A/N: I'd like to thank the following readers (from both 'Ninja Turtles' and 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) for leaving their two cents. As I'd like to stress, I do very much enjoy feedback.



Midnight and Nutella Swirl both left me great comments on chapter two. I was very happy to hear you guys enjoyed the chapter.

Gwencarson126 on the other hand left me a flattering reply on chapter one. I mean, I'm sorry for the tears. But I can't help but take that as a compliment.

Apocalypse Then

Chapter 3: The old friend

They found themselves on an open field, a little more than a mile from the village. It was dark out, but the stars and moon provided enough light to guide Mirk's steps. He made for a quaint sight this night. Like his grandmother, the twelve year old Meercat was fairly small, even for his own mutant race. It was therefor easy to mistake him for a sentient, traveling fruit basket. The giant woven container on his back seemed to drift through the tall grass on its own, his body disappearing completely beneath it. His grandmother, the clan eldest (not counting the metal master) had offered to help carry the heavy basket of food. Though he was grunting and sweating despite the night's cool air, Mirk knew there had been no way he could have accepted. Both for his grandmother, who was not getting any younger, as well as for himself. It was as the metal master sometimes said: 'its through our challenges that we grow and rise above ourselves'. If he wanted to get strong, he couldn't something like a heavy load hold him back.

So instead, he carried it on his own as Mira lead the way. Melons and apples. Carrots and cucumbers. Tomatoes and asparagus. He preferred meat himself, but his parents had always said that vegetables made you strong. Under this strain, he could not disagree with them any longer. He was building muscles for sure. He could feel them bulging and shaking in the effort under his white coat.

"You alright?" His grandmother asked in that jolly way she got. A tone he mostly recognized her using against his father when he was being unnecessarily stubborn in a way that came back to bite him in the tail. He couldn't imagine why she was employing it now.

"Sure." He grunted. "Easy..." He started. And after a hard-earned breath, not easy as he was bent over, "Peasy."

"Not much further now." She assured as she made her way.

It proved true enough. With the heavy load on his back, Mirk couldn't see over the grass, but it wasn't long before he could hear it. A longing growl, rumbling and raspy. It was not as jolly as he remembered. But perhaps the healthy snack on its way would change that. He hoped so.

They found their friend in the middle of a large clearing. Chompy was the largest creature Mirk had ever seen; more akin to a small mountain than a turtle like sensei.

"Hey Chomps!" He managed between gritted teeth as he lowered the sack of goods. Two of the melons near the top rolled out to the ground.

Wiping the sweat of his brow, Mirk looked over only to find his friend ignoring him entirely. Instead the rugged and sharp hill of a fire-breathing reptile looked longingly to the sky.

"Hey boy…?" He ran around, and had to go quite a way, to have a proper look at the behemoth's face.

Despite his rocky features, the young Meercat could tell: It wasn't just longing… There was conflict and regret there too.

"Chompy?" He tried again, the sense of worry growing in his stomach now.

This time, he got a response. The giant's head tore its gaze from the stars and connected to the earth instead.

"What's the matter boy?" Mirk tried.

A mouth in which two score of Mirks could fit, with ease, opened, letting out the slowest, deepest rumble Chompy had ever produced.

"Oh, I know what you need." Mirk seemed determined to turn that frown upside down. He rushed over to the bag and rummaged deep. "You know you're not supposed to eat it first." His muffled voice came from deep inside the bag. When he crawled out, he was holding a half-a-wheel of cheese. "But I can't see you quite so blue." He added, looking proudly at his findings.

He offered it with both hands. But the sad mountain just shrugged and resumed gazing at the stars.

"Grandma..." Mirk started, looking over to his grandmother. "What's wrong with..."

That was as far as he got. One look at his grandmother's face told him plenty. She had quite the similar expression to the alien, fire-breathing turtle.

"Sweety..." She said, getting closer to him. He lowered the cheese and she placed her hand on his cheek. "Be a dear and go fetch Donatello for me." She spoke in a voice pretending to be alright whilst drowning in sadness. "Tell him… Tell him he was right about Chompy. And that he needs to come right away."

