Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (MCU) : The Heir of Shredder

The door swung open suddenly. Murakami entered, trembling, fear etched across his face. He lowered his head, avoiding Shredder's gaze, who didn't move, his eyes fixed on the cradle where his son, Hitori, lay quietly. The baby was calm, his tiny hands clenched around the fabric, unaware of the events unfolding around him.

"Master," Murakami said in a trembling voice. He stopped a few paces away, uncertain, as though struggling to find the right words. "The Ten Rings attacked the Macao base. The one… the one that generates revenue and recruits fighters for the Hand."

A heavy silence followed his words. Shredder slowly turned his head, his black eyes locking onto Murakami. His voice was cold. "Explain."

Murakami, his body shaking with fear, took a deep breath before replying. "They took control of the base, Master. The recruitment area is lost, the weapons stock destroyed. They acted quickly… too quickly. They knew exactly where to strike."

The words fell heavily, and Shredder remained silent for a moment. Macao. A crucial base. One that not only brought in funds but also valuable fighters to strengthen the Hand. A loss like that could not be ignored.

He rose slowly from his seat, his gaze still fixed on the baby in the cradle. Hitori, his son, still too young to understand, but one day he would bear the weight of such wars.

"Who survived?" he asked coldly.

Murakami lowered his head even further, ashamed. "A few, Master. But most are dead. The base is under their control."

"And you want me to do what about it?" Shredder's tone was sharp as a blade. "What do you propose, Murakami?"

Murakami tried to steady himself, but his hands still trembled. "We can… we can take the base back. I'll gather the necessary forces and…"

"No." Shredder stepped toward him, his gaze like a sword ready to strike. "You've failed. This attack demands only one response."

He turned his eyes to Hitori, a dark glint in them. "I'll handle it myself. The Ten Rings have crossed a line. They will regret it."

Murakami felt terror rise within him. "Master… I…"

Shredder raised his hand, a sharp gesture. "Return to Macao. Secure what's left. But remember this: if you fail again, you won't come back."

Murakami nodded without another word and hurried out. Shredder remained alone in the room, his thoughts dark. His eyes stayed fixed on Hitori, whose steady breathing was a strange contrast to the violence of the world around him. One day, he would inherit all of this. And that day would come sooner than expected.

"The Ten Rings will regret this mistake," Shredder murmured, his fists clenched. "They don't know what they've unleashed."

~

The room was silent, save for the constant sound of rain tapping against the windows. Murakami, still trembling from the confrontation, had left, and the shadow of Shredder, imposing and calm, stood alone in the room, save for the child in the cradle. Little Hitori, still frail and vulnerable, cried softly, as though the heaviness of the air, soaked in violence, had already seeped into his bones.

Shredder watched his son for a moment, his gaze fixed on his innocent face. He knew that this child would one day carry the weight of the world he was building. But for now, he was still an infant, a fragile being. Yet, Shredder had no room for fragility.

Suddenly, a figure emerged almost unnoticed from the shadows of the room. A little girl, barely five years old, slowly stepped into the light, her black eyes piercing the silence. Her black hair was tied in a small, blunt cut, and her face, though young, already exuded a chilling coldness. She wasn't a ghost, but her presence was so serene, so icy, that it felt as though the air around her had frozen.

"Master," she said in a voice surprisingly mature for her age, "did you need my attention?"

Shredder turned his head slightly, his eyes locking onto the little girl standing before him without hesitation, without a single tremor. She had already learned the rules of silence and absolute attention.

"Karai," he said in a low voice, but with unyielding authority. "I'm stepping out for a while. In the meantime, watch over your brother." He gestured toward Hitori with his eyes, an authoritative yet emotionless motion. "Make sure he isn't disturbed."

The words were simple, but they carried the heavy weight of responsibility. Karai didn't respond immediately. She walked toward the cradle, her small hands gently resting on the wood, and her dark eyes locked onto Hitori's, unwavering.

"I will take care of him," she finally replied, her voice as cold as the air around her. "He won't want for anything."

