that would knock out an elephant. The tranq is meant for a human about his size. They needed to at least double it. However, just because it wasn't enough, didn't mean it didn't have an effect.
Thinking was difficult. Higher functions overall were difficult. Instincts, were not.
He lashed out, angry and vicious, but angry and vicious wasn't ideal with a group fight, especially when his movement was sluggish and heavy, eventually resulting in his capture.
By the time he woke up, his tech had been removed, his back exposed, strapped down on a bed, and his mind had just checked out. It was too much stress for regular Donnie to deal with. It was too much out of his control, he didn't have his bale, everything was quiet and distant.
He was just a turtle, a protector, separated from what was his. He was strapped down for petty examinations and questions he only answers with growls and snaps. But he waits. He knows how to hunt and sometimes the best way to hunt was to simply wait for the opportunity to strike.
The time comes when they're going to try and cut him open. They foolishly don't just inject him wholesale, but try to use an IV for it. Then its just a matter of Connection, purple energy that cuts the line. The number in the room is limited, to keep things sterile, and they don't realize the line is cut until they're ready for the first incision.
From there, its easy enough to knock out the doctors and escape into the vents.
It doesn't take long for a team of six security personnel to come running. There are CCTV cameras everywhere, after all — well … almost everywhere. The labs and the examination suites are covered extensively. The cell blocks are, as well; it simply wouldn't do to leave any of their valuable research subjects unsupervised.
The maintenance ducts and air vents, on the other hand? Not so much. Godfucking damnit, the lead security officer had told them that they needed more, he knew that there'd be a containment breach one day, but did anyone listen? Nnnnnooooo. Of course they didn't. Now they had a feral turtle man on the loose, and fuck only knows where its gone.
An alarm blares.
The facility goes into lockdown. Some of the scientists immediately scramble for cover; others go to make sure their handful of other assets are still secure.
The lead security officer — Captain, as he liked to be called — reminds his team that their priority is to contain the creature, not to kill it. Injuries are fine, sure; break a leg, tase it, tranq it halfway into a coma. Whatever. But he'll personally kick the ass of anyone who goes for a killshot. With salutes all round, they split off to begin the search. Their newest recruit stays behind to deal with the doctors.
Miya, meanwhile, forgoes the need for elevator passcodes by simple expedient of prying the doors open with her bare hands and climbing down the shaft. Subtlety isn't exactly one of her strong suits. (She did, however, remember to disguise herself — same body, simply shifted to look human, with dull, rounded ears, blue-grey eyes, and long light brown hair with significantly less floof than usual).
Getting into the elevator itself is just as easy. Getting out of it, on the other hand … She pries the doors open, only to find her way forward blocked by titanium blast doors a meter thick. Uh oh. Hm. Lockdown procedure, maybe? It's not ideal — both in terms of her attempted rescue, and because ha, haha, that's trauma, baby — but it's … not insurmountable, either.
It seemed obvious. The turtle man was fairly small, short and a lithe body, even with the muscles. Barely a fit for the vents, probably wouldn't have even managed it with the metal shell it held. It seemed like it'd be no problem to track him.
After all, he was green, tan, and dashes of purple with all his gear removed. Hardly easy to miss in the sterile whites and grays of the facility. The vents would be hard to move through, and noisy.
Except they realized either he was moving disturbingly fast in the vents or unnaturally quiet and neither one was good.
Then they were horrified to realize that watching the vents and doors simply was not good enough. There were cameras everywhere, if he ever left the vents, they would know. Except that wasn't the case.
The only time he ever appeared on the cameras was the brief moment before he ripped them out of the wall and dispatched with a security team. Most disturbingly of all, when the downed teams were found, it looked like...something had gone off in the rooms. There were the expected bullet holes, electrical burns, missed tranqs, but there were also twisted metal, deep gouges, and scorch marks. Those in the rooms were the most grievously injured. The few who ran were stuck with tranq darts, but otherwise left alone.
It takes an hour to find someone awake, the tranquilizer have only partially drained into him, babbling how he was a shadow and purple light that brought destruction.
Its an an hour thirty that the alerts came up for other assets being released.
Mercy is a dim whisper. If no one wishes to engage, then it was fine to disable them so they aren't a later problem. Those who do, however, are not afforded that mercy. He is not particularly hungry, but he will make himself a known predator. He will make them regret taking him from his territory. He did not invade their place, they brought him here, and tried to make him prey.
That was their mistake and he will make it known that they should not have messed with this protector.
The vents help him get around the thick metal doors, but the halls and rooms are viable enough. He recognizes the black spots, knows they are eyes, and knows how to find the blindspots, how to move in shadows. Silent and faster than these takers are prepared for.
