Another AMAZING screenshot edit by  Oscarvanderhof that I wrote up a short story for!

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dimensions of reality are often simplified, presented with a limited scope to describe the tangible features of tangible things that we experience in our tangible world such that an average person can follow along, yet there is so much more to explore. The first three dimensions describing the length, width, and depth (x,y,z planes) of the physical world are intuitive: objects occupy a space with apparent volume that you can see, touch, and feel. Simple. Layering on the fourth dimension, that of time, is understandable too: the sequential movement of objects from one place to another as it is how we experience walking through a field, growing old, and filling our hearts with the joy of connecting with others: the world we know and love.

Moving beyond the fourth dimension to the fifth is where the tangible becomes conceptual, where our linear trajectory through time and space acts as a barrier to us experiencing the world in which you ordered the chicken and waffles instead of the western omelet at brunch last Saturday. In the fifth dimension, both worlds exist, branching apart like a cosmic split-end, forever apart yet still originating from the same central root. What about other roots, though? Other start points? Other universes all together?

True possibility lies in the sixth dimension. Where all worlds featuring all possible outcomes reside in tandem: the sixth dimension is where that coveted multiverse exists. The conception of such a space is elegant, if not slightly flawed. While it is postulated that these planes, these worlds, exist in non-overlapping parallel, much like the lazy painter, the universe is messy and inexact. One slight bump from a higher-order ethereal force can tilt two worlds together, prompting a collision of realities that mix and merge into something new, like toppling paint cans off a haphazard ladder forming a new color altogether on the floor: the seafoam crimson of the multiverse. The generation of a new world…

A new possibility…

A new reality…

~~~~~

STATUS REPORT

>>>The Foot: One piece away from completing the Shredder Armor Set

>>>The Purple Dragons: Hacked into and actively siphoning funds from the City Regional Bank.

>>>Hypno-Potamus + Warren Stone: Hypnotized a local news anchor to allow Warren to puppeteer them and spread propaganda to the masses.

>>>Big Mama: Has begun a new shady casino business in the Hidden City.

        The turtles were tired yet determined in their resolve. Every day it seemed like at least one of their many, MANY, adversaries were up to no good once again. Perhaps it was a new plot by Big Mama to subjugate the Hidden City, perhaps the Foot trying to resurrect a demonic super ninja, or perchance that weird worm guy trying to regain his celebrity prominence. With all the overlapping plots, scams, and schemes, it seemed like it was only the four turtle bros that were even attempting to thwart these nefarious actors. It was exhausting work; exhausting responsibility.

Somedays it seemed they were scouting from sun up to sun down, other days a mission extended from one night to the next. No sleep. No rest. No food. Just adrenaline-fueled maneuvers to keep the city safe and protect themselves from the many dangers that both the Hidden City and their home city seemed to cultivate: there was no getting ahead of the madness.

        Just thirty minutes ago, the four of them had been settling around the television for a much-welcomed night off, or so they had hoped. Popcorn and pizza in hand, just as they flipped the television to the Movie Madness Marathon on the SyFy channel, the alarm sounded in Donnie’s lab. Groaning, they had all stood up, legs aching, backs having long since been battered and broken, as they went to assess the latest threat that needed their attention: The Purple Dragons.

Donnie had tirelessly hacked into all the major municipal and financial systems in the city, setting up custom alert systems for “Abnormal” and “Dweeb Ultra-Tech Bro-Like” activity. Seems as though the jacketed-hacker group was draining the retirement accounts of 80% of the city’s residents. For what purpose, they didn’t know for sure, but it likely wasn’t for Robin Hood-esque charitable donations. So, instead of relaxing, the turtles now had to make their way across the city to confront the trio once again: when would they learn their lesson? When would any of the villains learn their lesson? Were the turtles just cursed to be in a world where every villain had god-like perseverance, determination, and resolve to keep their world-conquering spirits alive no matter how often the turtles had to beat their butts to the curve?

        Donnie mumbled as they climbed up the two-story ladder out of the sewer and into the alley behind the laundromat for what felt like the tenth time that week. Where once he would have been left winded from such an excursion, now it was an afterthought, a breeze for his toned legs from months, really years, of perpetual crime fighting. They had all developed strong frames through pure necessity, with Leo sporting an athletic, tapering torso from his defined pecs, Mikey striding with notable vascular pulsating against his defined biceps and calves, while Raph was simply hulking around with the body, and build, of an NFL linebacker: an absolute tank. They weren’t just fit, they were in hero-shape, as that’s the role they had seemingly been thrown into. As power walked under the moonlight above, Mikey anxiously hustled up behind Donnie, though his frantic nature seemed misplaced from the task at hand:

        “Do you think we’ll be back in time to see Mecha-Megalodon vs Robo-Reptile: The Revenge?!”

