Area 11: Shipping Docks
It was the middle of the night at the shipping docks. Only a few overtime workers and scattered security guards lingered among the towering containers.
One worker moved crates beside his friend, chuckling as he delivered the punchline:
"So then I told the Eleven, 'Maybe your mommy's still out in the rice field!'"
They both laughed at the crude joke.
"I swear, these Elevens are—"
Thwack. A metallic clang rang out as a small object embedded itself in a nearby crate. A shuriken, its edge bloodied.
He turned toward his friend—only to see him clutching his throat, blood spurting between his fingers. He collapsed, gurgling and twitching.
"Oh my God! John, are you—"
A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. With one swift twist—crack—his neck snapped like a twig.
A nearby security guard, patrolling with his rifle, heard something but dismissed it—until a small canister rolled to his feet and burst in a cloud of smoke.
"What the—?!" He coughed violently. A flash of steel pierced through the haze and his chest. His scream was stifled by a hand.
Another guard emerged from the security booth, flashlight and weapon raised.
"Anyone out there?!" he called. Shadows danced in the corners of his light beam.
"I need to stop drinking on the job…" he muttered, spinning around—too late.
Slice.
Blood gushed from his neck. His head toppled from his shoulders, eyes still wide as he glimpsed warriors in traditional Japanese garb—silent, agile, lethal.
Two stood out among them. One in pristine white. One in black.
Karai.
Leonardo.
Karai flicked blood from her blade and sheathed it. With a silent nod and hand gesture, the Foot ninja squad disappeared into the shadows above.
Babel Tower
The neon glow of Babel Tower cast an unnatural light over the decadent casino. Inside: poker machines chimed, underground chess games raged, and fight rings featuring Eleven slaves roared.
A man in a dark brown trench coat and metal mask sat at a high-stakes table. His top hat was the only touch of class in an otherwise cruel game.
Shredder. Known here as Viktor.
He calmly played his hand, revealing a straight flush.
"So, Viktor," a man in a sleek suit asked, "why exactly do you want access to the ghettos?"
Viktor slid blue chips into the pot. "Let's say I'm investing in... expansion."
Another man scoffed. "And what's in it for us?"
Viktor snapped his fingers.
A sultry woman in a red dress with jet-black hair approached and set a silver briefcase in front of him. She kissed his masked cheek and sauntered off with a wink.
Karai, now dressed to kill.
Viktor flipped open the case.
"Inside is a drug. One hit, and you relive your happiest memory. Highly addictive. Highly profitable. It's called Refrain."
One of the crime lords leaned in. "Never heard of it."
"You will. And by the time the government knows what it is, you'll already own the market."
They exchanged a glance, then nodded. "Alright. We give you the access. You give us the Refrain."
Viktor collected his chips and stood.
Later, in a quiet corridor, Karai approached him in a sleek black combat outfit.
"I still can't believe you're pushing this stuff," she said coldly.
Shredder stared into the flickering casino lights. "Desperate people are easy to control. We offer them hope… then own them."
"Even if it means destroying them?"
"We do what must be done."
Before she could respond, a gang of armed men entered, led by a smirking brute in a sharp jacket.
The Black King.
"Viktor. Always dressed for the occasion," he said mockingly.
"You're early," Shredder replied, unimpressed.
"We had a deal. A shipment of 'bunnies' from the slums. And yet… I don't see any cages."
Viktor's voice grew cold. "I said I'd sell drugs. Not people."
King sneered. "Then this is where you fold."
He drew a pistol—bang! His hand exploded in a burst of blood.
Karai holstered her silenced sidearm with a smirk.
"Kill them!!" King roared.
Suddenly—a shuriken struck his shoulder. The ceiling shattered as Leonardo dropped in, twin blades gleaming.
What followed was chaos.
Leo moved like a ghost—fluid and relentless. Limbs flew, throats opened, bones shattered. The Foot ninja rained from the ceiling, slicing through King's men like they were paper.
Storming through the front door, criminals ran—only to be met by more Foot ninjas, weapons at the ready.
Karai skewered a fleeing thug through the back. Leonardo cleaved through three more.
Shredder stepped forward, surrounded by carnage.
One thug trembled. "Wh-who are you?"
Shredder's mask gleamed in the light.
"I am the hand of justice. I am vengeance made flesh. I am... Shredder."
Whispers spread like wildfire. The leader of the Foot Clan was here.
He gave a simple order: "No witnesses."
Karai signaled. The Foot swept the casino, executing every last person.
Screams. Pleading. Flames engulfed the walls. Blood symbols were painted in ritualistic patterns.
A girl in a bunny suit crawled, sobbing, missing an arm.
"Why are you doing this?"
Shredder looked down at her and pulled the trigger.
"Perfection requires sacrifice."
The Foot walked out as the screams behind them faded.
Hours Later
The double doors flew open. Armed soldiers stormed in. Princess Cornelia stood at the front.
"What in the hell happened here?" she gasped.
They were too late.
Bodies littered the floors. Burned. Torn. Hanging like trophies. Blood-drenched walls bore unfamiliar, sinister symbols.
Soldiers vomited. Cornelia stood frozen.
"No survivors," a soldier whispered.
"No… not Zero. This wasn't him," she muttered, her voice hollow. "This was something far worse."
Shipping Docks
Crowds gathered around open crates marked with the Foot Clan symbol. Inside—vials of Refrain.
People were already high. Laughing. Crying. Lost in their memories.
On a rooftop above them, Shredder stood in full armor, flanked by Karai and Leonardo.
"Operation Poison is a success," Shredder said coldly. "They are addicted. Soon, they will beg for our mercy."
In the crowd, a housemaid with long brown hair handed money to a dealer. Her hands trembled as she received a vial.
She walked away, tears streaming.
"I'm sorry, Kallen. I'm sorry… I'm just not strong like you."
She leaned against a shipping crate, injected herself, and slumped to the ground. A smile crossed her lips as the memory played.
High above, Shredder watched without emotion.