"… Yes." He said eventually, breaking loose from her caring touch and putting down the food with the rest. "Right away, grandma."

"That's a good boy." She whispered as she clutched her walking cane. "And Mirk?" She called after her grandson as the boy was already running through the tall grass.

"Yeah?" He said, turning around.

She could just make out the points of his ears.

"Go straight to your mum and dad after, okay?"

"But grandma!" The boy tried defiantly.

"No buts, young man." Her response came swiftly and sternly. "Just do as I say."

If he said something affirmative, it was lost to the cover of green, or possibly to the inner workings of his own mouth. In either case, all she heard was a discontent grumble. Nonetheless, the boy turned on his heels and sprinted as if his life depended on it.

Deep inside his own darker and significantly less clean fortress of solitude, Donatello's artificial mind raced as he worked on his machine. While his hands turned the screwdriver and he welded the hull of the would-be prototype Heisenberg-amplifier module in his relativity-circumventor, the computer he inhabited tore through lines and lines of complex calculations and impossible codes. He was getting there, if that was any consolation. Though by his estimates, he was getting there a good few hundred years too late. He was running out of time, fast. Quite the irony, considering…

For a while he'd thought it best, rather than focusing on the invention, to prioritize his efforts on his own well-being. If he could finish the machine in a thousand years, that would be fine. But he wasn't going to make it to a thousand years at this rate. The small skips and errors and glitches he experienced were growing in both frequency and duration at an alarming rate. Though they seemed to be somewhat kept in check if he simply focused on the job. And that was the thing; he needed a focused mind. A quick check and several more extensive ones following it had shown that in fact it wasn't his circuitry that was acting up. Nor a blown fuse or a worn out cog. The problem wasn't the hardware. It was the software. And performing brain-surgery on yourself was not an easy feat, with or without an actual brain.

Perhaps it was only to be expected. When he'd transferred his conscience to the Metalhead Mark II, it had been a desperate attempt; possible in theory but inherently problematic. MMII had been designed to receive his input, not to actually run his brain. And even over this last century, this achievement was something he'd tried very hard not to think about. There weren't the proper parts to run and generate his personality, his quirks, his memories... How on earth the computer managed to sustain his conscience on its own was a mystery he'd wisely chosen never to investigate. What if a closer look proved it to be impossible? Sure it seemed unlikely that he could think himself to death, but … he had a nagging suspicion that too much prying would start dissolving some things better left… solved.

In any case… Focus seemed to work. Concentration was key. Sure he still taught the martial arts and had his turns feeding Chompy. But that was as far as his recreation went. He'd been working the machine non-stop for the most part. So much so his stressed processors called for a time out, lest they overheat. But he hadn't experienced any glitch in over 12 hours and that was a run he wasn't about to give up on. It gave him hope; lied to him and told him he could actually do this. And he wanted to believe it. Even if it was just for a little while longer. So he ignored the flashing red lights going off in his mind. He could do this. If only he held on and pushed through. Just a bit further…

One more calculation. One more screw. One more line of code… One more.

The fuel reservoir of his blowtorch emptied as the fire in his soul and mind raged on like an inferno. With the flick of a finger the empty can dislodged and fell to the ground. The metal clang echoed through the empty halls. Already he was moving for a replacement, eager to not let go of the flow. Then, at once, he had it in his hand, without having picked it up.

He said a word aloud, to no one but himself.

It was not a very decent word.

He wished he still had eyes to shut in frustration and a desperate attempt to regain control of his faculties. He had to stay in control. But he had thrown the torch aside. He couldn't recall when. He was, all of a sudden, punching the wall. His desk lay broken in two. He felt the anger and confusion jump from moment to moment. Not a steady rise as it had to be in the reality he was missing out on. He only experienced the blinks. Not the in-betweens. Papers flew around him. Then they lay across the floor and he was bashing his head against the wall. He sat holding his head in the corner, screaming out loud. And finally, he staggered back, exhausted despite not having a body to exhaust.