He leaves blood in his wake. He reaches for Connection and with it comes fire and metal teeth, something to let him bite far more effectively than he solely can with his teeth and claws. He doesn't bother to kill his prey. If he finds them again, he will finish them off, but he cannot eat them all and it would be a bother to clean this place of rot.
If they decide to bring him here, then this territory will be his.
Then he sees those who are Different. The ones who do not wish to be in this territory.
There is not much room for mercy in his mind, but there is enough. And he recognizes the use of chaos.
Its not hard to release the others. Maybe they will be allowed in the territory, if they wish to take from those who took them.
She can't quite manage a portal, not when she doesn't have a clear idea of what's on the other side. Damn. What she can do, however, is connect. She presses a fingertip to cold metal, clears her mind, and listens, filtering it all down, down, down, until she finds the right whispers of song.
All of reality is one vast orchestra, woven together in layer upon endless layer. Everything has its own song; its own small part of the whole. Earth, air, fire, water, light and darkness, even time and space, void, creation … Everything. Metals are no different. Well … okay, they're maybe a little different in this case , owing to human interference and innovation. This metal has been made into a big ol' slab of technologically advanced machinery.
Still, that margin of extra difficulty gets finer with every feather Miya and Kit manage to recover. She's got this.
There.
The metal ripples in answer to her silent call, briefly becoming no more dense than air. Miya quickly steps through, letting the metal settle back as it was. Uh. Mostly, kind of as it was. Ish. But whatever, she's not going to worry about jumbled circuitry when she's planning to wreck the place anyway —
… Oh, she thinks, as the shrieking blare of alarms and the scents of blood and burning slam into her. Somebody's made a head start on the wrecking. Cool. Cool, cool. That was cool. Genuinely. Though it might make the whole rescue part of this whole adventure a tad more complicated than she'd been hoping. She wrinkles her nose. Valiantly resists the urge to plug her ears. Gives her head a shake. Filters. Compartmentalises. She can deal with the inevitable headache later; for now, she has a job to do.
She sets off at a walk down one long hallway, bare footed and silent, with the easy grace of a born predator. Her human-shaped disguise remains in place for now, but she's doing nothing to hide her presence — neither the physical one, nor what Ryou (and Nil, irritatingly enough) has taken to calling her aura, the almost-tangible frisson of leashed power and potential. It has a tendency to terrify prey animals (furigana: humans), which is a-okay with her right now. If it terrifies the turtle man … well, she'll adjust as she needs to.
The first humans she comes across are wrecks, broken-bodied and unconscious. She walks past them. Further down, she finds some fallen bodies stuck with tranquiliser darts ... but otherwise uninjured? Huh. She leaves them as they are as well. The first conscious human she runs into is a lone security guard, reeking of fearsweat, a gun in hand. They point it at her, and, well, that's the last mistake they'll ever make. They're dead before they hit the ground.
Meanwhile, deeper in the facility ... a group of technicians are barricading themselves in one of the labs, some clutching makeshift weapons, others too busy having a panic attack to be of much use. A solitary scientist has managed to wiggle into the vents; they'd promised their lab partner they'd fetch help, but really, they just want out. A pair of security guards work together to rig wire traps, helped by a nervous admin assistant who really, really wishes they were anywhere else but here. As for The Captain ... he's on the hunt as well. This turtle mutant creep thinks it's a badass, huh? Fine by him. He'll put it back in its place, and he'll enjoy every damn second of it.
He hates the alarms. They're drigging more and more into his head, and with it, the more vicious he becomes. He knows the blaring sounds are to warn the takers about him. About the others. He hates it, and its not doing him any favors at this point. Those who would run, are doing so already, or hiding away.
He finds a group of technicians in a lab near his goal. He has the cameras down and he peeks into the window. He sees most of them scream and get away from the window. A few bravely hold up their weapons, ready for his invasion.
He snarls at them through the window, sees even the brave ones flinch back. He trills with amusement. He sees the clothes, knows they understand the electric currents, know they understand how the metal bits combine for a goal like his teeth and fire. It makes sense, this is a place where the he can stop the blaring sounds.
He moves to the place between the screens and the metal bits for the electric currents. The screens make his head hurt, but he sees the currents and its short work for him to pull the pieces he needs to finally SILENCE the blaring.
He sees the horror on the technicians faces. They worry about the traps, he's sure, that some will think the threat is gone. It doesn't matter. Warning does them little good with him. Not when he knows shadows and Connection.
He moves to the door, the barricades and its another burst of Connection and fire and he makes the door a wall. Welding, was that the word? He will decide on mercy later. If they are worth anything for the electric currents and metal bits, they'll figure it out before he needs to make a decision.
The blaring alarms eases the headache. The red light is acceptable. Comforting, in its own way. He knows this light. Its familiar, safe, bale. He likes the red light.
He sees the scientist in the vents, and he can smell the fear on him. But there's smells from outside the vents and he needs his things. His things, his property, his territory, and he knows there's more smells there.
