Clan of the Turtle

by Nicholas Arganbright

INTRODUCTION:
America. The only place in the world where such things as Freedom can ring true.  America thus, allows many other things and happenings to occur in this great country.  Like Hollywood. And the great thing known as celebrity. America has evolved such a long way from what it was. From when everyone, even the racist dominant species, the white American male, was scared shitless and didn’t know what side of the bed to piss on.  But as it has been said, America has evolved a long way.

Yes, there are still problems with in the communities of racist issues, but we have come a long way from that time.  Now days, it’s not about racism much anymore.  That was in the early nineties, with the Rodney King beating  by Powell and Wind.  But... something else occurred which... I guess... one could say... started with the Rodney King beating. 

You see, America is also sadly accustomed to such things which are called media circuses.  And oh, how many there have been.  The Rodney King Media Circus.  The Unabomber Media Circus.  The Oklahoma Bombing on April 15th.  Which, years earlier on the same date, occurred the Waco, Texas outburst.  Even the whole Ramsey child’ murder which still to this day is unsolved.  Or what about the tragic Colombine Shooting, which in essence started an outcry from kids who have so much anger and regression to let out, they do so in cold blooded murder? And the media of course exploits it, to the very point where you care not about the people involved anymore.  You just want news of the world.  No offense but if the murder of kids in Colorado is the ONLY thing in the world going on.... well it just shows the thing which cripples us today.  Every day, the US Senate, and the US House of Representatives and the President himself, pass laws, vote on laws, veto bills, do things everyday.  We don’t hear of such things.  Why?  Cos... though the event is tragic, we are blinded by such instances.  Thus is the power and danger, of the media, and the tent & three rings we abide by. 

Two though which was in the center ring of the circus, grabbing all the attention, of course , stick to mind. And the two not yet mentioned are two you should of at least heard about, in case you were locked up in solitary confinement.  The O.J. Simpson Trial, and the death of Princess Di.  Though the death of Princess Di helped the world come together in some small way, the price of her death... what a pity.  The Media had a hand in her demise. 

Surprisingly, a couple years back, in New York City, some media circuses are small and local, and though one would suspect them to be huge, instead there isn’t a large crowd for the circus that time.  But then again... the FBI was concerned. 

In the months of 1999 to 2000, exactly from October 14th 1999, to August 18th of 2000, violent outbreaks and strange reporting were attributed to local papers around the city, and thus, FBI involvement.  It started with a dead body of a local NYC college professor, who was working with the government.  Before his secret experiment could be completed in any way shape or form, he was found murdered.  His assistant too was not found and too considered murdered.  His wife was found later, in an odd displaced nuclear fire in a warehouse off of the FDR Freeway, on the docks with many other bodies as well.  The bodies were eventually matched with dental records to conclude that some of the most known criminal leaders of the local crime syndicates were present and thus accounted for.  New York was now not troubled by the Altecians, a group of Russian Terrorists operating by trafficking under drugs and software; the Farley Brothers Gang, and the largely known the Puzorelli Family.  And though the city rejoiced, many know not still to this day, and probably won’t, on what brought such terror down from on high to Dante and his levels of hell.  One thing though is for sure, the NYPD nor their SCU had no help in such actions, and though the FBI were trying to bring them down and publically admited such feats, they denied any part of the actual takedown. 

For almost twenty-three to twenty-seven years, rumors of rumblings and such under the sewers of the fair City of New York City have been continuing for years.  Some remember the alligator scar in 1979, and some bodies of the creatures were found dead of toxic poisons.  But some say, specially around 1989, a group of teenagers reported of humanoid turtles.  Others, say that they were called the 49th Street Stompers; teenagers, or midget perverts who would dress up in highly believable holloween costumes, and make attempts of fighting crime.  Then there is also the easily found and noted Purple Dragon Gang, found slaughtered in a back alley, off Bleeke Street.  The crime baffeled the NYPD so much, thinking it was another gang or syndicate, the FBI came in. 

All those rumors of mutant animals.  Reptiles, to be exact.  Either Alligator or Turtle, the story on how they were connected to the brutal slaying and taking down of each major NYC Crime Syndicate is all legible.  Strange DNA findings have been found around the scenes of the crime.  But one thing is still a sure thing; that the creatures that took down the syndicates were not human. 

PROLOGUE:
For the longest of time, the room was silent, and two uneven hands were handling very unstable chemicals.  Professor Russo sighed.  As the coffee-enhanced wrinkled skin lifted up, the opposite hand, his right displayed a Gold Timex watch.    Despite the time, which read 5:24 A.M, James Russo had no baggage under his eyes in anyway shape or form.  And for a eighty-two year old man, this is pretty good also considering he has been up for two days straight working on the project which lay in front of him.

The small room was great for the elderly scientist.   Though small, his colleagues thought of him as a joke.  A laugh.  And even his assistant was hoping that they wouldn’t fail, for his face would be dishonored if it went awry.   Looking at the other life form in the room, a small rat named Stretch, the old man smiled at the small creature.

Stretch was called Stretch for an obvious reason.  His body was long. Thin, like a stick.  Stretch though, oblivious to the fact due to not having the capability us humans have to have logic and reason, sat quietly looking back up at the weird form who took care of him since he first remembered light. 

