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General Jordan Blanque’s office was about what they expected it to be. Spacious, packed with technological marvels, a prominent desk, and with a large circular window on the rear wall that provided an excellent view of the waterfront.

"Welcome, Turtles," the General mock-warmly greeted them, turning in his chair as he heard them enter. As they suspected, Blanque was humanoid, visually no different than any Earthborn man. In Earth years, he could easily look in his late sixties. Wrinkles covering every inch of his face, he had his thin gray hair cut in a short flattop.

Raphael was the second to enter behind Leonardo and two armed Federation troopers. Leo’s arm had already received full burn treatment and had been well bandaged. "Let’s get on with it, Blanque," he said. "Why are we here, what do you want, and how soon can we leave?"

Blanque smiled. "I was the one who summoned you from Earth. After the Human Federation finally secured the rights to obtain and reproduce the Utroms’ Transmat Device, we now have translocation technology." His smile widened. The Turtles had the feeling the technological exchange had been less than diplomatic, and the Federation most likely threatened it out of the Utroms. "Well, I do, anyway."

"That still leaves the question—why?"

"And a good question it is. I’ll just be straight out about it, then." Blanque stood from his table and leaned forward. He pursed his lips, speaking with no showing of emotion, "This world is about one week from complete oblivion."

Leonardo grunted. "No kidding. Just what the hell was that… thing… I fought in the bar?"

"Let me explain. Jeffries, if you please." One of the two officers guarding the office’s door moved to the general’s side, manipulating something just beneath the desk’s overhang.

The room went pitch black, a holographic image immediately popping into existence above a smooth onyx device placed atop the desk.

"There are malevolent forms of life out there, my friends." The holoprojector switched from an overlaying image of D’hoonib to produce a chase-camera angle on a yellowish-green spaceship. Its alien-sculpted engine turbines leaving a thick trail of atmospheric flame in its wake, it could be seen closing in on D’hoonib’s Northern Hemisphere, then disappearing. "Sentient beings that take pleasure in killing in all of its more glorified forms. There is an alien race originating from a homeworld we have never seen that is comprised entirely of hunters. It is said they call themselves the yaut-ja, though they have been universally known and feared as the ‘Predators’ on this side of the galaxy."

"Predators…"

"The yautja is a race that is based on the mixed principles of honor, glory, and bloodlust. They live by a code that drives them to seek out the worthiest opponents the galaxy has to offer and, as such, battle them on equal terms to prove themselves in the eyes of their fellow hunters and warriors. For centuries now, they have had a ritual hunt carried out on random worlds. They seed planets with a very unique race of aliens. Xenomorphs. Feral creatures that gestate inside living hosts, then burst to grow to adulthood in a matter of days. Their scientific name is Linguafoeda Achernosis though, like the Predators, they are nicknamed by many in the field simply the ‘Aliens.’"

"That crab Mike found…" Donatello spoke. "It must have come from that pod I saw—they attach themselves to hosts’ faces and plant the Alien embryos in their larynx! The embryo… it must grow inside, then burst out."

"Precisely!" Blanque commended him. "These Aliens are evil unleashed—once a queen is born and begins producing eggs there can be no stopping the spread of their vile population. Aside from resorting to… shall we say… more militant means. But I refuse to let it it come to that without giving it a fighting shot."

Michaelangelo swallowed. The thought of an even bigger version of the hideous creature Leo had fought in the bar sent a chill down his shell. "A… queen…?"

"Yes, the Aliens operate in a typical hive-like matriarchal fashion. The asexual Queen controls her drones and warriors, who bring viable hosts into her hive to be impregnated with the embryos within her eggs’ facehugger ‘crabs,’ as you said."

"But the Predators…"

"The yautja utilize the Aliens as makeshift opponents. From best we can tell, they seed worlds with Aliens so aspiring yautja warriors may test their mettle against them. Those that emerge victorious against the Aliens are rewarded with high honor and respect amongst their kind.

"Seven days ago a meteor struck eastern Peblak. At least, we thought it was a meteor. It turned out to be a yaghtrakh, a yautja mobile Alien egg dispenser that was sent down before the yautja themselves arrived. The yaghtrakh moved about D’hoonib’s surface, planting Alien eggs at set intervals. Our planet’s indigenous wildlife as well as careless pedestrians that became curious about these eggs, no doubt attempting to inspect them, all got facehuggers for their trouble. Each of the fools unwittingly went on to produce the first batch of Aliens to besiege D’hoonib.

"As the population of Aliens began to swell, our people became caught in the crossfire of the yautja’s ritual hunt. The few survivors have fled here, to Peblak Bay Island and the Human Federation’s military planet-based headquarters on D’hoonib. Yet even as we speak, tribes of yautja are testing themselves against the Aliens, fighting them in ceremonial combat amidst the ravaged cityscape of Peblak." The holoprojector switched to a bird’s-eye-view of a dark alleyway, where distant figures could barely be seen struggling with other figures. The transmission was apparently live, and wasn’t coming in with very good resolution.

Raphael wasn’t impressed. "And we’re here because…?"