Which is when the he uses the Connection, catching him in fake-metal-might-as-well-be-real-metal and pushes the scientist along. He jabs him with a tranq to stop the screaming and once he's close to where his things are (he feels it, the bits of Connection, the things he made because they were power strength bond protection.)
He throws out the scientist and he hears the traps go off.
Hm, he is going to need to bait them out them.
He moves further in the vents. Perhaps one of those assets would make good bait.
There would be other evidence about. Connection is something he can access, but if its not in his hands, he's not dismissing it properly.
Miya and others would start to see it. Bits of purple energy left behind. Things that have broken off against the stronger parts of the room or from gunfire. They seem to be parts of devices, or bits of metal and weirdly feel like it as well. Other than the purple glow, the way its see through, all their other senses say its the real deal.
It's an honest to goodness relief when the alarms are silenced. She's long-since learned how to cope with such loud, grating sounds when she has to, but she's never, ever going to like them. Her senses are so much stronger than a human's that they hurt hurt hurt. She lets out a breath, and drops the body of the second security guard of the day who'd decided to pick a fight with her.
They hadn't been able to tell her anything useful before they'd died. Shame, that.
And then she senses it.
It's — she's not sure what it is. Energy. Power.
Not hers.
Feathers — and the Anomalies they cause — are a little like snowflakes. They're subtly unique, but at the end of the day they all come to the same thing. While she and Kit are still working on being able to sense her Feathers before they can cause problems, this close, when power is actively being used … she should have been able to recognise it. Would have been able to, if it was hers. But it isn't. And that's … Interesting. Alarming. Confusing. Intriguing.
That mixed-bag of feelings only intensifies when she stumbles across physical evidence. She crouches by one broken scrap of metal-that-isn't, loose-limbed and seemingly relaxed, and gently runs her fingertips across it. Not hers. Not hers.
She lets her eyes go lidded, sinking into senses beyond the mundane. (Pity the idiot who thinks she's unaware; they'll be in for a nasty surprise.) Power has a tendency to leave traces, echoes, ripples, and it's those that she attempts to trace now. She steps softly but makes no attempt to hide herself — this isn't a hunt, it's a tiger taking a stroll to investigate something they're curious about. Calm, casual, respectful. Not here for a fight. Not here to hurt.
Elsewhere, some of the remaining humans are taking the cessation of the alarms as a sign that the monster turtle has been contained. They relax their guard, start to chatter, their laughter shaky as they move back out into the hallways. They're more than ready to leave for the day (possibly forever). The Captain is much less optimistic, and, actually, you know what? Maybe it's time to rethink his stance on taking killshots. He comms his team — or what's left of them — and rallies them. Do whatever you have to, boys. This has gone far enough.
Its almost a disconnecting thing. To see something glowing, something that seems see through, that seems like it should be hot or like glass or plastic. And yet it feels exactly like room temperature metal.
The power is almost...ridiculously easy to track. Its less an echo, and more a spider web. The power connects to something massive and numerous and distant. Not an uncountable number, but the number would take some time. Some strands were stronger, easier to detect, more present and new, but there is one that is strongest, present, humming loud and present, that sounds like a glitching computer screen.
He is moving through the vents and through the shadows. The alarm is quiet and that makes it easier to track people. Nothing makes noise more then prey that thinks its safe, chattering in their limited meaning sounds.
Then he sees her. There are no shoes. There is no smell of fear. No, the smell is...strange. It smells like the littlest one, the fire and hope, when he-he-
He does something. Something that makes the sweet food.
She smells like that. Not like humans. Not like many things.
She does not belong here. An asset. Moves like a predator. That's fine. He knows he's a predator too, and he has the Connection that makes it easier to herd other predators. She would be a perfect bait-distraction for what is his.
He drops down from the shadows behind her, trilling in warning. Predators don't growl before they attack, only in warning. If she's a smart predator, she won't make it a fight with him. The humans would be far easier to dispatch.
She senses the turtle's presence before they make a move, which is… honestly for the best. A startled Miya is a bad time for everyone on a good day. In a place like this, when the memories of her own time in imprisonment are so close to the surface … Yeah, no. Bad.
The chirp they make is familiar-unfamiliar, not quite like any of the more musical sounds she falls back on when she either can't or doesn't want to use her words. It's a warning, she can tell that much; one that she acknowledges with a tilt of her head. Yes, I hear you. I know you're here. Hello. No, I don't feel threatened by you.
(She wonders, in the back of her mind, what this means. Vocalisations like that speak of fluency, of someone comfortable in their own skin. Is she dealing with a turtle-turtle? A human-turtle? A turtle-human? Both, neither? Time will tell.)
She stands smoothly, and finally turns to face them. They're smaller than she was expecting. Shorter than Kit, she thinks, but with wiry muscle and the bearing of somebody who knows how to use their body as a weapon.
