The workshop was filled with light from the open windows, a gentle breeze ruffling the white curtains around them. The air smelled of sawdust from the various undertaken projects spread out on the worktables and benches. Each wall held a minimum of three clocks, their rhythmic ticking creating an air of mechanized tranquility in the room.
Hunched over the desk in the corner, an old man sketched his latest idea in a leather bound book, occasionally returning his quill to the inkwell for more pigment. The man's long beard occasionally got in his way, the white strands having more than one ink stain upon them as he was too involved in his work to care.
The door to the workshop was roughly shoved open as a visitor arrived without bothering to knock before entering. Clad in gleaming armor, complete with helmet and facemask, the tall warrior's artificial nature could be seen between the armor plates where the turning gears and interior mechanisms showed through. The construct towered over the old man and spoke simply and directly.
"Where are my soldiers?" the construct demanded in a simulated voice. It turned its gaze toward the book on the desk. The overlapping metal plates of its eyes changed position to narrow its focus and tighten its irises down to the smallest possible level. "What is this? Do you expect me to command an army of rats?"
"No, Shredder," the old man answered. "This is something else, and I suspect it will be quite the splinter in your side before all is said and done."
"Careful," the Shredder warned, taking a step closer. "If you're no longer useful to me, I could easily dispose of you."
"I am Leonardo Da Vinci," the old man stated boldly. "This is my workshop. You seem to have forgotten who built you. I made you to protect mankind, not conquer it."
"I do as I see fit," Shredder replied while using a key to tighten the mainspring in his left arm.
"Very well," Da Vinci sighed. He dropped his quill on the desk. Standing up, he opened the door into the next room. "I made a mistake when I built you, Shredder. I shall correct it now, with these."
Four mechanical constructs walked in from the other room. They resembled turtles, complete with shells made from varnished and finely polished wood, but they stood upright like people. The ticking of their interior mechanics blended perfectly with the sounds coming from the clocks on the walls. Each of the turtles brandished a different type of weapon, ready for imminent use.
The Shredder dropped into a combat stance, preparing to meet the new arrivals and vanquish them as he'd done with every other challenger.
"These pathetic turtles won't stop me," the Shredder sneered, toggling a switch on his forearm. Blades emerged from the back of each hand, flipping out and over to lock in place in front of his fists.
The mechanical turtles charged the Shredder while yelling loudly, "Cowabunga!"