        “I don’t know, Mikey,” Donnie replied, exasperated.

        “BUT I’VE GOTTA KNOW HOW ROBO-REPTILE IS GOING TO EXACT HIS ROBO-REVENGE!!!!” Mikey cried.

        “We all do,” Leo assured. “Let’s just run in quick, take these guys out, then hustle back. No funny business.”

        “That’s rich coming from you,” Donnie retorted.

        “Hey!” Leo cried.

        “Come on guys, knock it off! We have to focus,” Raph said, plowing through the two to take the lead. Raph knew it was important to keep morale up which was tough when he was feeling frustrated, exhausted, and tired himself. He tried to focus on the positives. At least it was a nice night out with the warm breeze and the full moon overhead. Would be the perfect night to grab an ice cream at that place just around the corner, but they just didn’t have time. They seldom had time. Raph couldn’t even remember the name of that ice cream shoppe they had frequented growing up. Ralph’s? Ritzy’s? Raph sighed. While it would be nice to indulge in the niceties of life, of the city, they had a responsibility to help keep said city safe. This was just the life they found themselves in, born into, and there wasn’t anything that was going to magically change that…

*CRACKLE

COSMIC ERROR: Universe 8K-α-33 and Universe 39-Ω-2B on collision course

Status: IMPACT IMMINENT

*SPARK

Raph felt a tingle on his skin, almost like the air itself was electric. As he paused, there was a sudden…

*ELECTRIC CRACK

*FLASH

>>>DONNIE: Body Weight: 145 lbs 210 lbs; Daily “Snack” Calories: 600 2600

        Raph turned over his shoulder towards his bros and blinked…

*ZAP

>>>MICHELANGELO: 125 lbs 195 lbs; Hobbies: Skateboarding Playing Skateboard Video Games

>>>LEONARDO: 140 lbs 205 lbs; TV Habits: 1.5 Hours Per Day 6 Hours Per Day

*FLASH

Wait, was something off about Leo, or Mikey for that matter…?

*CRACKLE

>>>RAPH: 225 lbs 305 lbs; Lifting Regimen: 2 Per Day 2 Per Week

*FLASH

        Almost as quick as the aberration had begun, the quiet of the night returned. Raph sighed, his mind resettling as his moment of confusion faded. A moment later, the entire incident was not just forgotten but seemingly erased from the turtle’s mind as he refocused on the task at hand: Recon Mission.

STATUS REPORT

>>>The Foot: Disorganized gang that runs around in weird ninja costumes. Besides the occasional robbery, their activities have been deemed cultish/conspiratorial.

>>>The Purple Dragons: Dorky tech group that hacks stadium and billboard digital displays from time to time.

>>>Hypno-Potamus + Warren Stone: Cutthroat Human TV anchor with a shady mutant hippo accomplice that has been tied to a few blackmail schemes.

>>>Big Mama: A known tax evader but donates to the Hidden City orphan’s fund so officials let her be.

        

A lingering sense of excitement welled up in Raph. They did not get to go on recon missions all that often, so it felt kind of like they were in some James Bond, Jason Borne, or Mission Impossible movie: Raph’s faves. When their rat dad had told stories about his former, pre-mutant life as a ninjitsu master, fending off the evils of “Sphincter” or “Shredder” or whoever it was, Raph had always been a fan, not letting the naysayers like Donnie, who said dad was either making the whole thing up or embellishing the small-town dojo he likely was a part of, deter him. Raph ignored his bros' groans and forced them to form a ninjitsu group… well… made dad make his bros join him for some crime-fighting adventures. They set up a headquarters in the lair and Raph even convinced Donnie to set up some surveillance cameras around the city, even if he only seemed to do it to placate Raph’s persistent excitement.

Well, joke was on Donnie as they had gotten a ping on one of the cameras that the Purple Dragons were sneaking around the West Side Industrial Park. It only took Raph a second to put two and two together: that’s where the large City Regional Bank billboard by the West Side Bridge was located! That must be the Purple Dragon’s next target for their billboard hacking shenanigans! It had to be right? Even though Donnie noted that the famous ice cream shop Randy’s was near there and they were probably just getting a late evening treat, Raph insisted. It was go time!

While Raph enjoyed these sorts of missions, getting to sneak around topside was so much fun. His bros, on the other hand, hated these sorts of cosplay “missions”. As they grumbled behind Raph, the red-banded turtle had to remind them that it was part of their duty as city protectors. Of course, Donnie made the point, once again, that Raph needed to stop trying to manifest this “hero” dream, but Raph remained undeterred (as well as swiping the TV remote) for a bit of brotherly encouragement.