Feeling the moment drag out and creep along, some semblance of normality returned. His eyes shot towards the machine protectively. Somehow, it had escaped most of the ravage his blacked-out tantrum had caused. There was something scribbled on there though, he noticed. Though with time creeping back in, he wasn't just ready to read it yet. The entire lab was a mess. Papers torn and scattered. Tools knocked off the shelves and those shelves themselves trampled under his blind rage. His desk completely demolished. His staff was lodged in an old monitor that had apparently exploded as a result. And the walls, what was up with…

But a sound distracted him. He turned to find Mirk sitting near the corner behind him, looking up at him with confusion and sorrow as he crawled upright from the floor.

How long had the child been there?

"Mirk?" He asked, unsure why the sense of shame was rooted so deep.

The boy had seen him. Seen him in his distress. There was no doubt. You could tell by his eyes. But somehow, as those big orbs gazed at him, that wasn't the worst part. If only he could remember what was.

"Are you alright?" Donatello continued as he tried to maintain his balance.

The young lad wiped away a few tears with his arm and took some time in taking him in. Donatello himself had to take a moment to get a grip on reality again. Mirk wasn't one to cry easily.

The boy looked him up and down before he tried, testily: "You're not red anymore."

"What…?" Donatello asked.

"You are you, aren't you?"

"Mirk… Of course I'm me. Who else would I be?"

The boy blinked. "I don't know."

"Hey…" He started, reaching out.

To his horror, the kid flinched and pulled back.

Donatello moved his own arm back, slowly. He stood there, at a loss for words.

"What's that?" The kid asked eventually, pointing to somewhere behind him.

"A very important machine." Donatello began. He would have kept it to himself, but there was this unmistakeable feeling of owing the child a proper explanation. "It's a ..."

"No." Mirk shook his head. "What you've been writing."

"What I've been writing?" The confused Donatello asked.

Dimly, he became aware of the red marker in his right hand; worn out and open. He eyed it for some time before he gathered enough courage to turn around. The writing sprawled across everything. Across the entire wall and the machine he saw the same two returning symbols, written in red. It popped out like him like blood.

01011001 01101111 01110101 00100111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01101010 01110101 01110011 01110100 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101101 01110101 01110100 01100001 01101110 01110100 00101100 00100000 01000100 01101111 01101110 01101110 01101001 01100101 00101110 00100000 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01101101 01110101 01110100 01100001 01101110 01110100 00101110

"What the…" He let escape.

The marker fell from his hand, leaving a single red dot on the floor. It wasn't his own handwriting; perfect and orderly ever since he became a robot. These zeroes and ones were different sizes and shapes. Not well drawn but crooked… messy. And yet. They had something familiar about them.

Somehow, seeing him so disarmed, Mirk must've gotten over his fright. He walked up next to him and took in Donatello's subconscious work as well.

"What is it?" The boy asked once more.

His eyes scanned the writing on the wall but turned to the young man at his side. At least hen he didn't have to keep reading it.

"Something to keep me going."

Mirk had saucers for eyes.

"Does it help?" The boy asked.

While there were many things Donatello would confess to be ignorant off, nowadays it wasn't often that someone asked him a question he didn't know the answer for. It was a beautiful world in the Oasis. But a small one.

"I'll get back to you on that one." He answered eventually, as truth-worthy as he could manage. "When I figure it out myself."

He sank to one knee, coming almost eye to… well… visor, with the boy.

"Mirk..." He asked again, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. He ran a few scans. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah..." The kid seemed to brighten up a bit, which was an enormous relief. "You just scared me there for a second sensei, that's all."

"I'm sorry."

The boy nodded. "Grandma sent for you." He added shortly thereafter. "I came to get you.

"Oh..." Donnie replied.

He couldn't help himself, he looked back at the message.

"I won't tell." Mirk promised, calling his attention back.

The mechanic turtle could tell the young meercat was being honest. He didn't promise out of disrespect to Mira, don-bot realized. It had to be a combination of his respect for Donatello and his constant need to show his imagined maturity. Paradoxically, it got mixed together with a childish giddiness for being part of a secret.

"Mirk that's not..." Donatello started.

Then stopped. He really didn't want the old girl to know. She was worried enough as it was. But still… this wasn't right.

"You can't go around lying to people. You have to be honest about things. I tell you and your team that enough, don't I?"

