Zen and the Art of Rescue Missions, Chapter One

[lonewolfprincess]

“Goood evening, ladies and gentlemen!” The man in the gray suit waited for the live studio audience’s cheers to die down. “I am your host Walton Gray, and welcome to the Cuisine Channel’s special charity marathon, the Fullmetal Feast! Yes, tonight we are hosting a live marathon of our most brilliant stars showing off their culinary skills, just a little warmup before they clash head-to-head in our most grueling challenge to date: the Fullmetal Gastronomist Gauntlet!”

He gestured to the line of eight chefs, standing ramrod straight in pristine chef’s uniforms before the elated crowd.

“Not only will our culinary heroes be battling to provide meals and repairs to the good people of New York City in the wake of the Metro Tower Disaster two months ago, but whoever wins our single-elimination bracket will join our pantheon of Fullmetal Gastronomists!” Gray steepled his fingers and grinned menacingly. “And every $100,000 we raise for this heroic cause buys a random sabotage for the Gauntlet, with an extra special challenge for the million-dollar mark! Mwahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Mwahahahaha!” Mikey cackled along with him for the first few seconds. All three of his brothers shared looks of mild horror and sunk a little more into their bean bags.

“Uhhh, should we be worried?” Raph asked as Gray’s laugh kept echoing from the laptop through the orange turtle’s train car. “I thought you said this was gonna be cozy and heartwarming and epic.”

Mikey nodded eagerly. “Oh yeah, it will be, especially the demos! But a cooking competition without convoluted sabotages to turn their dishes into disasters is just boring!”

Leo snorted, ruffling Mikey’s head as his other hand picked up another slice of pizza from the array of boxes before them.

“Can’t have that, can we? Surprised Casey’s missing out on this. Nerd…” He couldn’t keep all the pride out of his voice though.

“Yes, well, I think we can all agree touring the city with April is a much more productive use of his time than pacing around the lair waiting for the next mission,” Donnie piped up, not looking up from his own tablet. “Thank April for taking him under her wing and giving him a chance to expand his horizons beyond averted-apocalypse veteran.”

The boys nodded as one.



“Okay, correct me if I’m wrong…” Casey said, as dryly as the breeze that flitted over the roof he stood on and sent him shivering again, “but I thought in this time period people could just… walk into a shop? And not have to stake them out like a supply raid?”

April shushed him, waving her hand to get him to crouch deeper and join her in a huddle.

“Alright, so… you know how Lady Brainface got snatched up?”

Oh. Another chill shot through him, deeper and sharper than the late autumn evening.

“Yeah…?”

That night… April and Casey and Splinter barely, barely had a chance to release a shaky, tear-stained breath when they heard Leo whine about Staten Island over the comms. Before they could even get out more than half a sentence of plans to collect the turtles, dress wounds, secure the lair, deal with the last homicidal alien left… the screech of rubber and wail of sirens. April and Splinter scrambled away to hide in the dawn shadows to watch as black vans carrying black suits combed over the construction site, stuffed Lady Brainface in a jar like an earthly jellyfish, and wheeled her into one of the vans, only marked with a vaguely federal seal in red, no writing. Every trace of physical evidence swept away. Camera footage already scrubbed clean and patched with loops. Even social media feeds featured massive gaps in pics and footage. Vanished.

“And how we’ve been hitting all sorts of dead ends tracking her down?”

Hard to forget. Casey scouring the construction site in vain for some overlooked clue. April bonking her head on the desk at another dead-end Moogle search. A totally-healthy-enough-to-do-computer-work-again Donnie howling and leaping up from his chair after breaking through yet another firewall only to have the results behind it already razed to the ground.

“I am going to sink every penny to their still-elusive names in the shoddiest cryptocurrency I can find! You hear me?!” Donnie had shouted, despite the fact that April and Casey had wisely sprinted from the room already. “EVERY! PENNY!!!” He shook his compression-gloved fist in the air… and then immediately cradled it to his chest. “Ow, my vengeance hand!”

Casey just… nodded, not sure if this latest shudder was from the wind or the memory. It’d been too long since he saw any Donatello in Vengeful Mad Scientist mode.

“Well, I think I finally found a lead,” April said with a cool smirk.

Casey peered over the edge of the rooftop overlooking 9th Avenue.

“… ‘Teddy’s Chocolatier and Royal Icecreamery’?”

He squinted at the sign, featuring a slightly ugly teddy bear mascot with a crown devouring a soft-serve cone nearly drenched in chocolate. Below that hung a candy-colored banner with the words “Grand Opening!”