Shredder observed the scene for a moment longer. There was nothing more to say. Karai was already beyond the age where most children would have trembled or felt overwhelmed. No, Karai had that calm, that control, which transcended her childlike appearance. She knew what violence, discipline, and solitude meant. She may not yet have the steel of her father, but she already had the will to forge it.

"Remember," Shredder said in a quieter voice, "he is the future. Don't show him any weakness." He turned to leave the room, a shadow blending into the darkness of the house, his footsteps echoing faintly on the stone floor.

~

Point of View: Karai

The room was still shrouded in shadow, but the air felt heavier now, saturated with the silence that followed Shredder's commands. Without a word, Karai slowly bent over the cradle. The child, still fragile and vulnerable, squirmed in his sleep, his cries gradually quieting down. His small arms flailed the air as if he were already trying to break free from the weakness of his body.

Karai observed the baby, her black eyes locked on him, impassive. She felt no tenderness, but something within her compelled her to monitor each movement of the tiny body. A soft sigh escaped her lips. He wasn't yet the person their father wanted him to be. But one day, he would be. And until then, she would watch over him, calmly and distantly.

She sat near the cradle, her eyes never leaving Hitori, watching his every motion. He slowly turned, probably searching for the warmth and safety of a parental presence, but Karai knew that warmth was not something he would be offered. She straightened slightly, still vigilant, but a tremor in her gaze betrayed her. A flicker of concern. A slight doubt about what he might feel, about what he might become.

She clenched her fists, pushing the thought away. She had no room for weakness. Hitori wouldn't have any either. Their master had already spoken, and Karai knew the only path was one of coldness and discipline.

But as she stood there, watching over him, a fleeting thought brushed her mind. She wondered if, one day, this little boy, the one she now observed from such a distance, would understand what he had to become. And if, one day, he would ask her why she watched him in silence, never truly drawing near.

Karai shook her head. She had no answer for that, not yet. But one thing was certain: this child, this heir, would grow up in the same solitude as their father, and he would eventually understand.

~

Point of View: Murakami

Murakami trembled at the thought of returning to that room. The memory of that fateful day was still vivid in his mind, a nightmare he could never quite erase. The moment when everything had shifted, when he had witnessed Shredder's influence spread like an unstoppable wave.

(Flashback)

It was during a high-level Hand meeting, a small group where the most crucial decisions were made. The three most influential figures in the organization, Bakuto, Sowende, and Alexandra Reid, were present. But on that day, there was an intruder among them, a man who didn't belong to the old guard. It was Shredder.

Murakami still remembered the tense atmosphere in the room. The three veteran leaders of the Hand, powerful and respected, were having an animated discussion about the direction the organization should take. They talked about territories to control, ways to expand their network, all while ensuring that no false note would disrupt their domination.

And then, Shredder entered. Silent at first, he stood in the shadows. He didn't speak a word, but his mere presence shifted the balance of the room. Bakuto and the others studied him, trying to figure out his intentions, but Shredder gave nothing away. He wasn't here to negotiate, but to dominate.

The meeting stretched on a little longer, each person trying to gauge his intentions. But when he spoke, everything changed.

In the blink of an eye, he took control of the situation. Shredder revealed his true intentions: he wasn't there to negotiate, he was there to rule. The conversation turned abruptly. His words, cold and ruthless, made the walls tremble. He had shattered, crushed, any resistance.

Bakuto, Sowende, and Alexandra Reid, the leaders of the Hand, stood there, frozen by the implicit violence of the moment. None of them had time to react. Shredder didn't need to do more than mark his territory. The tension was palpable; this wasn't just a battle of wills, it was a display of force.

Murakami, who had watched in silence, felt the intensity of that moment. A cold shiver ran through him. In an instant, he saw what Shredder was willing to do to impose his vision. And he understood one essential thing: there was no place for those who refused to submit.

Silence had engulfed the room. Bakuto, Sowende, and Alexandra Reid exchanged glances, but it was already too late. The Hand, as they had known it, no longer existed. Shredder was the sole master.