Well, that was hypocritical, he realized with solemn reluctance. Do as I say, don't do as I do. Especially on 'what to say'.

"Alright." Mirk promised, giving a devious little grin. "If she asks whether or not you started glowing red and scribbled down a bunch of zeroes and ones… I won't deny it."

Donatello ruffled the young meercat's ears.

"You are too smart by far for your own good, you know that?" He asked.

Mirk smirked. "Coming from you, sensei, that's the greatest compliment I can imagine."

Donatello genuinely laughed. "So what did Mira want with me anyways?"

And quite suddenly, the boy's mischievous smile faded like snow before the sun as his mission returned to him. He only said one word. But that one said more than some entire volumes did. "Chompy."

"What's with Chompy?" He asked, despite the gut feeling he already knew what was what.

"She said… She said to tell you: 'you were right'. She thought you'd know what that meant."

"Yeah." He sighed. "I know what it means."

Donatello drew himself upright. He was going to have to face this. It wouldn't be the worst thing he'd faced. Not in this post-apocalyptic world he so desperately desired to save. He'd get through this. But to get through something, you have to face it head on. Mirk was hunching and biting his lip. It was a sure sign that he had something more to say. But Donatello knew better than to push him. Mirk wasn't one to keep his thoughts to himself.

When Donatello collected his staff from the broken monitor, the lad didn't disappoint.

"I like Chompy."

Mira had obviously wanted to shield him from it. There was no other reason for the coded message. But the tone in his voice told Donatello one important thing, despite all her wisdom she fell into the same trap almost all adults fall. Donatello included, he had to admit, from time to time. He noticed it when teaching his groups of pupils. The intelligence of children is not to be underestimated.

He turned back and eyed the solemn boy.

The kid looked up. "She wanted me to go straight home after I went to come get you."

"Yeah." He answered. "I imagine she would."

"I like Chompy." Mirk repeated himself, defiantly this time. "What should I do, master?" He asked.

"What do you feel you should do?"

"My instinct tells me I should be there too."

"Ah instincts." Donatello replied breaking up his staff into two pieces and placing them in the containers on his back. "My old sensei used to have saying about instincts."

"Really? What did he say."

"He used to say you should trust your instincts."

"Wow."

Donatello moved past the boy on his way out of the lab. "Unless they are wrong." He added.

As he turned into the hallway, he heard the confused voice. "Wait, what?"

Despite the unpleasantness ahead of him, Donatello couldn't help but feel the slightest bit uplifted. This twinge of satisfaction. It had to be what master Splinter had felt all the time.

He was halfway down the corridor when he heard his student having come to a resolve. "Wait up, sensei!" His hurried light thread trailed after the metal turtle.

It was meant to have been a private affair. Small wonder that most of the village had turned up. It was just one of those things that happened. Seeing a hurried Mirk running through the town, headed straight for the bunker, this late at night, followed by both the metal master and the boy walking straight back at a determined pace had peeked many an interest. And now, as they all stood gathered in the open field, the villagers knew they were witnessing something once-in-a-lifetime. The assorted collection of mutants gaped at the metal turtle interacting with its massive mountainous counterpart. And they did not know how to feel.

Sure, there was a certain air of grievance at the departure of their large friend and mascot. But only the children, unburdened with the logistics behind rations and fire-drills experience unfiltered regret. They clung to the fur and scales and skirts and pants of their parents, gazing at the sight with the hints of tears forming in the corners of their eyes. And none of the parents could remain untouched either. But they were filled with relief as well. Perhaps except for Mira, who experience both the crushing loss of a lifetime friend, as well as a deep empathy for her oldest living friend and the trials he must be going through. Anything else seemed dwarfed and trivial at that point.

It might have been best to let her closer by, Donatello reflected. But he was being selfish. This last moment of Chompy on earth; he wanted it to be his. Private. With one last look at the crowd dozens of yards off, he turned his attention fully to the adopted Volcantian Fire Beast. It was on all fours and looking at him expectantly. Donatello's metallic hand seemed so small as he placed it affectionately on the giant's jaw.

"We both knew this day was coming, hey Chompy?" Donatello said, staring the beast in it's kind eyes. "You know, you'd think after all these years I'd be better at goodbye's. But I'm still..."