"Hi," she says, following it up with a chirrup of her own. It's a bright, light sound, somewhere between feline and avian and yet distinctly neither. A greeting: Hi, hello, I mean you no harm. "I'm here to help." She lifts a hand, ostensibly to wave, but there is absolutely some human blood still smeared around her sharper-than-average nails. Blood that she wants him to see. It is, perhaps, at odds with her casual yoga pants and t-shirt.
Not scared. A shame, it would be a lot easier to get this other taken to do what he wants if she was scared. He isn't particularly interested in hurting the other taken, but he has things he needs and it would be a lot more convenient if he could herd this one.
He stares at her with an intense, studying gaze. Eyes an unnatural mix of red and blue, though faded behind the nictitating membrane, making it easy to mistake his eyes for pure white. Even more unnatural is the fangs he bares at her, canines more pronounce than a humans, but also turtles just? Don't have teeth?
He tilts his head at the chirrup. Bird. Feline? Feline might be a problem, felines are dangerous, birds less so. He's too big for birds. Not a little one, not easy prey to be scooped up, not when he can have his own wings.
His eyes are drawn to the blood. Less surprising. Any other taken would be aggressive naturally. They should be. The takers deserve it.
His eyes do pause at the t-shirt. He stares for several long beats and he doesn't know why.
Something about the shirt.
It reminds him of the little one protector. Its even the color he likes. Something about it is...
Amusing.
It gets a huff that isn't quite a laugh, but its something.
Oooh, so the shirt got a reaction? It was even almost a laugh, which means this turtle person knows a pun when they see one. She rumbles softly in amusement — and for all that it is soft, even quiet, it comes with the distinct feeling of big.
"You like it?" She runs the back of her knuckles across the soft fabric with obvious fondness, lips curving up into a fangless smile. The shirt had been a present from Kit after their last Ikea adventure. It'll be a shame if she gets blood all over it, but, well … sometimes things just Happen.
More important right now is trying to communicate her intentions.
She chirrups again, but this time it becomes a song — wordless, no louder than a soft speaking voice, but once again it's so much more. The music forms the shape, the feeling, of outside air and open spaces, of safe places to hide and a warm, comfortable den. "I'm here to help you find safety."
A deliberate pause. She looks pointedly from him to the blood on her nails, to the hallway they stand in and the scattered scraps of his creations. There's a shift in her stance, from relaxed and casual to a hunter prepared to go on the prowl; even her scent shifts subtly, the darker, richer notes of coffee and woodsmoke overtaking the sweet. And then it's back to how it was, like a gear smoothly switched. She inclines her head briefly. Not submission, but an offer.
He tilts his head at the rumble, eyes looking over her, a low, warning growl in his own throat. There is Big. She doesn't look Big. He knows Big, the other protector is Big. She may not be Small, but she is definitely not Big like the other protector.
His eyes follow her knuckles, looks at the shirt. He knows the shape. He likes the shape. The single meaning words are hard when spoken, but the shapes, the shapes he knows. The shapes and means and those are also things he likes. Things he likes and things the little one protector likes. No. Twin. Twin likes, that's right.
He chirps, something a slight bit friendlier. He likes it. He likes, but that's not reason to trust her.
His head perks up at the song, his eyes widening a bit. As the song goes on, he starts to sway to the music, tapping on the floor in tune with it. There is another huff of amusement at the offer of safety and he trills his own tune.
He's not afraid. There's confidence.
Another trill.
He's angry.
He straightens up at the shift in the scent. He knows those scents. Late night bonding with twin, excited little one before eating together. Its strange to see that with such an aggressive stance, frowning deeply at her.
He tilts his head at her last statement and holds his head, just staring at her. A question.
There is some mutual head-tilt action going on here.
Interspecies communication can be difficult enough when you know each other's languages. When you don't? When you're putting the pieces together as best you can, when there's every risk that something is going to get lost in translation? Yeah. Bit of a nightmare. She can tell he's trying to ask her something, but she's not sure exactly what.
So she sings again, still quiet and brief, but with enough focus behind it to get the basic concepts across; pictures painted through music alone. First is a song that sounds like him — and he'll be able to feel that, the exact experience of recognition he'd feel if he saw himself in a mirror. Second is a song that sounds like her … albeit simplified. Very, very, very simplified, like, yes, this is her, and yes, there is far more to her than meets the eye. She acknowledges it, but it isn't important right now.
Third brings those songs together, working in tandem. It's a song of allyship and hunting, of working together to render the humans a non-threat. Towards the end it lifts back up to that song of outside and warm den. They can't stay here.
... All followed by a questioning tilt of the head and a hopeful chirp.
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no subject
One or two have even occurred in the Hidden City. Nobody is sure what's causing them, or how to stop them in the long-term. Even when the anomaly is set back to rights, the root cause remains elusive.