“Okay, the name is clunky… and isn’t ‘ice cream’ supposed to be two words? But that’s hardly suspicious.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” The Foot Shack had taught her well, though. Never again! April pulled out her phone, flipping through screenshots. “I’ve been doing some more digging into Eastlaird’s financials.” You know, for her more legit college journalism. “Get a load of this.”

Casey scanned the image. Lots of names, lots of numbers… one in the center.

“Teddy’s Chocolatier and Royal Icecreamery.” Casey’s eyes flitted over to the matching number… and bugged out. “Um… that’s… that’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“Yup.” April pointed back to building. “Now… how’s a candy shop that supposedly just opened this week- and can’t even shell out for half-decent graphic design- come into that kind of money?”

“You think it’s fake.”

“I’m almost positive.”

“Okay, but… what are they up to? Is it connected to the Krang, or something else?”

“That’s what we’re gonna find out. So, here’s the plan: you distract the staff with lots of questions, I’ll slip into the back rooms and see what I can dig up.”

Casey saluted with a firm nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

April chuckled, shaking her head as she gently shoved his shoulder. “Don’t you start with that ‘ma’am’ nonsense.”

“Er…” Casey’s hand flew from his forehead to the back of his neck to rub it. “Sorry, I… old habit?”

April smiled as she sat up, not unkindly. “It’s okay, I’m just messing with you.” The two of them gave determined smiles at the building below, April’s glasses glinting in the streetlights. “Now let’s do this.”

The interior was bright and cheerful, no line at the glass-cased counters, but plenty of people perusing the shelves of chocolate or eating sundaes at the little tables. April and Casey strode across the checkerboard linoleum to the front counter. A young woman slouched behind it, the candy pink apron and pink-piped soja jerk hat on her short-cropped head doing nothing to soften the scowl on her face.

“Welcome to Teddy’s Chocolatier and Royal Icecreamery… one word…” she growled. “How may I—”

But then she finally lifted her gaze to her customers, and she leapt back to gasp and point dramatically.

“O’NEIL!”

“Casey?!” April shouted back.

Casey Jones Jr. just… stared. Wide-eyed. And picked up his jaw off the floor with a strangled squeak.



“Yup, just a nice, relaxing night for all of us,” Donnie sighed contentedly, lifting his eyes from his phone to the laptop screen for a just a moment. “Oh wow, he is still going with that evil laugh, impressive work.”

Almost perfectly on cue, though, Walton Gray bent over and let out a mighty cough, wheezing to catch his breath.

“Ouch.” Leo winced for a split second before grinning again. “Think that’s a few seconds shy of your record, Dontron.”

Donnie nodded. “Still a respectable effort.”

Walton cleared his throat. “Anyway, don’t worry about the torture for now. We’ve got an amazing lineup of brilliant chefs and mouthwatering recipes tonight, starting with…” He and the spotlight traveled to one end of the line, where a beautiful Japanese woman in her early forties stood waiting. “The Cuisine Channel’s newest rising star! A third-generation master of Japanese home cooking hailing from our very own Queens! Her journey at the Cuisine Channel started a scant five months ago on our top show ‘Home Cook Hoedown’, winning second place in our grueling Season Five, and now she’s the host of her own smash hit show ‘Let’s Cook Together’! Give it up for Megumi Iida!”

Mikey grinned and clapped along with the studio audience. “Chef Iida’s amazing! She’s so nice and sweet too, it’s like having a mom teach you how to cook! She’s where I got the oyakodon recipe last week!”

His big brothers nodded and hummed eagerly; that had been tasty.

Chef Iida smiled serenely, the deep brown waves of her long ponytail gliding over the shoulder of her chef’s whites as she gave the audience a medium bow at the waist.

“Konbanwa, everyone! Thank you to our audience here and watching at home tonight. The last couple of months have been difficult, repairing our bodies, hearts, and homes in the face of the Metro Tower Incident. The journey to recovery is going to be a long one, but by working together…”



“… we can ease the burden and hopefully come out stronger than ever.”

“Nice job, Mom!”

Kotori Iida smiled at her mother’s face on her tablet screen, propped up on the long bar counter, before pinching a few more pieces of popcorn out of her bowl and popping them in her mouth. The whole country was slowly learning about the warm, sweet, calm presence Kotori had known her whole life. But only she caught the soft hitch of a nervous cleansing breath before her mother’s bow. Only she knew how many hours Megumi had practiced that speech in their apartment above the restaurant, by herself in the bathroom and then with her daughter as a practice audience. It made the smooth, graceful delivery now that much more satisfying to watch, pride and just a little warmth at being in on the secret brightening Kotori’s chest ever so slightly.