He didn't get any further than that before a giant tongue swept him off his feet and made him fall onto his bionic butt. For one shocked moment, he couldn't do anything but stare as the slimy saliva dripped off him. Chompy's tongue hung out of his mouth like that of a panting dog. Where before, the winds carried the soft cries and murmurs of the villagers, total silence now reigned.

When the inevitable laughter finally broke, it was Donatello's. It worked infectiously. And before long the entire tribe was laughing, the gravitas of the moment forgotten, even if for just a second.

Clanking as he did so, the metal turtle rose to his feet. "Alright. Alright." He conceded. His arms parted and broke into the widest hug it was capable off. It didn't even begin to encompass the space-turtle's head. And yet Chompy closed his eyes, enjoying the touch. Its growl was soft and sweet.

"Now, it is a long way Chompy." Donatello said, breaking the hug but keeping his hands on the giant jaw. The big eyes stared down at him. "Be sure to rest where you can and take a snack break once in a while." He dusted off a bit of filth on the beast's chin. "And make sure you present yourself to your mother properly." He added, somewhat lamely. But he didn't want to stop talking, just yet. "Can't have her thinking we haven't been taking care of you now, can we?"

The rumbling that answered almost sounded like a promise. Almost. The giant's head withdrew and like a glacier made of rock and fire, Chompy turned. His front legs parted from the ground and the earth shook. There was a collective gasp from the tribe as he stood erect on his hind legs.

"And don't catch a cold out there!" Donatello yelled from down below. "It's cold in outer space!"

The head, high above, craned.

Alright. The ninja turtle thought to himself as he looked at that mixture of amused pity. Probably overdid it there.

"Goodbye, Chompy." He said, his hand brought up for a simple wave. Yet, the shaking bit... that was proving too difficult.

It might seem to defy the laws of physics to imagine how a colossal turtle, the size of a large hill, flies. It might therefore, to safeguard your own mental faculties, be best understood as that Chompy jumped. And when he fell back to the ground, he failed to miss it entirely. The overall, initial impression was one of a clumsy attempt. But it was learning fast and before long, it swam through the skies like the great Akupāra. All of a sudden, two streams of fire exploded from it's back. And it got faster and faster still, until it broke from the atmosphere like a falling star, climbing upwards.

Donatello watched the flare until it faded completely. In silence he turned and marched back towards his bunker. Even as he passed through his tribe, as they gazed up still, he felt a deep longing for the solitude and security provided by his lab. A sense of purpose and distraction.

The clan parted as he made his way through. There were words of encouragement and support. And he was certain he mumbled some thanks appropriate in kind. But if he was honest, he wasn't truly listening. He had a date with his machine. And hopefully, thereafter, a good long recharge with nothing but zeroes and ones.

In the atmosphere of a world that took it's first steps in roaming the last frontier, right before it's ultimate self-destruction, it's not uncommon to find loads of debris. In truth, apart from Earth's moon, and several giant chunks of it after the M-bomb struck, there were thousands upon thousands of man-made satellites in orbit. And amongst this great mess of now defunct metal scraps, there was one very special. For it was not natural. Like the moon and it's own debris. Nor was it man-made. Not quite. Not really.

And breaking from the earth's atmosphere, this satellite was something the Volcantian Fire Beast, one of the only creatures in the known universe to have a sense that works just in space, picked up on. It's hard to explain 'hearing' to a deaf person. Or 'sight' to someone born blind. You must therefore excuse your author for approaching Chompy's sense like this and no further: It was kind of like a smell, if smells could sound sugary. And this kind sugary had a distinct familiar touch to it.

The colossal beast dwarfed by the planet bellow, swam in its orbit. He was curious. Playful even, despite the long trek looming before him. There was just something about it, something so... undeniably familiar. Despite the signal growing stronger and stronger, it took the giant turtle quite some time to locate it's source.

The white, metal, oval head spun slowly round and round its axis as it continued its orbit around the earth; constantly falling but never crashing down. Chompy spun with it, confused. Long lost memories resurfaced in it's reptilian brain. It tried to catch the head's eyes, but they were blank. He'd seen this face before. But it's eyes and it's slit for a mouth had been lit up green and joyful. Despite it's metal exterior, there had been life inside.