Madame Gao had said nothing. She observed, calm and serene, as though an unyielding spectator to what was unfolding before her. She knew that submission to Shredder was inevitable. The others tried to defend their authority, but Murakami saw in Madame Gao's eyes that the only way to survive in this new order was to bow to him. Like her, he had no choice but to submit.

The foundations of the Hand had been upturned in an instant. Shredder's reign had been established. Murakami, eyes fixed on the scene, didn't hesitate for a second to bow, understanding that only loyalty to this man, even through fear, would guarantee his survival.

That memory still gnawed at him. It wasn't the physical violence that terrified him, but what Shredder represented: absolute power, an unstoppable force, and a master who could not be challenged. If the former leaders of the Hand, those who had ruled through fear for years, had been crushed without a chance to defend themselves, who in the organization could escape?

Murakami shook his head to push away those thoughts. He focused on the task at hand. Everything he had experienced until now had only been for one thing: to stay alive and serve the new master of the shadows.

The door opened with a heavy silence, and Shredder entered the Hand's Fingers' meeting room. He didn't even glance at his subordinates before taking his place on his imposing throne, a figure of iron and ice that dominated the room. The echo of his footsteps resonated throughout, intensifying the oppressive presence of his authority.

The Fingers of the Hand stood in line, respectful and silent, waiting for their master to speak. The silence was thick with tension. None dared to break the stillness, knowing that any unsolicited words would be a fatal mistake.

Shredder slowly sat down on his throne, raising his cold gaze to his lieutenants. Madame Gao, Murakami, Chris Bradford, Baxter Stockman, and Takeshi were all present. Each person in the room knew why they were there, and what was at stake.

Without a word more, Shredder broke the silence.

"The Macao base was attacked by the Ten Rings," he said coldly, as though stating a simple fact.

There was no emotion in his voice, no hesitation. Just a cold truth he spat out effortlessly. No one dared respond or ask questions. They knew Shredder wasn't waiting for explanations, only results.

"We lost men. But it's not the base we're losing. It's control over our network. We have resources there, and potential fighters. If we let the Ten Rings take that place, they will jeopardize our expansion."

His voice reverberated through the room. The threat was implied, but clear enough for everyone to understand. Murakami stepped forward, trembling hands, but he had no choice but to respond.

"Master, the Ten Rings didn't manage to seize sensitive information. But they attacked with force. The base is still intact, but security has been compromised."

Shredder kept his gaze fixed on Murakami, his piercing eyes revealing no emotion. He didn't need any unnecessary details. He already knew everything he needed to know.

"I don't care," he replied coldly. "What matters is that this place stays under our control. It's not just an operations center; it's a symbol. A message. The Ten Rings think they can disrupt our order, but they must understand that the Hand cannot be shaken."

He slowly rose from his throne, his imposing figure almost unreal in the shadows of the room. The Hand members bowed respectfully, knowing that the orders they would receive would tolerate no disobedience.

"Bradford," he said, his gaze landing on his disciple, "I'm sending you with a squad. Recapture the base. And make sure they understand that any attempt to attack the Hand will be punished mercilessly."

Chris Bradford stepped forward, offering no questions, only assent.

"Yes, Master."

Shredder turned his gaze toward Baxter Stockman and Madame Gao, then to Takeshi.

"Baxter, prepare the equipment. If the Ten Rings have advanced weapons, I want to be ready for anything. Gao, oversee the coordination and secure all other bases. If Macao falls, we need to deploy our reserves immediately."

Each nodded without a word. Shredder's tone allowed no room for hesitation or indecision.

Shredder sat back down on his throne, his eyes sweeping the room one last time. "I want nothing less than victory. Swift execution. Total execution."

There was no discussion, no comment. Every member of the Hand knew what that meant. Their orders were clear. Those who failed were erased.

"Go," Shredder commanded, his gaze still as merciless as ever, "Don't disappoint me."