The Casey Chronicles (7 page)

Raph hit the surface to try and cool off,
but it was no use.

“This always happens!” he screamed. “I'm fine until those guys push my buttons!”

His temper was running hot, and the only thing that was going to make him feel better was to hit someone. Or something.
Anything.
So he went on a rampage, knocking over garbage cans, pummeling mailboxes, and even punching the air. Nothing was safe from his rage.

“It's not like I was trying to hurt Leo,” he confessed to the night. It was a pity no one was around to hear his side of the story. He took a deep breath. Saying it out loud felt good. He was finally calming down.

“They just don't get it,” he sighed.

From a fire escape ten stories high, Casey Jones could see everything. He was a crime fighter now. It was up to him to protect this great city he called home.

He took out his journal, chronicling another night on patrol:

My city is infested. A boil. A festering sore. It stinks with evil. Pure evil that only Casey Jones can face.

Casey smiled. That sounded good. Unfortunately, it was far from the truth. Over the past few nights, nothing had happened. No monsters. No mutants. No old ladies who needed help crossing the street. The city was quieter than the school library.

“Actually … crime fighting's pretty boring,” he admitted.

Then Casey sensed something moving in the shadows behind him. It scurried toward him with amazing speed!
“Yaaaaahhhh!!!”
he shrieked, scurrying to get away from it.

A rat. Nothing but a rat.

Casey saw the pest and shuddered. He could deal with villains of any size, but rats?
Ewwwww!
They carried diseases and smelled like a toilet. They were his only weakness.

“I hate those furry little freaks!” he said.

That was it. Casey had had enough for tonight. He sheathed his hockey sticks and was about to pack it in, when he heard a commotion coming from the alleyway below.

Is someone in trouble?

Casey ducked, watching a street gang rough up a harmless old man.

The Purple Dragons—the meanest gang on the East Side. Those guys were the worst. They took the old man's money.

Casey saw a glint of steel—one of the gang members had a knife.

Casey pulled his mask over his face. It seemed his hockey sticks would see some action after all.

Sid, the most muscle-bound member
of the Purple Dragons, laughed at the old man. “Get his watch, too!” he told the other gang members with a chuckle. He thought mugging people was hilarious.

What he did not find funny, however, was being knocked to the ground unexpectedly. Sid found himself lying on the concrete, shooting pains throbbing through his skull. He picked up the strange circular object that had nailed him.

A hockey puck?
“What the—”

Sid stopped short. He couldn't believe what he saw standing before him—a deranged hockey player!

“You slimeballs picked the wrong night,” the demonic skull-face growled from the darkness.

“Nice outfit,” another Purple Dragon sneered. “Who's this clown?”

Casey Jones stepped out of the shadows. “I'm the last guy you see before you wake up in the hospital.”

With that, Casey gave the Purple Dragons a fight they'd never forget. Wielding his hockey stick, he swatted, jabbed, and struck the gang members down until they were crumpled on the ground and begging for mercy.

If this had been on the ice, he'd have about two dozen penalties, but on the street, this was a just comeuppance for a gang that had terrorized the city for too long. And it was being watched from afar by a mysterious figure perched high on the rooftops—Raphael.

Part of him enjoyed seeing the Purple Dragons get creamed in a fight, but he knew this masked vigilante was going too far. “That guy's out of control,” Raph said, spinning his
sais.
“Time for a little intervention.”

Casey teed up another puck,
aiming squarely at the Purple Dragons. He called his own play-by-play once again: “Casey Jones shoots—”

One of the thugs took off toward traffic. Casey whacked the puck with all his strength, nailing the moving target in the back of the head.

“And he scores!” Casey celebrated.

“Hey, man … enough!” Sid pleaded, wincing from the pain. “We give up!”

But Casey ignored him. These thugs needed to be taught a lesson, and going easy on them was not an option. Besides, did they go easy on the innocent people they mugged and beat up daily? No.

“I ain't finished with you lowlifes yet,” Casey told him, prepping his hockey stick for another hit.

Raph dropped into their midst, undetected by Casey Jones. He snuck up and swiped Casey's hockey stick, then quickly disappeared into the shadows.

“What the—?!” Casey gasped, realizing his hands were empty. He looked around but couldn't see anyone else. So he reached for his backup weapon: a baseball bat. “Who's back there? Show yourself!”

The Turtles didn't like to reveal themselves to humans, but Raph knew there was no other way. So he took a breath and emerged from the darkness.

“Another mutant?”

“Got a problem with that?” Raph said, and gnashed his teeth.

“Wait. What are you? Like some kinda …
turtle ninja?
” Casey busted out laughing.

