Desk Jockey

Clickety. Click-clack. Clickety. Click-clack. Clickety.

"Mike, would you stop with the pen already?"

Click-clack.

"Oh! Sorry, Charlie."

"I told you, not Charlie."

Mikey looked up at the grunt next to him, sitting at a similar table, decked out in the black EPF uniform, slowly running through the alphabet until the slime-mutant before him let out a blurp when he reached T. The man wrote down the letter, then started the alphabet again, working through an extremely complicated, long, and unpredictable Czech name.

"You got it, Chaz-ma-taz."

The young man rolled his eyes. "Anything but 'Chaz-ma-taz,' Mike. … G… H… "

"You kidding? Chaz-ma-taz is bangin'!"

The other tried to stifle a giggle. "Yeah, it'd be a great stripper name… I'll save it for my other job."

Mikey laughed that off, slightly uncomfortably, as he filled out the form in front of him for the next mutant in his own line, who thankfully didn't have nearly as complicated a case as his work-mate, and the next applicant stepped forward.

"Chaz-ma-taz is so awesome, though! It rhymes with itself and everything! And then when you get frustrated about something, I can say, 'Don't has a spaz, Chaz-ma-taz!'"

'Chaz-ma-taz' snorted. "For here, I'm gonna need something a little more… professional."

The turtle looked through the visor of his helmet, aghast. "Professional?!"

He'd happily jumped in with the EPF to offer his expertise on all the Dimension X monsters that had spilled through the Megarift portal. He'd helped the soldiers deal with Traag, and Rocktopuses, and shards of Ka-Blammo-trees without setting them off, Kraathatragons and Winkumblinkums, Click-Clacks and Granitors and... Dimension X was his thing, and he was awesome-socks at it. (He would totally wear awesome-socks if they fit turtle feet.) After all the major threats had been taken care of, Mikey had decided to stay on with the crew, and help out where he could. He helped with some heavy lifting, worked with a team to corral some wild, mental mutants, but after that, there was very little left in his wicked cool ninja skill set that was needed. So he got put on list duty. And desk duty.

Desk duty was definitely not his thing. Nobody wanted to be friends, no one wanted to chat… they just wanted to get their name on the list for retromutagen distribution and go.

And now he was confronted with the "P-word."

His companion shot him some serious side-eye. "You know, Mikey, you're gonna have to maintain a professional attitude, or they're gonna kick you out."

The terrapin let out a groan at the idea. He wanted to be part of something important… he really did! Here was finally a chance to prove to his brothers that he wasn't just a goof-up, that he was good at something besides pizza and pranks and wicked skateboard grinding.

Professional-ness it was, then, he sighed.

…Professional-ness was so boring…

He filled out another form, clicked his pen a few times as the next mutant shuffled forward, and turned back toward his neighbor.

"How 'bout… Mmmh… Chuck! Or Chuckie!"

Possibly-Chuck-slash-Chuckie nodded. "Chuck, then. Don't nickname me after the cursed doll, though... Now shh! … V …V? All right. A… B…"

"Chuck it is!" Mikey declared, then turned back to his own line of applicants, to fill out another form. And another. And another.

After a while, even the constant stream of mutant oddities became commonplace and dull. Yet another cat mutant. A snake. A blackbird. A bug. Yawn.

He was still due to be here for another five and a half hours, and he was so bored he wasn't even looking up anymore, leaning so far down on his desk his head was practically invisible, retracted inside its own helmet-shell.

"Last name." It wasn't even a question anymore, just a flat statement.

The applicant hesitated, but Mikey didn't feel the inclination to look up.

"Bradford," it said raspily, at long length.

"First name."

"Christopher."

Christopher was a long name; it took Mikey a while to fill the letters in to the boxes. He clicked his pen.

Bradford, Christopher. Interesting. Something familiar about that resonated in his mind… Bradford Christopher… Bradford Christo—

His eyes moved upward from the paper as puzzle pieces in his head clicked together, and he found himself staring at a desiccated muzzle and yellow eyes.