For Donatello specifically, it begins with the door to his lab; with the simple act of stepping through, with the simple desire for some space. But the lab vanishes from in front of him, and the door vanishes from behind him. He's somewhere else entirely. Alone. He'll catch the briefest glimpse of … a feather? Beautiful and opalescent, glittering like a ghostly moonstone. And then it too is gone.
Welcome to London, Donatello Hamato. Hope you enjoy your eventual capture by creepy scientists and your confinement in their creepy underground scientist laboratory.
For Miya, it begins with a text message from Leo. A creature like a bipedal mutant turtle was captured four days ago by a shady organisation and spirited away to their lab. It, or perhaps they, have — had — tech, some kind of advanced communicator and a metal shell, but they're completely feral. He asks if she knows what's going on, if she wants to do anything.
She drops everything. Texts Leo back to ask for full details; she'll take care of it. Another text goes to Kit, who offers to leave his conference early and join her. It's tempting, but … no, she can handle this one by herself. She promises to keep him updated, and then she's off, a combination of wings and magic letting her span the hundreds of miles in mere minutes rather than hours.
The lab is hidden deep, deep beneath a shabby terraced house in a crappy part of town, a sprawling underground network of labs connected by tunnels. It's high-tech. It's ridiculously secure. And nobody would ever think to look twice from the outside. Luckily, Leo is good at what he does. His intel gets her past the front door without being spotted, and to the hidden elevator shaft. The rest is up to her.
no subject
Usually, this traits were able to be tactically used with Donnie's intelligence and calm intellect. Unfortunately, falling through an interdimensional is rough on one's body. Especially when he finds he isn't able to contact his family, through phone or Ninpo, with everything muffled mystically speaking. Its stressful, its very stressful.
Then he gets hit by a tranq.
The thing is, mutant biology is a lot hardier then a creature of his equivalent size. Its something he always has to calculate for their medicines and sedatives. Raph always needs something that would knock out an elephant. The tranq is meant for a human about his size. They needed to at least double it. However, just because it wasn't enough, didn't mean it didn't have an effect.
Thinking was difficult. Higher functions overall were difficult. Instincts, were not.
He lashed out, angry and vicious, but angry and vicious wasn't ideal with a group fight, especially when his movement was sluggish and heavy, eventually resulting in his capture.
By the time he woke up, his tech had been removed, his back exposed, strapped down on a bed, and his mind had just checked out. It was too much stress for regular Donnie to deal with. It was too much out of his control, he didn't have his bale, everything was quiet and distant.
He was just a turtle, a protector, separated from what was his. He was strapped down for petty examinations and questions he only answers with growls and snaps. But he waits. He knows how to hunt and sometimes the best way to hunt was to simply wait for the opportunity to strike.
The time comes when they're going to try and cut him open. They foolishly don't just inject him wholesale, but try to use an IV for it. Then its just a matter of Connection, purple energy that cuts the line. The number in the room is limited, to keep things sterile, and they don't realize the line is cut until they're ready for the first incision.
From there, its easy enough to knock out the doctors and escape into the vents.
The hunt has started.
no subject
The maintenance ducts and air vents, on the other hand? Not so much. Godfucking damnit, the lead security officer had told them that they needed more, he knew that there'd be a containment breach one day, but did anyone listen? Nnnnnooooo. Of course they didn't. Now they had a feral turtle man on the loose, and fuck only knows where its gone.
An alarm blares.
The facility goes into lockdown. Some of the scientists immediately scramble for cover; others go to make sure their handful of other assets are still secure.
The lead security officer — Captain, as he liked to be called — reminds his team that their priority is to contain the creature, not to kill it. Injuries are fine, sure; break a leg, tase it, tranq it halfway into a coma. Whatever. But he'll personally kick the ass of anyone who goes for a killshot. With salutes all round, they split off to begin the search. Their newest recruit stays behind to deal with the doctors.
Miya, meanwhile, forgoes the need for elevator passcodes by simple expedient of prying the doors open with her bare hands and climbing down the shaft. Subtlety isn't exactly one of her strong suits. (She did, however, remember to disguise herself — same body, simply shifted to look human, with dull, rounded ears, blue-grey eyes, and long light brown hair with significantly less floof than usual).
Getting into the elevator itself is just as easy. Getting out of it, on the other hand … She pries the doors open, only to find her way forward blocked by titanium blast doors a meter thick. Uh oh. Hm. Lockdown procedure, maybe? It's not ideal — both in terms of her attempted rescue, and because ha, haha, that's trauma, baby — but it's … not insurmountable, either.
She takes a breath, holds it. Lets it out slow.
And wills space to bend for her.
no subject
After all, he was green, tan, and dashes of purple with all his gear removed. Hardly easy to miss in the sterile whites and grays of the facility. The vents would be hard to move through, and noisy.
