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Cock-a-what now?

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“What the FUCK is that?”

Leo drove his sword through the final foot bot soldier, slicing up from naval to throat to flay the thing open, then turned with an automatic admonishment on his lips.

Mikey got there first. “Language, Raph-a-….hell.”

His final enemy slain, Leo turned, and looked up… and up. And yeah, ok, so Raph had a point. “Donnie?” he barked out, readying his grip on his swords. The turtle in question barely looked up from where he had sequestered himself in the corner of the warehouse with his portable laptop, working on breaking some code or other that would unlock the doors to the trap they’d walked into tonight.

“Just a minute, Leo. I’m nearly done. Just… keep it entertained for a second.”

Yeah right. Easier said than done. Raphael’s ‘fuck’ in question was a bird, or half of one at least. From the front it looked like a chicken. Only a ten-foot tall chicken with beady eyes bigger than a dinner plate and feathers longer than a baseball bat. From behind it was a science experiment gone wrong with a long scaley snake tail. It was dragging along two foot soldiers at the end of a rope and, as it saw the turtles and reared its head up, they dropped the rope and ran for the door. It slammed behind them with a sort of finality, Leo thought. Looks like they had one more fight tonight.

Mikey fell in beside him with a whoop, followed a second later by Raph. “Sit rep.” Leo barked out.

“Oh, I dunno, Fearless Leader. All foot bots down and counted for. Just got old how to train your chicken here to go.”

Mikey snorted. “El Pollo Grande,” he said, striking a pose with one arm in the air like a matador. Or a flamenco dancer, Leo wasn’t sure.

“Whatever, finger lickin’. Lets do this!” And Raph was off, sais in offensive position. The chicken’s head tilted, and it roared out a squawk in reply.

“Whoo, yeah!” Mikey cheered, following on. “Come on, Michael Quackson, let’s dance.”

Leo sighed, before following. “Wrong bird, Mikey.”

“Whatever, Leo. Just because you can’t think up good names on the fly like yours truly.” Mikey ducked under the razor sharp beak and rapped it with his nun-chuks before darting away. “Hey Marty McFly, how do you cockadoodle do?”

It wasn’t the most exciting fight of the night.

As far as big chickens went, that’s all it turned out to be… just a big chicken. One rap on the back of the head with the blunt end of Raph’s sai and the thing calmed down.

When it calmed down, they calmed down… some faster than others… and now the huge animal was scratching about the floor looking for corn while Donnie worked his magic on the last of the locks. Leo wandered over to hover over Donnie’s shoulder and watch the proceedings while Raph, possibly feeling bad over hitting what now appeared to be an innocent animal on the head, wandered about in the huge bird’s wake, admiring the plumage. Leo was frankly relieved that this bird was just too big to fit in Raph’s shell or he had a feeling they’d be going home with another pet tonight.

He caught Donnie’s eye, who was sitting smirking at him, and flushed. “What?”

“I’ll slice you into Southern Fried Chicken strips?” Donnie said, raising an eye ridge in question.

Leo flushed a little more. “So what if I can’t come up with good names on the spot, like Mikey. At least it was the right species. What would you call it?”

“Probably a cockatrice.” Donnie mused. “Either that or ‘unfortunate’. Looks like Shredder is running out of animals to use the mutagen on.” He grinned as Mikey… attracted by the sound of people making up names in his vicinity… popped up to fling an arm over Leo’s shoulder. “We’re free by the way. I opened the last lock about ten minutes ago.”

“Can we stop off for Colonel on the way home, Leo? Please, please, please.”

Leo smirked at Raph’s and the bird’s dual indignant squawks as they came over, Raph now settled comfortably on the feathery shoulders. Looked like Raph was going to be going chicken free for a while.

Ah well, more for the rest of them.