Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT. I recently realized that I never include the bad guys in my fics. That's not right; after all, where would the turtles be without any villains to fight? And since Bishop is the guy I love to hate, I've made him the star (victim) of a little fic I call…
Turtles Gone Wild
Deep within the bowels of New York City, a sleek black train sped down an abandoned tunnel straight towards a dead end. Suddenly the wall opened and the train slid into the docking station of a top secret government headquarters.
The front door of the train opened, and a man in black stepped out. The guards stationed at the exit snapped to attention as he passed them; he walked down a long dim corridor and entered a room where a dozen men in white coats sat staring intently at computer screens.
A grey-haired man in a soldier's uniform walked up to him. "Welcome back, Agent Bishop, sir," he said with a crisp salute.
"Enough pleasantries, Captain," Bishop snapped. "Report."
"Yes, sir! We are receiving a signal from the surveillance unit you planted on the turtle Raphael. Unfortunately, the tracking feature isn't working so we can't pinpoint their exact location. It could have been damaged in the battle or there could be interference, we're not sure. The good news is that audio and visual are fully operational."
"That will have to do," Bishop replied. Although he was upset that he had failed to find the turtles' lair yet again, the information he would gather from his spy camera would more than make up for it. Soon he would learn all of their weaknesses, and use them to destroy the accursed freaks once and for all.
Bishop walked over to the agent monitoring the turtle spy camera, a young man named Johnson. "It looks as though the turtles just arrived home," Johnson said, looking over his shoulder at his boss.
Bishop studied the monitor. The view from Raphael's shell was limited at best; all Bishop could see was the door to the lair. "We'll need a better vantage point," he said.
Johnson nodded and pushed a button on his console, activating the spy camera's tiny engine; it detached from its perch and flew into the air. Having been created from alien technology accumulated over the decades, the little camera was one of the most advanced spy devices on the planet; it automatically scanned the room and quickly settled on a spot that give Bishop a perfect view of the entire lair and its occupants.
Looking over the lair, Bishop couldn't help but be impressed; for animals they lived better than most humans. It looked as if the lair's design had traces of alien technology, but he couldn't think about that right now. Right now he was more interested in what the mutants had to say, and at the moment Leonardo was addressing his master.
"…and so we followed the military convoy to the docks. It turns out that besides weapons Bishop was transporting some sort of mutagen, probably for genetic experimentation. But we got it, so you can be sure that he'll never use it to hurt anyone." Leonardo showed Splinter a small aluminum canister.
Bishop felt his blood boil. That mutagen was crucial to the advancement of his research; reproducing it would take years. He was determined to get it back by any means necessary, and the spy camera was the key; one of those turtles was bound to inadvertently give him the one clue he needed to find the lair. He leaned in and listened closely.
"Geez, Leo, where'd you learn how to tell a story? You left out all the good parts!" Mikey suddenly exclaimed. He turned to Splinter. "We followed Bishop's guys to a spooky old dock that smelled like rotting fish guts. They were putting the guns and stuff onto this rusty old freighter that looked as bad as the docks smelled. We snuck up real quiet ninja-style and took out a few of the guards WHAM! POW!" Michelangelo jumped around reenacting the kicks and punches. "And then we went to get the drop on Bishop, who was just standing there with his back to us like Mr. I'm-So-Cool, watching them load the cargo. We were all set to jump him when all of a sudden the dock lit up like a Christmas tree and we were surrounded by soldiers! Then Bishop turned around and said, 'ha ha I have you now, turtles! You're no match for me and my perfect hair!'" Mikey pulled up his chest and put his hands on his hips.
"No, no Mikey, you've got it all wrong!" Raph interrupted. "Bishop doesn't sound like that! His sounds more like he's got something crammed up his butt." Raphael began to walk stiffly around in a circle. 'I will destroy you turtles as soon as I figure out how to bend over! I've had my men tie my shoes for me for years and it makes me very uncomfortable!'"
Raphael's brothers snickered. "That's good, Raph, but I don't think you've quite nailed it," Donatello said. He stood up straight and scrunched up his face. "I have such a busy day today! First I have to stomp around and curse the turtles, and then I have to yell at my men for no reason and make myself feel important! After that I've got a few government cover-ups, and then it's off to my doctor's appointment to finally have the wooden stick removed! These splinters are killing me!"