Except they realized either he was moving disturbingly fast in the vents or unnaturally quiet and neither one was good.
Then they were horrified to realize that watching the vents and doors simply was not good enough. There were cameras everywhere, if he ever left the vents, they would know. Except that wasn't the case.
The only time he ever appeared on the cameras was the brief moment before he ripped them out of the wall and dispatched with a security team. Most disturbingly of all, when the downed teams were found, it looked like...something had gone off in the rooms. There were the expected bullet holes, electrical burns, missed tranqs, but there were also twisted metal, deep gouges, and scorch marks. Those in the rooms were the most grievously injured. The few who ran were stuck with tranq darts, but otherwise left alone.
It takes an hour to find someone awake, the tranquilizer have only partially drained into him, babbling how he was a shadow and purple light that brought destruction.
Its an an hour thirty that the alerts came up for other assets being released.
Mercy is a dim whisper. If no one wishes to engage, then it was fine to disable them so they aren't a later problem. Those who do, however, are not afforded that mercy. He is not particularly hungry, but he will make himself a known predator. He will make them regret taking him from his territory. He did not invade their place, they brought him here, and tried to make him prey.
That was their mistake and he will make it known that they should not have messed with this protector.
The vents help him get around the thick metal doors, but the halls and rooms are viable enough. He recognizes the black spots, knows they are eyes, and knows how to find the blindspots, how to move in shadows. Silent and faster than these takers are prepared for.
He leaves blood in his wake. He reaches for Connection and with it comes fire and metal teeth, something to let him bite far more effectively than he solely can with his teeth and claws. He doesn't bother to kill his prey. If he finds them again, he will finish them off, but he cannot eat them all and it would be a bother to clean this place of rot.
If they decide to bring him here, then this territory will be his.
Then he sees those who are Different. The ones who do not wish to be in this territory.
There is not much room for mercy in his mind, but there is enough. And he recognizes the use of chaos.
Its not hard to release the others. Maybe they will be allowed in the territory, if they wish to take from those who took them.
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All of reality is one vast orchestra, woven together in layer upon endless layer. Everything has its own song; its own small part of the whole. Earth, air, fire, water, light and darkness, even time and space, void, creation … Everything. Metals are no different. Well … okay, they're maybe a little different in this case , owing to human interference and innovation. This metal has been made into a big ol' slab of technologically advanced machinery.
Still, that margin of extra difficulty gets finer with every feather Miya and Kit manage to recover. She's got this.
There.
The metal ripples in answer to her silent call, briefly becoming no more dense than air. Miya quickly steps through, letting the metal settle back as it was. Uh. Mostly, kind of as it was. Ish. But whatever, she's not going to worry about jumbled circuitry when she's planning to wreck the place anyway —
… Oh, she thinks, as the shrieking blare of alarms and the scents of blood and burning slam into her. Somebody's made a head start on the wrecking. Cool. Cool, cool. That was cool. Genuinely. Though it might make the whole rescue part of this whole adventure a tad more complicated than she'd been hoping. She wrinkles her nose. Valiantly resists the urge to plug her ears. Gives her head a shake. Filters. Compartmentalises. She can deal with the inevitable headache later; for now, she has a job to do.
She sets off at a walk down one long hallway, bare footed and silent, with the easy grace of a born predator. Her human-shaped disguise remains in place for now, but she's doing nothing to hide her presence — neither the physical one, nor what Ryou (and Nil, irritatingly enough) has taken to calling her aura, the almost-tangible frisson of leashed power and potential. It has a tendency to terrify prey animals (furigana: humans), which is a-okay with her right now. If it terrifies the turtle man … well, she'll adjust as she needs to.
The first humans she comes across are wrecks, broken-bodied and unconscious. She walks past them. Further down, she finds some fallen bodies stuck with tranquiliser darts ... but otherwise uninjured? Huh. She leaves them as they are as well. The first conscious human she runs into is a lone security guard, reeking of fearsweat, a gun in hand. They point it at her, and, well, that's the last mistake they'll ever make. They're dead before they hit the ground.
Meanwhile, deeper in the facility ... a group of technicians are barricading themselves in one of the labs, some clutching makeshift weapons, others too busy having a panic attack to be of much use. A solitary scientist has managed to wiggle into the vents; they'd promised their lab partner they'd fetch help, but really, they just want out. A pair of security guards work together to rig wire traps, helped by a nervous admin assistant who really, really wishes they were anywhere else but here. As for The Captain ... he's on the hunt as well. This turtle mutant creep thinks it's a badass, huh? Fine by him. He'll put it back in its place, and he'll enjoy every damn second of it.
no subject
He finds a group of technicians in a lab near his goal. He has the cameras down and he peeks into the window. He sees most of them scream and get away from the window. A few bravely hold up their weapons, ready for his invasion.