“Now, Let’s Cook Together, shall we?” Megumi chuckled softly as she made her way to the long station near the audience, not unlike the bar Kotori sat at now, dividing the restaurant’s open kitchen from the front dining area. “Tonight, we’ll be making a simple but nourishing ochazuke topped with fresh salmon and marinated ikura, perfect for the cold autumn weather.”

Kotori’s eyes glistened at the description. “Oh, that sounds amazing~!” Her stomach growled in agreement. “I should probably have dinner too. … Maybe…”

Her eyes flitted over the bar to the refrigerator. She was pretty sure they had most of the ingredients in stock. (Although it’d been a few months since her mom really kept the restaurant stocked for full service.) Maybe… maybe she could make some? All she’d have to do was cook some rice, steep some green tea or dashi (maybe she could even try making the latter from scratch instead of an instant packet), slice—

Kotori looked at the knife block standing tall on the counter, just on the other side of the bar, roughly a dozen knives of all sizes plunged deep into the wood. She barely raised her shaking left hand towards it before she flinched and cradled it to her chest, ring finger phantom-stinging under the Band-Aid. A shuddering breath as the fear sunk down into shame.

“Come on…” she whispered. “I survived a freaking alien apocalypse, but I still can’t…?”

Yeah, she survived. By running. And hiding. That was all she was good for besides eating, right?

She buried her face in her arms and the bar countertop, took deep shaky breaths, tried to drown out the doubts in her head and the loud, hollow silence of the restaurant that pressed against her mother’s voice coming from a cold tablet. She could’ve been in the audience tonight, but… long hours sitting in a loud crowd of strangers, watching food cooked that wouldn’t actually be served to the audience… and going outside. Where people could apparently turn into monsters at random, or slimy pink aliens could crash in from the sky and swallow everything. The last thing her mom needed was her having a panic attack during a big live event.

… She probably should’ve risked it anyway. At least she wouldn’t be alone. Again.

“I’ll just… order a pizza…”



“Alright, the bonito flakes have all sunk to the bottom of the pot. Now we can strain it…” Carefully, she poured the bright amber dashi into a large glass bowl, a fine-mesh sieve catching the mass of finely shaved bonito in one thick layer. “And there!” She smiled warmly at the “ooh”s and “ahh”s of the audience. “You can also use instant dashi, but that little extra effort really helps the dish shine. Trust your ingredients…”

“Trust yourself!” Mikey finished in unison, smiling sagely.

Before the turtle could provide more commentary, though, the donation counter at the bottom of the screen flashed, and a dinner bell sound clamored through the studio.

“Would you look at that!” Walton Gray called out, rubbing his hands fiendishly. “Fifteen minutes in and we’ve already hit our first goal of the evening at $100,000! Just a reminder, not only does this fund soup kitchens and emergency construction throughout the city, but it also means the first of many potential sabotages for the Fullmetal Gastronomist Gauntlet! We’ll keep the surprise until the main event, but—”

Double doors slammed open behind the live studio audience. Smoke poured out the open doors and down the bleachers like a waterfall. Red eyes gleamed through the haze before the rest of the body appeared, pink and towering and loaded with muscle and fat in equal measure. A grin like a boning knife flashed under the porcine nose as tiny hoofs strolled down the steps with the confidence of a king. Three more figures behind him grinned viciously as they locked the doors and followed in the pink colossus’s wake.

The turtles all gasped. (Or “GASP!”ed, in Donnie’s case.)

“Meat Sweats?!”

“And the Mud Dogs?!” Raph cried out. The others gave him puzzled eyebrows, and his own shock crumbled into a grimace. “Don’t ask…”



“Happy Flour Pizza, how can I help you?”

“Um, hi…” Kotori said into her phone. “I’d like to place an order for delivery, please? One extra large kitchen sink pizza, garlic knots, and a cookie—”

Kotori’s breath caught as her eyes flicked back to the screen. She’d muted her tablet but kept the feed running for the phone call, but… she pressed the volume back up hastily.

“Hey-hey-hey-hey-hey!” Walton called out. “I specifically said we’d unveil the sabotages during the competition—GAH!”

A metal gauntlet hoisted him into the air by his lapels.

“What competition?” the pig mutant asked with an oily chuckle. “You mean these line cooks? As far as I can tell, there’s only one chef here worthy of being called the next Fullmetal Gastronomist! Me! Rupert Swaggart!”