The turtles howled with laughter. Even Splinter looked amused. Bishop glanced over at Johnson; the young man was staring intently at the monitor, his quivering lips pressed tightly together.
"Do you find this amusing, Johnson?" Bishop growled.
Johnson's face went white. "No sir!" He said sharply.
"That's what I thought," Bishop said. He turned his attention back to the turtles. Five minutes later the laughter died down enough for Splinter to get his students' attention.
"You have done well, my sons, and you have earned some rest," Splinter said. "Therefore we will forego evening practice. Leonardo, Raphael, I believe it is your turn to cook dinner tonight."
The turtles bowed to their sensei, who bowed back and retired to his bedroom. Leonardo and Raphael headed to the kitchen, Donatello went into his lab and Michelangelo jumped onto the couch.
Bishop's eyes followed Donatello. He was very interested in seeing what the purple-clad turtle had in his laboratory. However, the last thing he expected to see was a squirrel leaping out from behind the computer the moment Don sat down at his desk.
"MIKEY! HELP!" Don yelled. In a flash Mike was off the couch and in the doorway of the lab; there he froze in his tracks and watched as Don chased the small furry creature around the room.
"Don't just stand there, help me catch this thing!" Don snapped.
"I'm…guarding the door," Mike replied. He grabbed a garbage pail sitting next to the door, emptied the contents, and drop-kicked it to his brother. "Think fast, Don!" He yelled. Donatello jumped up, grabbed the pail in midair, did a flip and landed directly in front of the squirrel, slamming the pail upside down onto the startled animal before it could escape.
"That's the third squirrel this week!" Don fumed. "Where are they coming from?"
"Third?" Mike asked.
"Yes! Leo found one in the cupboard chewing holes in the cereal boxes on Monday, and Master Splinter found one ripping up the couch cushions on Thursday! If this little pest chewed up anything in here…"
"Maybe it's the same squirrel?" Mike offered.
"I don't know. I just want to know how they keep getting into the lair!" Don snapped. "Help me put it outside!"
Bishop turned his attention to the kitchen. Since the lab wasn't yielding anything useful at the moment, the kitchen was the next best thing. Growing up on the plantation he learned that the kitchen was often a hotbed of information. Though often dismissed as idle gossip, it was a strange cultural phenomenon that hadn't changed a bit in all these years; for some reason, people spilled more personal and confidential information in the kitchen while preparing food and drink than they did in the most secure war rooms.
Leonardo was sitting at the table chopping vegetables. He was wearing a green and white striped apron that read This is no dress rehearsal- this is it! Raphael was placing a stew pot on the stove; after turning on the burner, he joined his brother at the table.
"So Raph," Leo said as he sliced through a red pepper, "Anything interesting happen last night on patrol?"
"Same old stuff. We ran into some Purple Dragons trying to break into a warehouse," Raph replied.
Bishop raised an eyebrow. It wasn't exactly what he was looking for, but any information he could gather on his other enemies could prove equally valuable.
"Was Hun there?" Leo asked.
"Is it just me…or has Hun gained weight?" Leo asked.
"Yes!" Raph exclaimed. "Geez, I thought I was the only one who noticed. Mikey thinks it's just muscle."
"No way! Muscle don't jiggle like that!"
"That's what I told Mikey, but you know how he is, always Mr. Right."
"Oh yeah?" Leo said. "What does Mr. Right think of Hun's new 'mob boss' look?"
"Amazingly enough, he hasn't expressed an opinion," Raph replied. "What do you think?"
"The vest is an improvement, but what's the deal with his arms? I don't think I've ever seen him wear anything with sleeves!"
"I know! It's like he's saying 'hey, look at my big beautiful muscles! I'm such a stud! I'm so cool!'"
"If he keeps gaining weight like he has, he'll have to start shopping for shirts with sleeves real soon, unless he thinks flabby arms are cool!"
"Have you seen the rest of the Purple Dragons? Apparently flab is in! That and wearing the same clothes for a month!"
The two turtles laughed. Raphael got up to check on the stew pot. He stirred the contents, and then grabbed the salt shaker.