"Whoa!" he cried, on his feet with one nunchuck drawn behind his head before his wooden chair hit the floor with a resounding smack. The adrenaline flooding his system had him breathing hard already as his highly-trained body prepared him to fight.

Rahzar… didn't attack. "Michelangelo," a gruff voice acknowledged. Mikey could only stare.

Shaking his head, he gave a growling sigh. From his left, a familiar red, fanged fish face emerged. "I told you we should have stayed in the other line," it quipped in its Brazilian accent.

"Naw, this one was moving way faster. You want speed? I know speed. Ee-hee!" objected the warthog mutant behind him, followed by one from the rhino after him.

"What is up-hold? Line is moving like Yenisei River in winter!"

"And nobody noticed the turtle working this desk?!" their canine leader snarled back at them.

"Well…" Fishface started, "there is a cute little fish mutant two lines over. I suppose you could say she… cod my eye."

"Don't look at us, dawg—I mean, wolf. You want someone to keep an eye out, have Stockman pick something in the animal kingdom that ain't particularly known for they bad eyesight!"

"Da," Rocksteady agreed. "Maybe next time ve get… moose and… skvirrel!"

Rahzar whirled on Bebop. "Does that fancy visor of yours do nothing?"

"It does plenty," the warthog said, removing the eyewear and spinning it in one hand. "Heat signatures, ultraviolet, super-zoom…" He flipped it in the air, caught it in his opposite hand and set it back across his eyes. "What it can't do is see to the front of a line in a gymnasium chock full of mutants!"

The necrotic wolf growled in irritation and turned back toward Michelangelo, still frozen in fear and confusion. Behind him and out of his sight, Bebop took his visor off again, turned it over, and set it back on his face, right-side up.

"What are you guys doing here?" Mikey finally managed to ask. Bradford slammed his claws on the desk, the sheer force making it creak.

"What do you think we're here for, the swimsuit competition?!"

The turtle turned his head, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the Foot mutants. "Chuuuuck? Do we have a swimsuit competition?"

"Mikey!" Chuck hissed, and Mikey shifted his gaze to him. "Professionalism!" he mouthed silently.

"But, they're…!"

His colleague motioned with his eyes toward the upended chair, and Mikey sighed in resignation. He pocketed his nunchuck, picked the chair up, reseated himself, and nested his fingers before him on the desk. He had a job, and he was honor-bound to carry it out, even toward his enemies. With a flat but pleasant look, he asked calmly, "How can I help you?"

"The retromutagen list," the werewolf ground out through his teeth. "We want on it!"

"Of course, of course. Last name?"

"We went through this part already!" he snapped, utterly done with the theatrics.

Mikey kept deadpanning him. He'd had years of experience outlasting Raph at this sort of game; he could definitely, and would, keep it up if it needled his enemy.

"Residence? I know that one, if it's still the old church on Crescent Street… Emergency contact information… Should I put down The Shredder, or would he prefer Oroku Saki?"

Bradford hesitated and looked away. It was such an odd thing for the cocksure mutant to do, Mikey also paused, flipping up the shield of his visor. "He… he knows you're signing up to get demutated, doesn't he? He sent you over here, right?"

After another long silence, the horrific mutant crossed his arms and turned as far away from Michelangelo as he could without completely turning his back on him. "No. Put down Xever Montes."

"Not me! I do not want to be your emergency babysitter!"

"Steranko, then! I don't care… Just… anyone but the Shredder."

Mikey gaped at him. "You're seriously going behind the Shredder's back on this?"

Rahzar fully turned away at that, nose exaggeratedly high in the air, and said nothing. Fishface filled the silence for him. "Shredder doesn't care if we are mutants or not; he will find the best use for us whatever our form. But…" he sighed, "Stockman has not exactly been forthcoming with any progress on a cure for us. We are not even certain if Shredder is simply leaving Stockman to his devices, or purposefully withholding the retromutagen from us."

"Definitively for us," Rocksteady added, indicating his partner with one plate-sized hand. "Mutation vas punishment for failing at job."

Mikey blinked at the rhino mutant. "Dude… that's harsh."