He snarls at them through the window, sees even the brave ones flinch back. He trills with amusement. He sees the clothes, knows they understand the electric currents, know they understand how the metal bits combine for a goal like his teeth and fire. It makes sense, this is a place where the he can stop the blaring sounds.
He moves to the place between the screens and the metal bits for the electric currents. The screens make his head hurt, but he sees the currents and its short work for him to pull the pieces he needs to finally SILENCE the blaring.
He sees the horror on the technicians faces. They worry about the traps, he's sure, that some will think the threat is gone. It doesn't matter. Warning does them little good with him. Not when he knows shadows and Connection.
He moves to the door, the barricades and its another burst of Connection and fire and he makes the door a wall.
Welding, was that the word?He will decide on mercy later. If they are worth anything for the electric currents and metal bits, they'll figure it out before he needs to make a decision.The blaring alarms eases the headache. The red light is acceptable. Comforting, in its own way. He knows this light. Its familiar, safe, bale. He likes the red light.
He sees the scientist in the vents, and he can smell the fear on him. But there's smells from outside the vents and he needs his things. His things, his property, his territory, and he knows there's more smells there.
Which is when the he uses the Connection, catching him in fake-metal-might-as-well-be-real-metal and pushes the scientist along. He jabs him with a tranq to stop the screaming and once he's close to where his things are (he feels it, the bits of Connection, the things he made because they were power strength bond protection.)
He throws out the scientist and he hears the traps go off.
Hm, he is going to need to bait them out them.
He moves further in the vents. Perhaps one of those assets would make good bait.
There would be other evidence about. Connection is something he can access, but if its not in his hands, he's not dismissing it properly.
Miya and others would start to see it. Bits of purple energy left behind. Things that have broken off against the stronger parts of the room or from gunfire. They seem to be parts of devices, or bits of metal and weirdly feel like it as well. Other than the purple glow, the way its see through, all their other senses say its the real deal.
no subject
They hadn't been able to tell her anything useful before they'd died. Shame, that.
And then she senses it.
It's — she's not sure what it is. Energy. Power.
Not hers.
Feathers — and the Anomalies they cause — are a little like snowflakes. They're subtly unique, but at the end of the day they all come to the same thing. While she and Kit are still working on being able to sense her Feathers before they can cause problems, this close, when power is actively being used … she should have been able to recognise it. Would have been able to, if it was hers. But it isn't. And that's … Interesting. Alarming. Confusing. Intriguing.
That mixed-bag of feelings only intensifies when she stumbles across physical evidence. She crouches by one broken scrap of metal-that-isn't, loose-limbed and seemingly relaxed, and gently runs her fingertips across it. Not hers. Not hers.
She lets her eyes go lidded, sinking into senses beyond the mundane. (Pity the idiot who thinks she's unaware; they'll be in for a nasty surprise.) Power has a tendency to leave traces, echoes, ripples, and it's those that she attempts to trace now. She steps softly but makes no attempt to hide herself — this isn't a hunt, it's a tiger taking a stroll to investigate something they're curious about. Calm, casual, respectful. Not here for a fight. Not here to hurt.
Elsewhere, some of the remaining humans are taking the cessation of the alarms as a sign that the monster turtle has been contained. They relax their guard, start to chatter, their laughter shaky as they move back out into the hallways. They're more than ready to leave for the day (possibly forever). The Captain is much less optimistic, and, actually, you know what? Maybe it's time to rethink his stance on taking killshots. He comms his team — or what's left of them — and rallies them. Do whatever you have to, boys. This has gone far enough.
no subject
The power is almost...ridiculously easy to track. Its less an echo, and more a spider web. The power connects to something massive and numerous and distant. Not an uncountable number, but the number would take some time. Some strands were stronger, easier to detect, more present and new, but there is one that is strongest, present, humming loud and present, that sounds like a glitching computer screen.
He is moving through the vents and through the shadows. The alarm is quiet and that makes it easier to track people. Nothing makes noise more then prey that thinks its safe, chattering in their limited meaning sounds.
Then he sees her. There are no shoes. There is no smell of fear. No, the smell is...strange. It smells like the littlest one, the fire and hope, when he-he-
He does something. Something that makes the sweet food.
She smells like that. Not like humans. Not like many things.
She does not belong here. An asset. Moves like a predator. That's fine. He knows he's a predator too, and he has the Connection that makes it easier to herd other predators. She would be a perfect bait-distraction for what is his.
He drops down from the shadows behind her, trilling in warning. Predators don't growl before they attack, only in warning. If she's a smart predator, she won't make it a fight with him. The humans would be far easier to dispatch.
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She senses the turtle's presence before they make a move, which is… honestly for the best. A startled Miya is a bad time for everyone on a good day. In a place like this, when the memories of her own time in imprisonment are so close to the surface … Yeah, no. Bad.