“How much further?” Mikey moaned, dragging his feet on the sidewalk, shoulders slumped. Raph turned over his head at his grumbling bro. He recognized that frown, the one that formed reverse dimples down into his bro’s rounded cheeks which accented the soft pouch that dangled beneath Mikey’s chin. It only just hit Raph at that moment just how soft Mikey looked, in fact, how soft they all looked.

Donnie was sporting some extra pudge over his thighs which brushed together and caused his hips to slightly sway as they sauntered down the sidewalk while Leo trudged along in the back, a soft crease formed along the tops of his thighs as his torso rounded out into what would likely become a small paunch. This wasn’t very hero-like! Raph was gonna have to do something about that! Maybe he should institute some sort of mandatory training program to help them all get back into shape. Well maybe not back, but into shape in the first place. Being cooped up in the sewers their whole lives meant that there were few things to do besides plop down in front of the television or play bootleg video games.

Glancing down, Raph had to admit he may be a bit on the softer side himself, noting the bulge of his stomach as he barely spotted his toes. He poked a finger into the soft pudge, watching his digit sink in a malleable inch before flexing what little abs he had underneath. To his delight, the pudge retracted slightly; EVER so slightly. See? How hard could it be to get those shredded bodies like the action stars? A few days on the treadmill would take care of all this excess pudge, right? Maybe that and cutting back on the two whole pizzas each of them seemed to cram down every day. Maybe something more nutritious, like an apple kale superfood frittata salad or whatever the humans were eating these days. Yeah, just a few lifestyle changes and they’d get into fighting shape, and then…

*SPARK

COSMIC ERROR: Universe 8K-α-33 and Universe 39-Ω-2B Stochastic Reconfiguration Ongoing

Status: COMPLETE CONVERGENCE IMMINENT

*SPARK

Raph felt a tingle on his skin, oddly familiar yet foreign at the same time. Almost as if the air itself was electric…

*FLASH

>>>DONNIE: Body Weight: 210 lbs 310 lbs; Red Bull Consumption: 2 Per Day 8 Per Day

>>>MICHELANGELO: 195 lbs 270 lbs; Wake Up Roll Out of Bed Time: 9:30 am 1:30 pm (*on a good day)

>>>LEONARDO: 205 lbs 300 lbs; Average Daily Steps: 4000 2000

>>>RAPH: 305 lbs 400 lbs; Hobbies: Bicep Curls Curly Fry-Based Food Challenges

*ELECTRIC CRACK

        Raph clutched his head as he felt a strange tension not just around his skull but seemingly in his brain itself; this definitely wasn’t ice-cream-fueled brain freeze as he hadn’t had any ice cream… within the last few hours at least…

>>>DONNIE: Body Weight: 310 lbs 395 lbs; Nutrition Science Attitude: Graduate: Critically Important… Calorie Counting is Overrated

>>>MICHELANGELO: 270 lbs 355 lbs; Activity Levels: Ill-Contained Boisterous Energy The Arduous Trip From the Couch to the Fridge Counts as Exercise

>>>LEONARDO: 300 lbs 375 lbs; Average Daily Steps: 2000 1000

>>>RAPH: 400 lbs 505 lbs; Exercise Routine: 2 Per Week Exercise?

*FLASH

Imperceptibly, Raph’s grip around his skull weakened, the underlying musculature dissipating as if it had never been there, all while a growing sense of heaviness fell over him like a weighted blanket suctioning to his skin, one seemingly filling from the inside out with warm, viscous fluid: Raph was feeling oddly bloated and sloshy…

>>>DONNIE: Body Weight: 395 lbs 480 lbs; Lab Sample Storage: 4 Freezers 1 Freezer, 3 For “Emergency” Frozen Pizzas

>>>MICHELANGELO: 355 lbs 415 lbs; Daily (Empty) Calories: 4000 8000+

>>>LEONARDO: 375 lbs 455 lbs; Average Daily Steps Waddles: 1000 50

>>>RAPH: 505 lbs 610 lbs; Values: Hard Work Makes the Dream Work Effort Is Taxing on the Body, Snack Instead

*FLASH

        Then, in an instant, the sensation faded, and Raph straightened up and blinked for a moment. What was that? Had he just imagined that? Why did he feel so bloated and… Just as Raph looked down at his figure and saw an enormous bean bag chair of a sloshing belly staring back up at him, the sense of confusion dissipated. What had he expected to see looking down? Abs?! He’d always been a hefty turtle and while growing up it had weighed on him, while watching action stars with toned frames shooting and punching bad guys, he soon learned that that was all just fantasy. No one actually looked like that: it was all movie magic and CGI corrections. Why should he feel like he should work out (was that the right term?) to try and achieve a body that was impossible to have to perform physical feats of strength and stunts that were frankly not that impressive and also looked tiring. It was fine if other people wanted to waste their lives chasing that aesthetic impossibility, but not him. Raph was going to do what he enjoyed: WATCH people run around in movies while he sat on his butt eating Twinkies. Raph sighed thinking about his stash of twinkies back home but assured himself they’d still be there when they got back: he’d top off the ice cream he was about to hound with radiation-resistant pastry treats later.