"You ain't whistlin' Dixie, turtle. "Big S an' me, we're supposed to be independent mercenaries, dig? And it's hard to find a gig when everybody turns tail and runs at the sight of ya. The atmosphere's changed a little but… ya know… I miss my own face, looking in the mirror, you feelin' me?"

The ninja nodded. "I can totally imagine. Don't worry… This is confidential information. If Shredder hears anything, it won't be from me. We'll get you guys on the list as soon as I'm finished with Rad Brad here…"

Rahzar made a sour face at the nickname, but tapped his claws on the form, directing Mikey's attention back to it. The sooner it was filled out, the sooner they could get out of here and end the whole awkward encounter. "I miss being an international martial arts superstar…"

Mikey nodded, a feeling of nostalgia running through him. "I miss it too. You were awesome before you turned into a jerk who was trying to kill us all the time."

Bradford glared, then shrugged and looked away. "Yeah, I'll give you that one…"

Mikey clicked his pen again and got to writing.

"Now, one last detail… The three of you can get retromutated, no problemo…" he said, nodding to Fishface, Bebop, and Rocksteady, "but Don and Dr. Rockwell are still sorting out double and more mutations, so Rad Brad, you're on a separate list, and it's probably going to take longer. They're looking for volunteers for study, though. The more they have, the bigger the chance they'll be able to find a way to retromutate you with no weird side-effects. Would you like to sign up?"

The wolf snorted with annoyance, still refusing to make any further eye contact. "Sure… whatever…"

"Initial here; sign and date here… And, we're all done, Rahzar… I mean, Mister Bradford. Here's your copy of the document. You'll be informed when to show up for blood tests and retromutagen distribution, and you can sign up with the website at the bottom for updates about progress on the retromutagen for multiple mutations. Thank you for trusting the EPF with all your retromutagen needs."

The necrotic mutant stood to the side, head cocked in an odd expression at him, while Michelangelo started on Fishface's form.

"Montes. No, with an S. At the end, not the beginning!"

Mikey looked up to see Rahzar still staring at him curiously. "Something else I can help you with?"

Rahzar gave a chuckle that sounded like he was gargling rocks, but seemed to grin slightly. "Maturity… that's what's different about you. You're a good kid, Michelangelo. Maybe if we weren't enemies, we could be friends."

"Maybe someday we won't be, and we can," Mikey grinned back. "Give me a buzz when you stop being evil!"

"Xever… With an X, not a Z! And a V, not an F! Look, just let me…"

x-x-x-x-x

After the group of Foot mutants were gone, Chuck motioned to Mikey. "Good job there, man. You really stepped up. Very professional."

"Thanks!" he beamed. He did feel proud of himself, dealing with four of his mortal enemies face to face. Wait until Leo heard! He went to click his pen in victory and found it missing. "Aw, man! One of those guys stole my pen!" He growled lowly. "So evil!"

Chuck handed him one of his. Mike accepted it thankfully, but soon realized it was just a plain stick pen, not the clicky kind. He groaned, starting to tap out a rhythm with it on his desk instead as his next case stepped up to the table.

Before long, his neighbor tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, let's go take a break."

Mikey rose and followed him gladly, helping himself to two sodas in the break room.

"Hey, Mike, are you free tonight?"

"Yeah, I guess… why?"

"A bunch of us are going clubbing tonight when we're done here… You wanna come? I mean… Can turtles dance?"

"'Can turtles dance?' Pff… Shell yeah! I'll dance circles around you!" He swigged from both cans at the same time. "Unless it's a squaredance. Then I'll dance squares around you."

Chuck laughed. "'Shell yeah.'"

"Come on, that's an old one!"

"Mikey, you crack me up! You coming, then?"

"Dude, I'm so there! This is gonna the awesomest night!"

Chuck grinned at Mikey's enthusiasm. "You're really fired up about this."

Mikey shrugged. "I've always wanted to go clubbing!"

"Never gone before?"

Mikey shrugged. "Mutant turtle, bro. New opportunities just popped up for me!"

"Oh. Right. Well, in that case, let's make it a night to remember! You're gonna love it!"

"Aw yeah, boooiiiii!"