The chirp they make is familiar-unfamiliar, not quite like any of the more musical sounds she falls back on when she either can't or doesn't want to use her words. It's a warning, she can tell that much; one that she acknowledges with a tilt of her head. Yes, I hear you. I know you're here. Hello. No, I don't feel threatened by you.
(She wonders, in the back of her mind, what this means. Vocalisations like that speak of fluency, of someone comfortable in their own skin. Is she dealing with a turtle-turtle? A human-turtle? A turtle-human? Both, neither? Time will tell.)
She stands smoothly, and finally turns to face them. They're smaller than she was expecting. Shorter than Kit, she thinks, but with wiry muscle and the bearing of somebody who knows how to use their body as a weapon.
"Hi," she says, following it up with a chirrup of her own. It's a bright, light sound, somewhere between feline and avian and yet distinctly neither. A greeting: Hi, hello, I mean you no harm. "I'm here to help." She lifts a hand, ostensibly to wave, but there is absolutely some human blood still smeared around her sharper-than-average nails. Blood that she wants him to see. It is, perhaps, at odds with her casual yoga pants and t-shirt.
no subject
He stares at her with an intense, studying gaze. Eyes an unnatural mix of red and blue, though faded behind the nictitating membrane, making it easy to mistake his eyes for pure white. Even more unnatural is the fangs he bares at her, canines more pronounce than a humans, but also turtles just? Don't have teeth?
He tilts his head at the chirrup. Bird. Feline? Feline might be a problem, felines are dangerous, birds less so. He's too big for birds. Not a little one, not easy prey to be scooped up, not when he can have his own wings.
His eyes are drawn to the blood. Less surprising. Any other taken would be aggressive naturally. They should be. The takers deserve it.
His eyes do pause at the t-shirt. He stares for several long beats and he doesn't know why.
Something about the shirt.
It reminds him of the little one protector. Its even the color he likes. Something about it is...
Amusing.
It gets a huff that isn't quite a laugh, but its something.
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"You like it?" She runs the back of her knuckles across the soft fabric with obvious fondness, lips curving up into a fangless smile. The shirt had been a present from Kit after their last Ikea adventure. It'll be a shame if she gets blood all over it, but, well … sometimes things just Happen.
More important right now is trying to communicate her intentions.
She chirrups again, but this time it becomes a song — wordless, no louder than a soft speaking voice, but once again it's so much more. The music forms the shape, the feeling, of outside air and open spaces, of safe places to hide and a warm, comfortable den. "I'm here to help you find safety."
A deliberate pause. She looks pointedly from him to the blood on her nails, to the hallway they stand in and the scattered scraps of his creations. There's a shift in her stance, from relaxed and casual to a hunter prepared to go on the prowl; even her scent shifts subtly, the darker, richer notes of coffee and woodsmoke overtaking the sweet. And then it's back to how it was, like a gear smoothly switched. She inclines her head briefly. Not submission, but an offer.
"And to stop the humans."
no subject
His eyes follow her knuckles, looks at the shirt. He knows the shape. He likes the shape. The single meaning words are hard when spoken, but the shapes, the shapes he knows. The shapes and means and those are also things he likes. Things he likes and things the little one protector likes. No. Twin. Twin likes, that's right.
He chirps, something a slight bit friendlier. He likes it. He likes, but that's not reason to trust her.
His head perks up at the song, his eyes widening a bit. As the song goes on, he starts to sway to the music, tapping on the floor in tune with it. There is another huff of amusement at the offer of safety and he trills his own tune.
He's not afraid. There's confidence.
Another trill.
He's angry.
He straightens up at the shift in the scent. He knows those scents. Late night bonding with twin, excited little one before eating together. Its strange to see that with such an aggressive stance, frowning deeply at her.
He tilts his head at her last statement and holds his head, just staring at her. A question.
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Interspecies communication can be difficult enough when you know each other's languages. When you don't? When you're putting the pieces together as best you can, when there's every risk that something is going to get lost in translation? Yeah. Bit of a nightmare. She can tell he's trying to ask her something, but she's not sure exactly what.
So she sings again, still quiet and brief, but with enough focus behind it to get the basic concepts across; pictures painted through music alone. First is a song that sounds like him — and he'll be able to feel that, the exact experience of recognition he'd feel if he saw himself in a mirror. Second is a song that sounds like her … albeit simplified. Very, very, very simplified, like, yes, this is her, and yes, there is far more to her than meets the eye. She acknowledges it, but it isn't important right now.
Third brings those songs together, working in tandem. It's a song of allyship and hunting, of working together to render the humans a non-threat. Towards the end it lifts back up to that song of outside and warm den. They can't stay here.
... All followed by a questioning tilt of the head and a hopeful chirp.