Russia Siberia The cold wind caught the ice particles and beat hard on the glass.
This secret base built in an abandoned air raid shelter is surprisingly large and filled with various electronic instruments and heavy weapons.
Benjamin Da Ma was sitting on the sofa, holding a can of vodka in his hand and staring at the screen that occupied half of the wall.
On the screen, it was John standing on the ruins, saying "Thank you" to the global live broadcast camera.
Benjamin looked at it for a while, then slammed the can in his hand on the coffee table.
"These stupid sewer rats."
Benjamin cursed and stood up, rubbing his rough hands twice on the stubble.
"You dare to pour dirty water on my son. They are tired of living."
Along with the sound of heavy footsteps, a huge green figure walked out of the passage.
That's Michelangelo.
In ten years, Little Turtles, who was just around Benjamin's waist, has now grown into a behemoth with a height of more than two meters.
With his rock-hard green muscles and the thick turtle shell on his back, if an ordinary person bumped into him on the street in the middle of the night, he would probably be so frightened that he would have a cardiac arrest on the spot.
Michelangelo was holding two extra-large pizzas in his hands, and the orange cloth strip was still tied around his head.
"Hey, big man, don't be angry. Lynn Director Hasn't the matter been settled?"
Michelangelo put the pizza on the coffee table, tore off a large piece and stuffed it into his mouth.
"Would you like a piece? This is an authentic Russian thick sole."
Benjamin glanced at the pineapple-covered pizza with disgust.
"I have no appetite."
Benjamin kicked the leg of the coffee table and turned to look at the giant turtle. His anger suddenly became even greater.
"Also, let me say it again, change the name of our damn organization!"
Four Turtles and One Man.
These are the names of several of their killer organizations that are well-known in the underground world.
But to Benjamin, this name is very popular. Every time he takes a mission and reports his home, he wants to find a crack in the ground to crawl in.
Michelangelo blinked innocently while chewing the pizza.
"What a great name! Siguiyi, pronounced in Japanese, is Sugoi, which means so powerful! If you are added to it, he is a very powerful person! This is a wonderful homophone that I came up with after looking through Japanese dictionaries for three days!"
"I am a pure United States person! Why do I have to use Japanese homophony!"
"But the four of us are ninjas!"
Benjamin was so angry that he rubbed his temples. He felt that one day he would have a cerebral hemorrhage because of the anger of these turtles.
He shouldn't have listened to Michelangelo's nonsense in the first place.
This guy euphemistically said that in order to help him overcome "Russia post-traumatic syndrome", he proposed some kind of desensitization therapy and forcibly moved the organization's headquarters to Siberia, a place of ice and snow.
As a result, during that period, he blew himself up uncontrollably every day, causing a lot of trouble. As a result, he was wanted by the whole of Russia, so he had no choice but to hide in a place like this.
"Okay, stop arguing."
Donatello wore a pair of goggles and slid out of the nearby data center on an office chair.
He was holding a modified laptop in his hand, and various codes were jumping on the screen.
Benjamin turned around and strode behind Donatello, his voice deepened.
"I can't swallow this breath."
He snorted coldly,
"If you dare to plot against me, Benjamin, you have to be prepared for your whole family to be turned into ashes. Can you find out those rhythmic bastards on the Internet?"
Donatello pushed up the goggles confidently.
"You are insulting my professionalism."
Donatello's fingers were typing quickly on the keyboard,
"Those hidden IPs and broiler springboards they use online..."
Before he could finish introducing these professional vocabulary, he was interrupted by Benjamin.
"Stop talking about these things that I don't understand. Who knows if you are making them up or just talking nonsense?"
"..."
Donatello is really speechless. Fortunately, after so many years, he has become accustomed to it.
"All in all, it may be a problem for ordinary hackers, but for me, it's nothing!"
Snap.
Donatello Press the Enter key hard.
The big screen on the wall switches instantly.
A huge world map popped up, with dozens of red coordinate light spots densely lit up on it.
There are many everywhere except Africa.
"These light spots are the Safe House and command centers of various forces that hire trolls and spread false news."
Donatello leaned on the back of the chair and turned the electronic pen in his hand.
"I have downloaded the personnel list, weapon configuration, and even the schedule of their big boss into the terminal."
Benjamin looked at the beating red dots on the map and grinned with satisfaction.
"Nice job."
He turned around and walked towards the weapons depot of the base, casually pulled a black military coat over his body, and pulled down the long-lost alloy shield from the weapons rack.
Leonardo and Raphael were already standing at the entrance of the passage at some point.
There were two mutated turtles that were both about two meters tall. One was carrying a pair of knives on his back, and the other was carrying two special iron rulers with blood slots in his hands.
Raphael's eyes are full of excitement:
"I can finally go out and stretch my muscles. It's so cold in this damn place that my joints are rusty."
"The helicopter has warmed up."
Leonardo threw away the keys in his hand and strode towards the tarmac.
Benjamin walked at the front and pushed open the heavy metal door of the base.
Siberia The blizzard rushed in instantly, making his coat rustle.
A heavy armed helicopter was parked in the middle of the snow, its propellers making a deafening roar in the wind and snow.
Four behemoths plus a cold-faced veteran got into the large cabin one after another.
Benjamin sat by the hatch, looking at the vast white snowfield below, taking out a cigar from his pocket and lighting it.
He exhaled a thick puff of smoke and let the cold wind flow into the cabin:
"Sit tight, little bastards, we're going to wish these rats hiding in the gutter a happy New Year one by one."
"Are you going to set off fireworks for them again?"
Michelangelo was playing with the nunchucks, looking here and there, and couldn't relax at all.
"Kid, be quiet."
Leonardo gave Michelangelo a headache.
Michelangelo held his head and pretended to wail in pain, then rolled to Benjamin's side. Taking advantage of Benjamin's unpreparedness, he snatched the cigar from his hand and threw it off the helicopter.
"What the hell!"
The helicopter rose from the ground and plunged into the snowy sky.