        “Are we, *huff, almost there?” Leo wheezed. His blubbery body jostled with each of his lethargic steps as he gasped for air and wiped the sweat from his brow.

        “GPS says Randy’s is just up around the corner here,” Donnie said, “or at least I think it is.” Donnie fiddled with the haphazard device in his hands, cursing his plump fingers from imprecisely tapping at the seemingly miniature buttons: he’d be sure to fix that when he got back to the lair… or whenever he got around to it…

“Keep up… slowpoke,” Mikey teased, trying to hide the heaviness in his own chest. He grunted as he adjusted the belt strap that sloped diagonally over his torso, trying to relieve some of the pressure of the leather digging into his pot belly… well what had once been just a pot belly. Though most would have classified it as a fully-fledged gut now, Mikey liked the aesthetic of a pot belly more: so wholesome, firm, and heavy though those latter qualities were still evident, with emphasis on heavy. The mound of blubbery jostled with each step he took, though that reverberating sensation traveled up towards the set of moobs slapping against the top of his domed gut, it was a sensation he was used to: a sensation he'd ALWAYS experienced. A hefty turtle at birth growing up into a hefty turtle in the present and loving it. He was all about that body positivity stuff, plus his larger frame gave him a larger canvas to draw on more pseudo-tattoos, at least when he wasn’t feeling too lazy. Mikey may have been chunky, but he looked good with some meat on his bones.

“Ugh, the body wasn’t meant for this,” Leo sputtered, still slogging behind. Maybe this was a sign he should actually get in shape for once in his life… but then he slapped himself: there was no need to make any rash decisions like exercising and dieting when there was Randy’s ice cream to gorge on.

Well, all that cake COULD be used for something… Mikey thought with a mischievous grin, existing the urge to give Leo’s rump a thick squeeze. Leo, unaware of his bro’s dastardly thoughts simply let out a soft moan as he thought about the shoppe’s signature buttermilk cream base and how nice and cool that’ll make his sweaty, overheating body…

        “Your body wasn’t meant for anything but stuffing cheese doodles down into it,” Donnie muttered under his breath, noting the irony of his own statement as he licked lingering cheese dust from his plump fingers before wiping them on the sides of his wide hips: he’d brought, and already finished, road snacks. Should he have brought road snacks while minutes away from chowing down on ice cream? Conventionally nutritional guidelines said no, but Donnie wasn’t a conventional turtle was he now. While he despite the often-shoddy nature of nutritional science (*had on chest, as a burgeoning scientist himself), he did have to admit they were at least on the right track about the consequences of excess calories.

He could feel all that extra weight around his thighs, wide hips, and sagging belly weighing down on his knees and ankles, well cankles. Each step sent a heavy jostling wave shooting up his frame, making his already waddling walk that much clumsier, but who cared. Walking was overrated anyway. In ten years, they’d all be moving around on hover chairs, at least if Donnie had anything to say about it, then at that point, exercising and sportsball and the whole concept of maintaining one’s fitness and figure would be a thing of the past: he and his pear-shaped ass were just ahead of the curve. Trend setters even. Or at least that’s what Donnie liked to think. A deep gurgle rumbled in Donnie’s sloshing gut: it was still hungry for more. He should have brought more road snacks.

“Okay,” Donnie said, glancing at his GPS again, “It’s just right up here…”

        The quartet of lumbering turtles plodded around the corner and froze as they stared up at the brilliantly glowing sign above: Randy’s Shoppe.

        “Out of the way fools!” Leo shouted, grunting loudly as he plowed through his turtles in a lumbering, awkward run, his heavy footsteps rumbling the sidewalk slightly. Mikey soon took off after him, followed by a thick-hipped waddling Donnie. Raph simply stared after his blubbery bros with a smirk before glancing up at the beautiful full moon. Warm night with the fam getting ice cream. No worries. No cares. No responsibility. What more could he ask for? This truly was the best timeline.

STATUS REPORT

>>>The Foot: A consortium of podiatrists on the corner of 34^th Main and 17^th Boulevard.

>>>The Purple Dragons: Local semi-professional gaming team.

>>>Hypno-Potamus + Warren Stone: Hypno-who?

>>>Big Mama: Owner of a local nunnery.

COSMIC CORRECTION: New Universe 8V-δ-67 Established