"I’m not going to lie to you. We need you. I need you. The Human Federation cannot handle the threat our world faces alone. Not without forfeiting the planet." The man sighed. "We are well aware of your prowess in the way of combat, having seen you manage to skillfully elude my troops a couple of years ago. I also learned of a rather interesting tournament carried out in a Triceraton arena. The four of you beat the Triceraton Republic’s greatest warriors, then escaped back to your homeworld. Earth, isn’t it? This impressed Federat High Command, and, quite frankly, impressed me. When the time came for us to summon capable beings who could defend D’hoonib in its hour of need I had few candidates in mind but yourselves."

"Look, buddy, I’m sure we’re all fucking flattered by now, but I’ll tell you right n—"

"That’s enough, Raphael!" Leonardo silenced Raph. He turned back to Blanque. "What exactly is it you want us to do, General? Do you expect us to go out and kill the entire population of yautja and Aliens for your people?"

Blanque seemed surprised that Leo would even suggest that, even if he was half-joking. "Oh, no, I couldn’t expect that of anyone. Every clan of yautja warriors that participate in Alien hunts such as this are led by a chief warrior, one that spearheads the hunt. With this leader gone, the others combat each other and will fight it out with each other to determine who the next leader will be. This will leave the yautja confused and vulnerable to our men’s aerial sweeps."

"So we take out this Predator leader… what about the Aliens?"

"The Aliens can be contained and eradicated at a later time if all else fails—they are merely a hazard best avoided for now. It is the yautja that are the threat that we are unequipped to handle."

"Why is that?"

"The yautja are not simply alien hunters. They have technology the likes of which the Human Federation isn’t likely to see for another two centuries. They can make themselves invisible with personal cloaking devices, and possess weapons that would put our standard-issue plasma casters to shame."

Leonardo narrowed his eyes. "I thought they fight their opponents on equal terms."

"They do. A yautja will not turn his weaponry on an opponent that does not have equivalent weaponry. Which is where the problem lies. Without their firearms, Federation troopers are no match for a yautja. Yet with their firearms, they get systematically eliminated by the yautja’s own weaponry and stealth." The Genreal gave a dry chuckle. "Catch 22, I think they would say on your world. From what I understand of you from my sources, you are ninja on Earth, trained from birth to be assassins with the martial arts of ninjitsu. You can fight the yautja on equal terms and stand a hell of a better chance at victory than we ever could."

Raphael stepped in front of the general’s desk and waved his arms in frustration. "I don’t know how you guys can even think about helping this asshole out!"

"Raph…"

"No, I’m not going to shut up this time! Why the hell should we stick our necks out for this guy? Maybe you guys forgot, but this is the shitface that had his goons chasing us from one end of Peblak to the other!"

"That was an unfortunate misunderstanding. We thought you were with the Fugitoid, a misunderstanding we later found that was unwitting on your part."

Leo faced Raph. "Raph, we’re not just talking about General Blanque here. Or the Human Federation. We’re talking about an entire planet full of people—innocent people—who are going to die unless we do something about it."

"Damn it, Leo! Don’t you e—"

"Where is the honor in leaving a world to die?"

Raph opened his mouth as if to protest, but stopped himself short. Leo’s words had the ring of truth to them. They all knew it.

"Will you help us?" Blanque asked.

The Turtles remained silent for a long, drawn out moment. They exchanged a glance. Then another.

Donatello stopped a moment to watch the aerial troop transport speed off back toward Peblak Bay.

"Wicked cool artillery," Raph commented. He brandished one of the plasma caster rifles that had been given to each of the Turtles except for Don, which were distributed "for Alien ambushes only." "Haven’t been in a good gunfight since Casey and I took on Johnny Woo Woo those years back. Well, gunning down all those dozens of Antoine Puzorelli’s hitmen counts, too, I—"

"The plasma casters aren’t to be used against the yautja, Raph!"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "Are we goin’ in any particular direction or are we just gonna wander around with our asses in the air and hope we bump into these Predator dudes?"

Leo said nothing, continuing over the edge of the dock. That told enough to Raph, who accepted his silence as a "no."

"Aw, sick!"

Donatello winced as he watched Mike pull his foot from a pile of bloodied gore, apparently thrown from the rotting alien corpse a few meters away.

Leo kept on, only turning back a moment. "Come on, guys. We gotta keep going."

On an outland street laden with smoking wrecked cars and aircars alike, the Turtles found themselves back in central Peblak. In a region of the city not unlike the one they’d found themselves in a few hours ago, they made their way across the street to blend in with the shadows. It was nearly night.

"I hear something!" Donatello shouted, stopping dead in his tracks.

The Turtles went on full-alert, checking all sides of their devastated surroundings and checking their senses for any sign of danger.

"I don’t hear anything."

"Me neither."

"Look, I’m the one that’s got the ultrasonic amplified hearing here!" Don rebuked. "I can here a pin drop five kilometers away if I’m on the right bandwidth!"

"What do you hear?"

"Hissing… battle sounds… clashing… squealing…"

"Where?"

Don closed his eye, concentrating deeply. He lifted an arm, pointing a finger to their right in the general direction of a city block’s intersection.

"Let’s go!"

Running, they stealthily made a dash in the direction Don pointed.

Five minutes later they had crossed the intersection and were already a block away, just across the street from a collapsed supermarket building.

The Turtles could hear it now.

Turning, they saw what Don had heard earlier.

In brutal combat just outside an alley, a Predator and another one of the beetle-black Aliens engaged in a fierce one-on-one battle.

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