"Raph, why are you putting salt in the stew?" Leo asked.
"Why do you think? It's too bland!"
"You didn't even taste it!"
"I don't have to! We had this same stew for dinner two nights ago! If it was bland when it was fresh, then leftovers will be even worse!"
"It was fine, Raph! Too much salt is bad for your blood pressure!"
"You're bad for my blood pressure!"
"Not as stupid as that apron! Geez, Leo, when did you become such a girly girl?"
"Aprons are not girly! They're practical!"
"Whatever you say, ma'am," Raph smirked. He moved to shake some salt into the pot. Leo leaped out of his seat and grabbed Raph's wrist.
"Drop the salt, Raph!" Leo snapped.
"NO! Let go of me you psycho control freak!"
"Give me the salt and I will!"
"Leo, let me go or so help me I'll…"
"You'll what? A-salt me?"
"That's it! You are so dead!"
The two turtles continued to struggle in front of the stove. Suddenly Raph caughthis elbow on the inside of the pot and accidentally pulled it forward; the pot tipped over, sending a wave of beef stew crashing against his plastron.
"DAMN IT!" Raph yelled.
"Bet you wish you had an apron now," Leo smirked.
Raph looked ready to explode. "I'm going to wash up," he said, his voice shaking with anger. "You can clean up this mess AND make dinner!"
Leo looked like he was about to say something, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Raphael stormed out of the room. Leo sighed and grabbed the paper towels.
Bishop looked over at Don's lab. Donatello was back at his work station attempting to repair some cables that looked as though they'd been chewed. However, thanks to his little brother, he wasn't making much progress.
"What's this, Don?" Mike asked, grabbing what looked like a computer part from Don's workbench.
"Don't touch that!" Don snapped.
"Fine," Mike pouted, putting it back. He then grabbed a beaker full of blue liquid off Don's desk. "What's this, Don?"
"Don't touch!" Don snapped. He jumped up and snatched the beaker from Mike's hand. "Let me make this perfectly clear," Don said evenly. "Everything in this lab is very, very fragile. I am conducting some very delicate experiments and it is very important that nothing, and I mean nothing, in here is to be disturbed in any way, shape or form without my permission. Moving, touching, or even breathing on something wrong could set back weeks of research. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Mike replied solemnly. "Oooooh, what's this?" He squealed, grabbing a silver sphere off the shelf above Don's desk.
Bishop's eyes widened. It couldn't be…a silver sphere the size of a softball with a red diamond-shaped crystal…it was! There was no doubt about it; Michelangelo held in his hand an alien bomb, one that was powerful enough to turn an area the size of Texas into a smoldering crater. He had confiscated a spaceship full of them in Roswell back in 1947. Where on Earth did the turtles get one?
"This is so cool! Where'd you get it, Don?" Mike asked, clearly fascinated by the shiny object in front of him.
"I found it during one of our foraging expeditions!" Don snapped. He tried to grab the sphere from Mike, but this time Mike refused to give it up, choosing instead to hold it out of Don's reach. "C'mon Mikey, give it back! I haven't had a chance to analyze it yet!"
"I'll analyze it for you," Mike laughed as he dodged his brother's repeated attempts to grab the sphere from him. He held it in both hands and looked at it closely. "Lessee…it's round…and silver and red…and I can see myself in it…"
Bishop forced himself to stay calm as he watched the young turtles struggle for control of the bomb. Don't panic, he told himself. Yes, those ignorant brats are messing with godlike power, but that type of bomb has a dozen failsafe mechanisms. The odds of them actually activating it are…
Suddenly the sphere began to emit a shrill beeping sound. "What did you do Mikey?" Don cried.
"Nothing, I swear!" Mike yelled back over the noise.
Bishop's mouth ran dry. He knew that shrill beeping sound meant they all had fifteen seconds to live.
"Give it to me, Mikey!" Don cried as he tried yet again to grab the bomb from his sibling.
"Get off! I can fix it! Just give me a minute!" Mike snapped, pushing Don away.
You don't have a minute you fool! You've killed us all! Bishop screamed inwardly. He straightened up and inhaled deeply. Calm yourself, soldier. You knew you'd go out in a blaze of glory one day. Take it like a man.