The elements in front of him, gray like that of liquid nitrogen in an oblong beaker bubbled slightly.  Like a child playing with a new toy, Russo pressed a button a console to his right.  His ingenious feeble eyes watched in amazement as the fluid from one beaker was sucked into the long thin tubes, like watching a hamster running thru a maze; going up, down, left, right.  Slowly his attention turned towards the ultimate destination; a square-like beaker being supported above a Bunsen Burner. 

Russo’s train of thought was shattered and he awoke from his playtime as a loud ‘thwack’ filled his ears.  Turning abruptly for not paying attention,  the chemical beaker and it’s stand fell towards the glass structure.  Within, Stretch didn’t even brace himself.

As the glass shattered everywhere, the tiny rat bolted in fear.  As he dashed, his speed neglected him good balance from not hitting the stand above the Bunsen Burner.  As Stretch continued to dart across the long canvas of the marble table, the stand holding the beaker fell and shattered.

Russo not panicking of his experiment going all wrong, went straight for his furry friend.

“Oh Mr.Russo?”

Russo turned towards the door. The only way in and out of the room.  It was a voice he feared would soon come for him.  But he never expected it this soon.   The eyes sunk over the Bunsen Burner, as the liquid hit the flame and it started going over the edge as the blue flame turned into greenish red.  Russo turned his attention elsewhere on the table.  For Stretch was going back for the marble table and the remains of his cage; The strange voice called out again.

“Hey old man, where the fuck are you?  We are here... to collect.”

“Shh. Bruno he’s in here.”

The door swung open and two large muscled men entered the room. One with a Klobb and the other, a Cougar Magnum.  Tho the room was barely lit, the light from the moon and the small desk lamp gave the Cougar Magnum a beautiful but deadly look.

“Okay.  James, we know you’re here.  We heard about your little run ins with the police.  That is why we’re here to collect.”  the one known as Bruno responded.   Edgy as hell, he fired a gun when a small sound bellowed thru the small room.

A loud squeak followed, and thus, Russo stood up from behind the marble table.  “You killed Stretch...”

“Aww let’s get a little red violin and play it for you.” The gun was aimed at his chest.  He looked down though, at his deceased friend.

Almost deceased that is; Stretch was still breathing.  His leg was hit. Surprisingly it wasn’t shot off.  The rat though was covered in blood and a gray blue slime.  As the leg began to turn blue then gray, almost as if he was becoming a plastic figure, Bruno stepped up.

“So, the boss wants to know.  Where... the FUCK.... is the Plasticosis?”  Bruno hissed as he nudged the gun between the man’s eyes. 

“Hey... easy there Brune.  We don’t need you to blow him away... we are here to collect the formula for whatever this shit is.”

“I know Kirby.  But it’s hard. Ya’ know?” Bruno sympathetically pleaded.

Russo gave a straight forward look, holding his hands up, looking at Kirby, steering eye contact away from Bruno.  “Listen... guys... the formula.. isn’t complete yet.  I found no way to nutralize the--”

“No. You listen here you old fart.  The Boss... gave you funding for this shit.  And after the things we found you doing... snooping around the pig pen... I mean... what the fuck? You think we don’t have people around? You think you can rat us out?”

The Ancient Russo looked Bruno in the iris, looking for any form of compassion he could muster in the strong imbecile.  “That’s... I could explain this guys, but please... I was in the middle of working on all this for you.”

“I think we should fucking blow his knee cap out and take him back to the boss.”

“No! No hurting of this guy.  Graves can’t finish the job.  He will need his help.  If you finish him now stupid, the boss won’t get whatever the fuck this shit is.”  Kirby smacked the back of Bruno’s head.  Kirby paused, strutting over to Russo.  “What exactly, does this stuff do anyway?”

“It’s sorta... like osmosis.  But it deals with the chemicals which equal plastic.  If done correctly, and as theorized, imagine a super strong plastic.  Sorta like there is... metal.”

“You mean, this whole experiment is about creating some sort of a super plastic?”

“Yes! I believe it is.  See, the chemicals joined together begins to separate thru the original membranes and... well... add DNA to the structure if you well. Making the cells equal and or more powerful strength.” Russo explained, “It’s quite fascinating really.”

Bruno scratched his head.  He hadn‘t heard such big words like this since he dropped out of the ninth grade.  “Like armor? Then? Maybe?”

Bruno‘s head met with Kirby‘s hand once again.  “Yes Bruno, you dumb fuck.”

“Quit fucking hitting me! I am getting tired of your shit-”

As the two begin to squabble, Russo looked down wishing for the emotional fear and suffering of two men holding a gun to his head, to end.  Yet, he looked in amazement, as the rat was now all plastic looking. As he reached forward to feel his seemingly plastic figurine pet, a shot fired coming from the big edgy brute and Russo screamed.  One finger was shot off, lying next to the rat, which had a scorch mark on it.  No bullet hole.  Russo fought the pain in his body and in his hand, as it seemed his idea worked.  But then again...

...it was the last thing eighty-three year old Professor James Russo thought before another bullet was lodged into his head.

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