Raph fought to keep calm, but this masked maniac was really steaming his shell!

Casey kept chuckling, and the Purple Dragons saw their opportunity to sneak away. They took off running.

“Hey, you filthy scum, I'm not done with you!” Casey yelled, about to pursue them—when he felt the turtle's hand holding him back.

“Let me handle this,” Raph said.

Casey shoved him. “Outta my way!”

Raph was incensed. There was no reasoning with this hockey hothead. All he seemed to understand was pure rage. Now Raph knew how his brothers must have felt when they had to deal with his temper tantrums.

“You know, anger is a dangerous ally,” Raph said, quoting Master Splinter. Funny—when Splinter said it, it sounded so calm. But Raph was irked. And coming from him, it sounded less like friendly advice and more like a threat.

“So why don't you cool off for a while?” he added, shoving Casey back. Hard.

“That's it, lizard. I'm done with you.” Casey roared. He charged at Raph, belting out his signature war cry: “GOONGALAAAA!!!”

He slashed at the turtle in a fury of spinning thrusts and wild haymaker punches. But Raph was too quick for him.

Raph caught Casey's stick with his
sais
, artfully throwing him off balance. “I told you, back off!”

And just when Casey was about to retaliate, Raph delivered a spin kick to his chest. It sent Casey hurtling backward into a Dumpster, the wind knocked out of his lungs. Casey Jones didn't know the meaning of the word
quit.

Time for round two.

Casey shook off the garbage and climbed out of the Dumpster. “You let those muggers go,” he said, breathing heavily. “You're gonna pay for that,
freak.
”

Casey lowered his shoulder and barreled into Raph, pinning his shell against a wall. He grabbed the handle of his best slugger.

Raph lunged forward, ducking the bat, which connected with the brick wall instead of his face! He somersaulted over Casey Jones, flinging ninja stars along the way.

Casey smiled at the steely ninja stars sticking out of his hockey pads. He'd only seen those in old kung fu movies! He paused. “Gotta admit, throwing stars are cool.”

“Then let me show you my
sais
!” Raph said.

Raph unleashed a
kata
combo of savage
sai
strikes and power kicks. And yet somehow, Casey held him off—with nothing but his store-bought baseball bat and an old hockey stick. He fought with heart. Amid the chaos of battle, even Raph could acknowledge the kid's fearlessness.

They continued trading lunges until—

THWACK!

Raphael booted Casey in the jaw in a flawless aerial move before landing gracefully.

The hockey punk was seeing stars.

Raph relaxed for a second.

Casey looked up at him with anger and admiration. This wasn't over. He collected his hockey stick and rose to his feet.

This Turtle had some secret weapons, but so did he.

With a click, Casey released his spiked skates. Custom in-line wheels appeared from his soles. Razor-sharp blades glistened at the toes.

Let's see the lizard keep up with me now
, Casey thought. He skated out of the alleyway, luring Raph into the street.

Raph was fuming. Once he got his hands on Casey, he'd rip him limb from limb … if he could catch him! On wheels, Casey was way too fast! He skated circles around Raph. He rolled over parked cars, smacking Raph with his hockey stick every time he came around.

Once on his head!

Another on his shell!

And a third to the jaw! There was no way of stopping this spinning skate-storm of doom! All Raph could see was a revolving blur around him.

He could feel his anger bubbling up in his throat.

First his brothers push him too far.

Now this kid pushes him down to the ground?

Casey skated forward to finish him off, but Raph—rage coursing through him—recovered in time to grab Casey's hockey stick and rip it away. He rolled upright and pinned Casey against the hood of a car. He grabbed him by his hockey pads and slammed his head down with a painful thud.

“Ugh!” Casey wheezed. “That hurt!”

In a legendary fury, Raph roared. He put his foot down on Casey's throat, and raised his
sai
in the air.

He brought the blade down.

And Casey Jones screamed—until he realized he was okay. Nothing happened.

Raph couldn't do it.

“What am I doing? Maybe I do have anger issues,” Raph said, talking himself down. As he sheathed his
sais
and loosened his grip, the petrified Casey saw a way out.

He flicked his wrist, releasing a crackling bolt of electricity from underneath his arm pads.

The homemade electroshock weapon!

A few thousand volts dropped Raph to his knees. He tumbled backward, nearly getting hit by a car in the process. He spun to dodge it, and when he turned back, Casey was already down the street—holding on to the bumper of a taxicab, skitching away to freedom.

“You ain't seen the last of me, Turtle!” Raph heard Casey yell before disappearing around the corner.