Bishop remained stoic as the seconds ticked down…five…four…
Face death the same way you faced life…with bravery and dignity…
"NOOOOOOO! MOMMMMYYYYY!" Bishop suddenly screamed, his long-buried human nature seizing control at the last minute. He hit the deck and covered his head with his arms. Several seconds passed before Bishop realized they had not been reduced to cosmic ash. He looked up and noticed that everybody in the room was staring at him. Slowly he got to his feet and straightened his tie.
"Well, what are you looking at? Get back to work!" He snapped. Immediately all eyes turned their attention back to their workstations. Bishop walked back to the monitor showing Don's lab. The purple-masked turtle was now examining the sphere; the crystal was cracked, which fortunately meant the bomb was permanently deactivated.
"See? I told you I could fix it," Mike said proudly.
"Fix it? You slammed it against the table top!" Don snapped.
"Hey, at least it stopped making all that noise," Mike said. Don shot him a death glare. "Uh, hey, I'd love to stay and help out some more, but I gotta go to the little turtle's room. See ya!"
Mike headed to the bathroom, passing a now squeaky-clean Raph along the way. Mike took one step into the bathroom and immediately took two steps back. "Hey Raph, ever hear of a courtesy flush?" Mike yelled. Raph ignored him. The youngest turtle took a deep breath and stepped back into the bathroom.
"DINNER'S READY!" Leonardo yelled as he placed two large Mexican pizzas on the dining room table. The family quickly assembled, including Master Splinter; Leo placed a sushi tray in front of him. Moments later Mike reappeared and took his place at the table. Splinter uttered a quick blessing, and the turtles attacked their food with gusto.
In his long career as a government agent protecting the world from aliens, Bishop had seen many sick and twisted things. Things that had scarred some of his best men physically or mentally or both. But nothing could prepare him for the carnage he was now witnessing. The deafening sounds of chomping and smacking, food being torn apart and strewn everywhere until it was barely recognizable…the turtles could not make a bigger mess if they'd slaughtered an entire herd of water buffalo. For the first time in his life, Bishop felt sick; he could actually feel his stomach turning and the bile rising in his throat.
Splinter, on the other hand, seemed strangely indifferent. He calmly ate his sushi with a pair of chopsticks, unfazed by the bits of food that flew onto his robe, fur and whiskers. Looking closer at the rat, Bishop thought he recognized something in Splinter's eyes he never expected to see…complete and total surrender. It was as if he had fought a losing battle for a very long time before finally giving up. Fascinating as it was, Bishop didn't really think it counted as a "weakness." The fact that he could sit at that table at all only proved what a formidable foe he really was.
Finally, it was over. Following a round of loud belching, the turtles vacated the table. A minute later Splinter stood up, carried his dirty dish to the kitchen sink, and then returned to his bedroom. Bishop guessed he spent a lot of time in there, at least when his sons were home.
As for the turtles, they were currently engaged in a four-way battle over the TV remote control.
"It's my turn!"
"No way! You had it last night!"
"Well, you had it all day yesterday!"
"That doesn't count! Daytime TV stinks!"
"It's my turn! My favorite show is on!"
"What? Desperate Housewives?"
"I don't watch Desperate Housewives!"
"Then why do you have the complete first season on DVD?"
"I DO NOT!"
"Do too! It's under your bed!"
"It's…it's…what were you doing in my room you little sneak?"
"ENOUGH!" Leonardo yelled, wrenching the remote free from his brothers. "There's only one way to settle this."
"Daytona style?" Mike asked.
"Daytona style," Leo confirmed, placing the remote on the arm of the sofa. The turtles lined up in a row. "Same rules as always. Once around the lair. GO!"
The four turtles were off. Leo took an early lead, pulling away from the pack. Raph tripped up Don and roughly yanked Mike backwards by the tails of his mask, thus seizing second place. He didn't hang onto it for long; Mike leapfrogged over him and sprinted ahead, only to be tripped up a second later by Donny's bo, which had also been used to send Raph to the floor. Thebrainy turtle left his two brothers cursing in his dust as he closed in on Leo, who had rounded the final corner and was in the final stretch, the remote almost within reach. Though Don was closing the gap between them, it looked as if Leo would be the victor.