Chompy did the only thing he could think of.

He licked it.

The light's turned back on. In a shock of surprise, the head spoke. "Whoa, blip, holy molly. What's all this then? Bloop" With static twitching visibly in its eyes, the head still managed to focus them on his visitor. "Wow!" He exclaimed. "Nice space monster." The fugitoid spoke in its British accent.

Chompy screed happily.

With the initial shock and sense of danger fading, the professor narrowed its eyes. He knew that sound. "Could it be… bleep?" He asked. "Chompy, is that you?"

Chompy licked him again. It caused the fugitoid to spin so fast that he was getting dizzy. And yet, he'd never felt this good as in over a century. More than a century of hanging on on standby-mode. He'd sent out distress signals full force at first, hoping the earthlings down bellow would hurry up their space-program and find him. But after that one tragic day in which he saw the world end, he'd given up and submitted to the slumber.

That explosion had been the hardest moment in his life. Even harder than the loss of his body. For yes, he'd destroyed the black hole generator, at long last… but what good had it been if the world he'd saved just went to hell the blink of an eye later…? He would never be saved. He didn't want to be anymore either. With nothing but death and destruction bellow, after an explosion that even damaged the moon… There had been nothing left to hold on for.

"You don't know how happy I am to see you!" He laughed. It had to be true, he was having a hard time calculating it himself.

Chompy grabbed hold of him with it's front paw, effectively ending the unpleasant spinning.

"Oh gosh..." The professor continued, looking at the giant turtle fondly. It's green eyes archways. "Look how big you've gotten boy! I must say: just to know that at least something survived down there… it is bloody marvelous."

The giant turtle roared kindly in response.

"Who's been taking care of you, boy?" The professor asked, not expecting an understandable reply. "You've been eating and growing on earth all this time. So there must have been something left. Is there life down there after all?" The turtle seemed to be listening to him, but the professor was almost completely certain the gentle behemoth didn't truly understand. "A reassuring thought..." He went on with a cybernetic sigh in his voice. "In my old age. bleep To know at least it wasn't for nothing."

Roar? It sounded like.

"I guess I can only dream..." He added. "Blip. That those kids had a full filling life down there. Casey and April. Your daddy Raphael and Leonardo. And Michelangelo and Donatello of course." The giant beast released him from its grasp, but the professor hardly noticed. He went on relentlessly. "They fought so hard for their world, but if you made it, then perhaps..."

He stopped. Chompy's face was coming closer to his now.

"Uhm… Chompy..." The fugitoid tried.

When the enormous, cavernous mouth opened, a slight panic overcame him. "Chompy! Blip. You just what in bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" He screamed in terror as the jaws moved past him. "Chompy!" He called out. "Chompy!" The jaws shut and he found himself trapped in the mouth, lying on a slimy tongue.

"Oh dear..." He sighed, when he realized the turtle wasn't about to swallow. "Just what are you planning my friend?" He asked aloud.

It wasn't long before the world began shaking.

Mirk sat on the ground, hugging his legs and looking up at the sky as generations had before him and, and this is quite the reassuring fact, generations would after him. Never before had he thought so much of the worlds that lay beyond. Sure, his master had told him the stories of when he was young and still made of flesh. But before tonight, it had all seemed so far away. And with Chompy's departure, it all seemed so much closer now. Somehow.

"Mirk?" His grandmother's voice called him back down to earth.

He turned to look over his shoulder and saw her standing there, leaning on her cane. He hadn't noticed up until now, but they were the only ones left in the field.

"I think it's time to go to bed, sweety." She said.

The matriarch of his family always had a way of making a command sound like a suggestion, without ever truly allowing any room for discussion. So it wasn't that he refused when he said: "I miss him."

She walked up to him. He felt her hand atop his head, caressing it motherly.

"I know you do." She allowed.

"Why did he have to leave?"

