*Never expected to write a fic like this one. If you're sensitive to death and somewhat graphic violence, proceed with caution.

I own nothing related to the TMNT.

The sight of the purple-masked turtle entering the room was simultaneously the most frightening and exciting thing that had ever happened to Jackson Russo. The teen quaked with anticipation from his hidden position within the closet, and swallowed hard to steady his breathing.

"What do you see?" his friend asked.

Tony's whisper felt too loud, and Jackson hissed for him to shut up. When he resumed gazing through the small crack in the door, he noticed the Phantom panning the room, looking around like it knew he wasn't alone.

Jackson fingered a small caliber hand gun, nervously double-checking the rounds. It's okay. It is. That thing doesn't know you're here. This will be over really quick, and you're gonna earn your spot.

When Tony shifted on his left, Jackson shot him another murderous glance.

"What's going on?" Tony's heated whisper was making it too risky to keep his friend in the dark.

"Phantom."

Tony covered his mouth to contain a gasp. "I told you, didn't I? Said something good would happen tonight. That's why I came prepared." He patted a paper sack-wrapped bottle proudly.

"Shut your trap, Tony. I need to watch it."

Jackson peered through the opening again, and saw the freak closely examining the fuse box. What's that thing doing? We've got one job – to keep the power off. Stupid Phantom isn't going to ruin this for me. He's my ticket into the gang.

"...Can you hear me okay?" the turtle spoke up suddenly, tugging on a headset fitted with what looked like blue tooth. "It's gonna take a little time, Leo. There are several broken circuits...Yeah, I can fix it, but I need you to stall a while longer. I'll call you."

Jackson exchanged a glance with Tony. "He's trying to fix the box. I gotta stop him." The fourteen-year-old held up his gun. "I need you to-"

Jackson was rudely cut off by an annoying ringtone that should have already been silenced. He gaped at Tony in disbelief while his friend juggled the offending device to turn it off.

Then Jackson jerked toward the closet door, to find the turtle whipping around to face their direction. One of his strange three-fingered hands appeared tied up with whatever he'd been clutching in the fuse box, while the other was gripping a long pole of some kind.

Their cover blown, Jackson knew he had to act fast, or lose an incredible opportunity. He slammed the door open and fired the gun in the same motion. The bullet thudded harmlessly into the wall when the Phantom ducked, but his fumble within the electric panel caused a loud pop, and what sparse lights remained on were plunged into darkness.

The ambient streetlights outside barely illuminated the freak's body as it seized up in an instant. A low cry emitted before the thing collapsed, trembling on the ground.

Jackson leaped out of the closet, covering the Phantom with his gun, in case he was capable of a miraculous recovery. Tony wandered out behind him, breathing unnaturally loud.

His friend cursed severely, nudging the now motionless body of their enemy. "What the hell? Did you shoot it or not?"

"Nah, man. I think he electrocuted himself. He might have done the job for me." Jackson laughed gleefully. "But I can still finish it. You're gonna help me make history, Tony."

"You get to shoot him, but what about me, Jackson?"

"You forgot to turn your phone off, idiot. You're lucky this worked out as well as it did. I'm gonna pass the initiation for sure."

"I want in too!"

"You have to find your own kill, Tony. This one's all mine."

"But that's not fair!"

"Life ain't fair. Don't complain about it to me."

"Can't you just-"

Another ringing phone cut his friend off, but this one didn't come from Tony. Jackson followed the sound, and reached to retrieve a device sticking out of a backpack leaned against the wall.

The cell phone looked more advanced than anything he'd ever laid eyes on, instantly intriguing the fourteen-year-old. "Would you look at this thing? It'll probably be worth hundreds on the street, after it's been flashed."

The teen peered into the bag, chuckling over the find of a wallet and what looked like a tablet computer. My night keeps getting better.

Without a word he swung the bag over his shoulders and turned around with raised gun. "I'm finishing this, Tony, and you're gonna record it. If you play nice and take care of me, I'll take care of you."

"I'll do anything you want, Jackson! Just help me get into the gang too."

"Chill, Tony. I'll figure everything out. But first," he hesitated, crouching over the freak's body. "Before we get a new beginning, I have to end someone else."

Pressing the gun to the Phantom's temple, he pulled the trigger.

The report of a gunshot brought Raphael up short, if only for a moment. It wasn't the first time he'd heard the sound that night, and it barely had the power to phase him. It definitely wouldn't interrupt his mission of locating the brother who'd failed to answer his phone.

The red-masked turtle threw himself back into plowing down gang-bangers with a fury, the faintest hint of a smirk emerging when two locked arms against him. He lowered his head and changed in between the youths, enjoying the sensation of knocking them flat.

The action was almost too easy. The only thing preventing him from laughing was his desperate need to find Donny. He heard Mike's war-cry in the background, curiously lacking the humor he'd been infusing only minutes beforehand. He's worried about Don too, but we're catching up. Can't wait for Mikey to get here. I need to find the genius now.

"Don-"

The single syllable was all that escaped before another gunshot rang out, this one burying into the wall about a foot from where he was standing. Raph dodged to the right with a growl, rolling under a second shot. He scanned rapidly for the shooter, locating a young teenager standing a few yards opposite him.

The boy raised the pistol without fear, lining up to fire another two times. For all his apparent "confidence", the teen's shots went wild, demonstrating the shakiness he was feeling inwardly.

Raphael honed in on the stranger like a heat-seeking missile, only to be tripped up by another brute lunging into his path. He backhanded his attacker, sending the guy head over heels into three more people behind him.