Donatello's face hardened in determination; in a move that surprised even Bishop, Don let out a Tarzan-like yell, flew through the air, and brought down his brother with a tackle worthy of the NFL. Though impressive, it turned out to be a fruitless effort; Michelangelo came from behind, vaulted over his brothers and triumphantly seized the prize.
"Yes!" Mike cried, holding up the remote. "Yet another victory for Michelangelo, Battle Nexus…"
Suddenly a glob of spit splattered against the remote. The smug look on Michelangelo's face quickly disappeared; he stared at remote in disbelief, and then at the turtle who hocked the loogie.
Raphael held out his hand. "Hand it over, Mikey."
"No fair, Raph!" Mike cried. "I grabbed the remote!"
"And I marked it," Raph smirked. "You know the rules."
Mike slammed the remote into Raph's palm. "Fine! I have better things to do than watch TV anyway!" He stormed off to his room.
Raphael quickly settled onto the couch and pressed a button on the remote. Nothing happened. Raph pressed several other buttons, but still nothing happened. "What the heck is wrong with this stupid thing?" He cried out as he smacked it several times.
"Knock it off Raph!" Don cried. He grabbed the remote. "The last thing I feel like doing is fixing something else you broke!"
"I didn't break it!" Raph said defensively.
"Not yet," Don said. He looked at the remote. "Wait a minute…this isn't the TV remote. It's the remote for the CD changer!"
"What?" Raph cried. "Mikey! I'll bet he switched the remotes!" He got up and stormed over to Mike's bedroom door. "Okay, Mikey! Hand over the TV remote or else!"
"I don't have the stupid remote!" Mike yelled back.
"I think I'll just see for myself!" Raph yelled, reaching for the knob.
"NO! DON'T COME IN!" Mike yelled.
Raph pushed the door open. "WHAT THE SHELL…" was all he could get out before dozens of squirrels poured out of the room and into the lair. Chaos ensued as the turtles leaped into action and tried to corral the elusive critters; for twenty minutes they cursed, yelled, and overturned furniture until every squirrel was finally rounded up. No sooner was that done Leo, Raph and Don ganged up on their youngest brother, tossing him on the sofa and surrounding him.
"All right, Mikey, what were all those squirrels doing in your room?" Leo demanded.
"I was training them!" Mike gulped, cringing under his brothers' withering glares.
"Training them?" Don echoed. "For what?"
"Okay, everybody loves squirrels, right? They're cute and furry…no one would ever suspect them of being spies!"
The other turtles (and Bishop) looked at Mikey in disbelief. "You were…training them to be spies?" Leo asked.
"Yeah! I figured Don could invent collars with little tape recorders we could fit around their necks, and they could infiltrate the Purple Dragon's headquarters and the Foot's, and get all kinds of useful information!" Mike smiled proudly.
"And I thought Casey was the world's biggest bonehead," Raph said. "You after his title?"
"I can't believe you kept thirty squirrels in your room and didn't tell us!" Leo said.
"Thirty-three," Mike corrected.
"Whatever," Leo said. "All this week they've been getting into everything, chewing stuff up and leaving droppings everywhere! They were driving us all crazy and you never said a word!"
"Come to think of it, I'm surprised we never figured it out," Don said. "I mean, it's hard to keep something like this a secret."
"That's right!" Mike said. "So in a way…this is your fault too!"
"Can it, Mikey, there's only one turtle to blame here, and he must be punished," Raph growled. He looked at Leo and Don. "Right guys?"
Mike looked around at his brothers' grave expressions. Suddenly a look of horrified realization spread across his face. He sprang to his feet, but was quickly seized by Leo and Don; pinning his arms behind his back, they slammed him onto the coffee table, plastron side down.
"No guys, I'm sorry! I'm really, really sorry! Please!" Mike cried as he struggled with all his might. Raphael stood over his brother, jaw clenched, glaring down at him with a look of utter contempt. Mike continued to beg for mercy, but his brothers remained unmoved.
Bishop leaned forward. He had never seen the turtle look so terrified, not even when he was about to be dissected. The agent's mind spun. He had always prided himself as always being three steps ahead of his adversaries; he had been studying the turtles for well over a year, long before they even knew he existed. None of his data indicated they were capable of true evil, but the scene unfolding before him indicated otherwise. If he was wrong about that, then maybe he really didn't understand these creatures at all. And if that was true, then maybe everything he had ever…
Suddenly Raphael turned around, bent over and farted in Mikey's face.