"Oh, sweety..." She confided. "Sometimes, people… just have to go where they have to go. Like a calling, from deep within. Sometimes… some of us… experience this moment of clarity in which they see exactly what they have to do. And no matter what it costs you… And no matter how much it hurts… And no matter how much you might want things to stay the way they were; you just can't ignore that calling. A date with destiny. A fate, written in the stars."

He smiled. His grandmother always had a way of explaining things in a way he understood.

"Like a fire, burning within." He responded, quite astutely. He looked up at his grandma.

"Yeah." She agreed. "And we both know Chompy has a lot of that, hm?"

"I just wish he didn't have to go."

She sighed. Perhaps it was too early for this talk. And in any case, it should be his parents doing it. She'd already had her turn ages ago. "In the end everyone has to go, sweety." She said. "It's… a part of life. In the end everyone takes a journey… amongst the stars and into the unknown."

"Like grandpa."

"Yeah." She agreed. "Like grandpa. It might seem scary. And it might seem lonely to us, who are left behind. But you'll never truly lose them." She removed her hand and brought it to her chest. "Because you'll keep them, here." She gestured to her heart. "And that way, they'll always be with you."

He nodded.

"You'll never forget about Chompy or grandpa, now will you?" She asked.

"No!" He promised. The very idea…

"Alright. That's good." She smiled down at him. "Let's get you to bed then."

"Okay." He drew himself upright.

As the pair of them began the walk home, he uttered: "I just wish we got to see him one last time."

He felt his grandmother's gentle push on his back as they kept walking. But it wasn't long before they halted their progress. Something was wrong. There was a strange sound in the air and as he turned to his grandmother, he could read that she too was utterly baffled. As one they turned around to see tons and tons of rocky turtle hurtling to the earth like a comet. A fireball aimed directly at them.

His grandmother grabbed him and held him close. It was not as if such an action was going to actually safeguard him. But instincts are tough little persistant things.

Lucky for them, the hurtling, living mountain slowed down as it neared the ground. The flames around it extinguished too. And with a thud felt throughout the Oasis, it landed.

Mirk blinked and looked at the returned Chompy. He blinked again and turned to his grandma. She seemed as shocked as he was. He blinked once more and returned his focus to Chompy.

"I must use this power wisely." He breathed.

The gigantic beast opened its mouth and spit out a big chunck of metal. Mirk broke free from his grandmother's grasp and caught it before it hit the ground. It was a large, metal face, he realized as he looked down at the oval in his arms.

"Oh hello there." It spoke in a cheery tone. "And who might you be? Bloop"

Mirk looked upward slowly, just in time to catch what almost seemed like a conspiratorial wink from the humungous turtle. "Chompy..." He started. "What..."

But before he could finish, the alien turtle retook its two-legged stance from before. Cautiously both Mirk and Mira moved back as the turtle once more leaped without falling to the ground. But much less clumsy this time. And for the second time that night, they both witnessed the same once in a lifetime event.

Half a world apart, Kraang subprime looked up from his monitor inside the Technodrome's bridge. For nights on end he'd been in a particularly foul mood. His slave cacti, now housed inside the giant orb until he could rebuild the Kraang empire, felt the full force of his frustration and wrath. He'd always enjoyed barking orders and torturing his subordinates, but these past few weeks had been special torture. But tonight… Tonight seemed to make everything alright.

He shouted in glee.

"Yes!" He screamed in his raspy voice. "Finally!" He declared at the beeping signal.

The kabuto had allowed for minimal activities, but no more. For over a month they'd roamed the land at minimal speed. Any faster and they wouldn't be able to keep all the internal systems running. But now, the wide scans had proven useful.

How the energy-source had suddenly come into range, Kraang subprime didn't know. It didn't much care either. It was there. A fusion core strong enough to at guarantee at least one trans-dimensional jump. With it and his functional technodrome, he'd be going back to dimension X and undo all the trouble that Bishop and Queen had caused over an earth-century ago. He'd take back every Utrom they'd claimed. Oh yes, he was going home.

"Onwards you stupid nincompoops!" He shook his Irma-bot's fist mightily as he addressed the cacti slaves running the bridge under his command. "We've been given our destination!" He shouted in a deranged manner, his one eye fixed on the map on display. "Now bring me that horizon."