When the red-masked turtle sought the gunman this time, he couldn't immediately find him. Frustration pulsed momentarily, right before he picked out the boy fleeing with a distinctive bag slung over his back.

"What the shell..."

Raph didn't give himself time to finish. The seventeen-year-old charged after the youth who was toting Don's backpack, determined not to lose him.

"Come back here, ya little cretin!"

He leaped over a fallen body in his path, picking up speed to chase the gunman/thief, who'd been joined by another figure of about the same age. Raphael noted when they shut themselves into a room, and converged on the door less than sixty seconds later.

The knob wouldn't turn, but it made no difference. With a bellow of rage, the turtle kicked down the door and forced his way through splintered remains. By the time Raphael got inside, the boy with his brother's bag was diving through a window.

Raphael crossed the room in a flash, capturing the teen by the leg as he tried to pull the rest of his body through the frame. He cursed the kid colorfully, yanking his limb so hard that the boy fell backwards through the window. The turtle made a grab for his other leg too, and held on tight.

"Give it up, runt! You ain't leaving, so let go of the bag, NOW!"

The teen swore at him in return and tried to kick out, but Raph crushed both his legs against the window frame.

"If you ever wanna walk again, let go of my bro's stuff! Put it down!"

The kid's only response was to cuss once more and keep struggling. Raphael got one arm around his waist and dragged him in reverse. His superior strength was winning out against whatever the teen was holding onto from the other side.

Raphael had his other hand on the backpack, prepared to relieve him of it when Leo's voice rang out suddenly.

"RAPH! I need you now!"

The pure panic in his brother's voice distracted the red-masked turtle from the target at hand. He didn't even have a chance to respond to Leonardo before something crashed into his arm, shattering into a million pieces and cutting skin open.

Shocking pain caused Raph to lose his grip, followed by the disgusting drenching of something that was clearly alcoholic. His "victim" took the opportunity to scramble through the window with a triumphant laugh.

Raphael was darting after him when Leonardo's voice carried even louder.

"Raph! GET BACK HERE!"

He hesitated to look over his shoulder, irritated.

"Go on, freak! Your daddy's calling you!" the teen taunted.

Raphael lunged through the window with a snarl, capturing his leg again. "Now you're gonna pay, you little bastard!"

"Donny's down!" Leo's shout was closer and more desperate. "Raph, we need you!"

Those words made Raphael release the punk at once. He didn't even look backwards while dashing away from the window, back into the hall. There he found Leonardo surrounded, fending off gang members with an unusual amount of force.

Raph jumped into the fray beside him, fighting to get a handle on the slew of strangers trying to overwhelm the blue-masked turtle.

"Raph, go!" Leonardo ordered through gritted teeth. "Help Mikey!"

"What about you?"

"Don's in worse trouble! I can last a little longer here – hurry up!"

Raphael turned away from the battle with a pained grunt, finally realizing how deeply his arm had been penetrated by glass. His upper cut floored a moron who appeared in front of him, and the red-masked turtle ripped the shirt right off his back to tie over his bleeding injury. He barely had the fabric knotted in place when another disturbing cry reached his ears.

"Donny!"

Of all the times he'd heard Michelangelo scream (and there were plenty of memories to pull from), Raphael had never detected that combination of pure terror and anguish in the orange-masked turtle's voice before.

Raph ran, first dodging and then hurling his frame against the young men still in his way. In the distance it took to make it to the next room, he'd flattened at least six more strangers. He expected to catch Mike in the act of attacking gang-bangers too, but wasn't prepared for the scene which met him.

The sheer number of bodies strewn around the space made it look like a hurricane had struck. His youngest brother was bent near the floor with one hand hovering over a prone Donatello, and the other lashing out with a nun-chuck as hard as he could.

The violence with which his little brother repelled first one teenager and then another was so shocking, Raphael paused. Until he saw the the pool of blood underneath the purple-masked turtle. The startling sight made him lunge to reach Donny at once.

But despite his swift movement, when he got to Don, everything stopped. Time suspended, surroundings disappeared, and sound faded into the background. Raphael sank slowly to the ground, amber eyes refusing to blink, incapable of unseeing the lethal-looking wound in his younger brother's head.

It wasn't real. It wasn't happening. It couldn't be. No. No – Donny was fine. He had to be. Splinter would be able to fix it. Donatello always said head wounds tended to bleed more. They could look worse than they actually were. He would be fine. They just had to escape.

All Raphael wanted to do was scoop up his brother and dash from the room, but he still couldn't move.

A wail was what broke the strange frozen spell which had come over Raph. When he managed to blink, he saw his orange-masked brother clutching Donny's plastron and burying his head against his broken frame.

"No, no, no, no! Donny! NO! Please. You have to breathe. You gotta wake up. C'mon. Come on!"

Raphael couldn't speak. He couldn't do anything except watch the fifteen-year-old turtle pound on the genius' chest in some desperate version of CPR that looked incredibly useless.

He was only able to focus on Mike's struggle for a moment longer, because he was irresistibly drawn back to Donny's face. His lifeless state demanded immediate action, but the horrible understanding that it was already too late had set in.

A fist flying toward Raphael's head made him flinch, shifting at the last second so that the jab only glanced across his chin. The red-masked turtle barely felt it. When he gazed up at the teenager behind the attempted blow, he wasn't even tempted to explode.

The utter futility of taking any action was so overpowering, he didn't go after the kid. His little brother was already dead, and there was nothing he could do about it.