Bishop's mind froze. He stood speechless as Leo, Don, and Raph laughed while Mike rolled around on the floor gagging.
"Not bad, Raph," Leo laughed. "Not your best work, but not bad."
"What do you mean, 'not bad'?" Raph said.
"He's still conscious," Leo observed. "I've seen your stink bombs knock him out cold!"
"Leo's right, bro, you're losing your touch," Don smirked.
"Oh, yeah? Ten bucks says I could mop the floor with any one of you clowns!" Raph snapped.
"You're on!" Leo snapped.
"I'm in!" Don said.
"Me too!" Mike gasped from the floor.
Bishop's forehead began to throb so hard it looked like it was about to burst. "I'm going to get some coffee," he told Johnson through clenched teeth. "Page me when the turtles finish their…contest."
Bishop sat in the commissary staring into his coffee, as if it held the answer to all of his problems. Not one hour ago his plan was brilliant: lure the turtles out of hiding, plant a spy camera on one of them, follow them home and destroy them. He should be dissecting their carcasses by now. How could things have gone so horribly wrong? How could those freaks elude him yet again? Those filthy, disgusting, freaks that the spy camera proved were far more filthy and disgusting than he ever imagined.
Bishop clenched the coffee cup tightly. Failure was unacceptable. He was head of the most elite military unit in the world. He had the most advanced technology in the universe at his disposal. He had faced wave after wave of powerful alien invaders and defeated them. Four adolescent mutants were nothing. Minor annoyances aside, in the end he would find them and destroy them with the same ruthless efficiency he had used to protect the Earth all these years.
Bishop glanced at his watch and was abruptly startled out of his train of thought. Throwing the coffee in the direction of the trash bin (and missing), he stormed back to the surveillance room.
"JOHNSON!" Bishop bellowed, nearly giving the young man a heart attack. "I thought I told you to page me when the turtles were done with that contest!"
"Y-yes s-sir," Johnson gulped, staring at his boss fearfully. "I-I know…"
"That was ninety minutes ago!" Bishop hissed. "Why haven't you called me?"
"W-well sir, it's…it's just that…I mean…"
Bishop glanced over Johnson's shoulder. Not only were the turtles still going strong, but their friend Casey Jones had joined the game.
"Gentleman, gentleman, these antics might impress a five-year-old," Casey smiled. "But you have a long way to go before you're ready to play with the big dogs!"
"Is that so?" Raph snapped. "Why don't you put your money where your butt is?"
"Gladly," Casey replied, slapping a ten dollar bill on the coffee table with the others. "You boys might want to hold onto something."
The turtles watched Casey with anticipation.
"Well?" Raph snapped.
"Hang on…it's coming…"
Whether or not "it" ever came would forever remain a mystery; Bishop's fist connected with the monitor, sending it crashing to the floor in a shower of sparks. There were many audible gasps as all eyes turned on him.
The Captain came running up to him. "What happened, sir? Is there a problem?"
"PROBLEM?" Bishop bellowed. "NO, THERE'S NO PROBLEM! I'VE FINALLY FIGURED OUT HOW TO DEFEAT THE TURTLES! ALL WE NEED IS A FART CANNON!"
"A…fart cannon, sir?" The Captain blinked.
"YES! A FART CANNON! ONE THAT CREATES THE BIGGEST AND BEST FARTS IN THE UNIVERSE! WE'LL BRING THE TURTLES TO THEIR KNEES! I'LL GET STOCKMAN ON IT AT ONCE!"
"Uh, Sir, perhaps you should get some rest," the Captain said cautiously. "Or better yet, take some vacation time. You do have 500 days saved up…"
"I DON'T NEED A VACATION, I NEED A DRINK!" Bishop yelled as he stormed out of the room. "I'LL BE AT THE BAR DOWN THE STREET! CANCEL ALL OF MY MEETINGS FOR THE REST OF THE DAY, BECAUSE I'M GOING TO BE THERE A LONG, LONG TIME!"