Ninja Turtles 3 Gameplay

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III: The Manhattan Project is that beat-’em-up where you feel the rhythm in your fingertips. A second to sidestep, half a second to catch the animation frame, and boom—the signature special lands right on cue. Each brother scraps in his own lane: Leo carves wide arcs, Mikey spins up a whirly cyclone, Raph’s a short-range torpedo, Donnie owns space with reach and control. In Ninja Turtles 3—aka Turtles 3 on NES—that isn’t window dressing; it dictates tempo. On the beach you jump in; in cramped sewers it’s all spacing; in the Technodrome you sometimes throw your trump card and fade. And yes, that A+B special is a beast but sneaky: it costs health only on hit, but once your bar’s flashing, it’s open season—free supers, no tax.

In motion, on beat, in the brawl

This is classic, no-fuss beat-’em-up flow, a screen full of Foot Clan colors. Blue lobs shuriken, purple pokes with a shock baton, orange tries to backdoor you with a staff—and each needs a different answer. Mousers nip at your ankles, little bots pop after a short fuse, and you can practically hear the game’s metronome: step, windup, dodge, strike. It’s not a combo-chase; it’s honest street duels where timing and positioning rule. Let them get too close—eat a grab; rush a swing—catch a projectile from the edge. And there’s that over-the-shoulder toss, the “clean” finisher that erases fodder better than any flurry. Smooth like muscle memory.

Stage one is blistering sand, umbrellas, surf noise. TMNT 3 shows its bite fast: a chill-looking beach that’s actually a tight corridor of waves and enemy slides. The jump kick cooks—until a side surprise tags you. Then a surf breather: auto-scrolling screen, buoys and mines drifting by, and you’ve got to lock in the jump cadence to avoid chip. These quick interludes spice The Manhattan Project: you waltz on sand, weave on water, then rocket through the city where one lazy step trips a road hazard.

When the island of skyscrapers lifts into the sky (nice play, Shredder), it turns into a rooftop-and-street marathon. The sewers are slick: currents pull you to manholes, steam vents wreck timing, and junk rains from above. Labs mean conveyors and electrified grids—risk the dash or clear the wave first. The Technodrome greets you cold: lasers, turrets, moving platforms. Here you feel why The Manhattan Project isn’t about mashing forward but about cadence—frame by frame, wave by wave. Swap between jump-in kicks, sidestep outs, and that special window, and enjoy how the screen resolves into a dance.

Co-op and the unspoken turtle code

Two-player is where Turtles 3 really sings. It’s that couch co-op where you just know who holds the front and who cleans the backline. One draws aggro, the other cuts in on the diagonal—and suddenly the screen works for you. Deals matter: whose pizza, who takes the 1UP, when to push the screen and when to chill to avoid extra spawns. Tight corridors kill your swing—so you rotate roles: Donnie the shepherd, Leo the broom, Mikey brings chaos, Raph finishes leaks. Nail a clean, hitless rhythm and that’s the Cowabunga you boot this cart for.

Pizza always sits where you need it least—classic. So the game teaches patience: finish the wave, kite a boss aside, leave the box on screen and grab it on the perfect beat. Continues aren’t endless, 1UPs come grudgingly, and every mistake-free string feels like a little victory. There’s “hidden math,” too: specials only drain health on contact—so you can safely feint them to make bosses flinch, steal a step, and break their cycle. And when the bar is flashing, stop being precious and play your tempo, turning the fight into a set piece of signature moves.

Boss fights: from the beach to the Technodrome

Bosses are all about patterns. Rocksteady on the shore charges like a battering ram and loves to clip you on the turn; jump-whip and a neat sidestep keep you clean. Then the familiar mutants from the show and the movie: heavy swings, jump-ins with shadow tells, volleys you hop in time. Tokka bullies with brute force, Rahzar baits reckless counterpokes, Slash is a nasty mirror turtle—don’t trade with that mass head-on. Krang stomps the arena, making you count beats between salvos, and Shredder keeps pressure until your final slip. Few things beat the moment you read a boss like an open book: step, shadow, pause, strike—loop.

So why does TMNT III: The Manhattan Project stick to your heart so easily? Honest contact. You feel the weight of every hit and the price of every error. You set the pace: sometimes you rip with jump-kick strings, sometimes you turtle up and bank HP for the next window. Call it Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III, Turtles 3 on NES, or just Turtles—it’s that rare feeling when the screen listens while the city hums in the background. Cowabunga—then off you go, over rooftops and waves, right on the beat.