Walton gulped and flailed in Swaggart’s grasp. Megumi… took one step towards the pig. Then another. And another. Until her frozen-lake calm stride brought her right up to him, craning her neck to look him right in his shiny red eyes.

“Mom, no, what are you doing…?!” Kotori hissed in vain.

“Sir.” Megumi crossed her arms. “You and your friends are being very disruptive, and if you really are a chef, then your behavior is even more disgraceful.” She coolly gestured to the doors he and the Mud Dogs came from. “Now, either you can sit down quietly with the rest of the audience, or you can leave.”

Swaggart… blinked. For a good few seconds. Before throwing his head back for a mighty guffaw.

“Well, well, well!” he hooted once he paused for breath. “It looks like the little cooking mama has a heaping tablespoon of cinnamon to go with her sugar! Delightful!”

Megumi gasped in disgust. “Excuse me?!”

Swaggart just grinned at his new sous chefs. “Truss her up, and all the other so-called chefs.”

The Mud Dogs saluted and pulled out huge loops of rope. “Yes, boss!”

Kotori couldn’t even find the voice to scream as the mutants bound her struggling mother with rope and a cloth gag and dragged her out of the camera’s view.

“Hello?” the hostess still on the phone asked. “Are you still there?”

Kotori stared blankly at the screen. “… My mom just got kidnapped… By a giant pig…”

“… Is this a prank?”

“N-no, I… I’m sorry, I…” She could barely hear the hostess, ears buzzing, breath racing, all her hunger shoved out by an electrified cannonball in her gut. “S-sorry, I… c-cancel the order, sorry, h-have a good night…”

Her thumb pressed the End Call button for her.

“Mom…”



Oh. So, this wasn’t part of the show. The studio audience shared silent looks… then all gasped, screamed, ran for the nearest door, shook the handles, pounded them when they wouldn’t move.

“Oh, don’t bother, everyone!” Swaggart called out with antifreeze sweet cheer. “I’ve already locked all the exits. I do like a captive audience! AHAHAHA!”

“Ugh…” the turtles groaned in unison.

“Okay yeah, that one hurt me,” Leo drawled as he rose to his feet. Where was that shock collar when they needed it? “On the plus side…” he said, smirk blooming, “you know what this means?”

“New mission!” everyone cried out, hopping up and punching the air with glee.

“That’s right, the dry spell is finally over, boys!”

Seriously, New York had been “quiet… too quiet” the last couple of months. Very useful, given the number of new scars, broken bones, and figuratively and literally frayed nerves that needed that time and calm to repair. After the eye patch and the four compression gloves and Leo’s array of casts and slings and braces came off, though… there’d been barely any action beyond being there at just the right time to stop a back-alley robbery or a hold-up at a bodega. All important, to be sure, and probably better for their recovering bodies than something like “Big Mama tried to take over the whole city again” or “yet another deeply traumatizing alien invasion,” but still… too quiet. Especially now that someone somewhere had their hands on a whole live Krang. A stretch of good weather that felt too much like the eye of a storm.

For now, though, Leo focused on the positive. A chance for him and his brothers to stretch their legs, get back in the groove of fighting real evil as a team! … And hopefully prove that he could take things seriously as a leader…

“Let’s roll!”



“What do I do, what do I do…?”

Calm down… she forced herself to think, hands bunching in the knees of her sweatpants. Breathe… she told herself, breath hitching through watery sobs. There had to be something she could do, someone she could call.

911 was Kotori’s first half-thought… but they were probably fielding a dozen calls about this already. And it wasn’t like the police had helped with any of the other incidents of humans-turned-half-animals causing chaos in the last few years.

Her father… she didn’t know if the number in her phone was still the right one, wouldn’t even know he was still alive after the invasion if he hadn’t given her mother a very brief call while Kotori was at school to miss it. Wherever he was, there was no guarantee he’d arrive in time.

Shinobu would know what to do, or at least just be there while Kotori’s world fell apart… But she was even further away now, the whole Kojika family moved to California because New York was clearly too dangerous for Shinobu’s three grade-school siblings.

No other relatives… no other friends. And Megumi was strong, but how was she supposed to save herself and all those people alone?

No one. Except…

Kotori stared at the tablet screen. The idea flowed through her like a waterfall, cold and shocking and likely to knock her senseless if she let it swallow her but… somehow grounding her too, drowning the fear in the torrent. The last time she’d tried to save her family, she’d failed, but…

She grabbed the tablet firmly, gaze hardening.

“Hang on, Mom… I’m coming.”