Day 1

It was just another city-rushed, chilly New York evening; bursting with the excitement and the fresh aura of activity, just like any other day before.

The gang of four were all in the lair, except one. Everyone was lounging and doing their own thing after an early, rather refreshing dinner of hamburgers, a somewhat abrupt break in their otherwise insistent pizza-habit, which may or may not have been largely Mikey's evildoing – and soon after the meal, Mikey decided to go sewer-skating. Nobody seeming to mind, getting the typical be-careful-take-your-weapons-oh-yeah-and-please-be-careful lecture from both Dad and Dad Jr., he'd taken off down the well-known sewer caverns.

Spring was right around the corner, but though it was already mid-March, New York was as cold as ever, and remnants of snow still blanketed the ground in thick layers. Intentionally having left his winter coat behind, Mikey shivered, pushing himself faster on his skateboard and relishing the stark temperature with a wild grin. Though he and his brothers all admittedly enjoyed warmer weather much more, Mikey made it a point to not always be warm and comfortable. If he was comfortable for too long, things were too boring. He wanted to dive into the chilly weather sometimes, and loved sitting out in the snow or the rain. It was the sensations – they were a part of the overall life experience, he thought, and he wanted to enjoy each to the fullest.

"Of course, some hot chocolate would be nice once I get back." Mikey thought, grinning.

Flying around a cavern corner, he leaned heavily into the curve and grinded the wheels on the concrete in a delightful cry of tough, worn rubber against concrete, sending a shower of sparks into the runoff water before shooting off down the corridor to his right.

"Hurry up, lowlife! We have to move."

Forcing his skateboard to a more quiet halt, Mikey paused at the rough, nervous comment made above from somewhere outside the manhole he'd just passed underneath. Wondering, he listened.

"I'm comin', idiot," he heard, a rough voice with a slight foreign accent; then there was a scuffling sound, like a sack being thrown into a truck, and the slam of car doors.

"If you keep slowing us down to hang around and steal things, we're gonna leave you behind and let the cops pick you up. Or would you like to be reported to the Shredder?" Another voice commanded.

Mikey perked up. Ooohohoho! What had he found here? Very interested now, he walked to the bottom of the manhole and climbed up the ladder to see if he could catch a peek without being noticed.

When he peered out, he wasn't exactly sure who to expect, and so was surprised to see a small group of Foot soldiers. Shredder had replaced them with the Foot-bots already, so he wasn't sure what they were up to anymore. More than that, though, he'd never heard them actually speak before, following a strict, ninja-like silence-during-operations code, which was more than his leader could say of his own team. But what ninja with a life wanted to be silent all the time, anyway? That was so lame.

As they leaped into the back of the large, white van, Mikey's first instinct was to jump out and take them all down before they got anywhere – it would've been too easy – but on second thought, he let them leave before climbing out of the manhole and trailing them by the rooftops. At 5:13 pm, it was still way too bright outside to start a commotion – maybe he'd find something interesting if he followed them, anyway; his oldest brother had been agonizing over these enemies that had been unaccounted for until now, especially when he took them on night runs. He'd just have to come back for his skateboard later.

By the time the van reached its destination, they had gone several miles across the city, and Mikey was feeling winded and super cold, wishing he'd brought every thread of clothing they owned. They were in the dinky suburbs, closer to the shoreline, and he followed as the Foot pulled into an old, abandoned power plant.

"Finally," Mikey thought, shivering in his hiding place as the Foot jumped out of the van. Coming out last was a Foot with a grey sack slung over his shoulder, and he followed his comrades into the concrete building. "Might as well," Mikey figured, crouching to quietly leap down to the ground. Looking around, he snuck inside after the Foot soldiers, closing the door again behind him.

Having spotted a dark place as he quietly slipped in, he immediately made his way over and crept in behind some huge pipes connected to the floor and the wall. The first thing Mikey noticed was the room was shaped kind of funny; round, and all the way around it were steel pipes going every which way, into the floor and the wall and the ceiling, the only place being left to stand, where the last of the Foot soldiers was slipping away, was a concave pit with a hole and a ladder in the center, leading further down.

"Jackpot!" Mikey mumbled, smiling. When the last Foot disappeared down into the hole, Mikey waited a moment before sneaking over to take a peek. The coast was clear, so he cautiously stepped onto the ladder to climb down, but paused.

For some reason, just now, red flags popped up in his mind and his senses told him he ought to phone home for backup. He was crawling into a hole with his enemy, not knowing what he was actually about to find – but he was in such a good position to take them by surprise, and he was afraid any offbeat movement now would just give him away. It'd be so typical.

And besides...

It was just, like, six of them. He could handle it and make it home in time to catch a movie with his bros. He continued down the ladder.

Once he made it down far enough, he twisted around and peeked into the rest of the room without revealing himself. It was very large, dimly-lit and filled with unsorted supplies, and was thankfully much warmer than the snow-scape outside, so he slipped down inside with ease and found a place to hide and warm up for a few minutes. The Foot he'd followed were standing in a group discussing something while the one with the sack went off to the side to rummage through what he had, as a couple others were going about organizing some of the junk down here. Mikey crept closer to the group, silently unsheathing his nunchucks and feeling somewhat like a lion stalking through tall grass.

"...Report to the Shredder," one of the Foot was saying as Mikey slunk in behind him, from behind the piles of boxes and crates. "They don't seem to have caught on to us yet."

The other Foot nodded in agreement, and Mikey wondered who they were talking about. Not he and his bros, right? Caught on to what?

"So what about that new guy?" One of them asked in a hushed tone. "He's gonna do something stupid and get us busted. You know how they've been hot on our tails lately, for some reason."

"He's only been here for two weeks," the first said. "He's still in training. We'll make sure he doesn't screw up."

New guy, huh? Mikey figured they meant the one with the sack. However, the conversation drifted away from that issue and onto something about Foot protocol, at which point Mikey got bored and proceeded with his one-man ambush. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, he whirled the nunchucks in his right hand and struck one of the Foot in the back of the head, effectively knocking him over, and recoiled into shelter again.

"What-?!" The Foot startled back in shock, and spotting Mikey, drew their weapons.

"We're under attack!"

Mikey raspberried at his enemies as they charged at him, and the fight was on. The other two Foot that had been in the room now joined in to fight him off, but the one with the sack suddenly grabbed it up – it looked fuller than before, now – and ran off somewhere else. Not missing this, Mikey brawled on with the Foot and progressively worked for an opportunity to go after the runaway as he beat his enemies back.

Eventually, he managed to break away from the battle after significantly defeating two of the Foot, and quickly discovered the large room led off to many more like it – where he finally caught up with the Foot in an even darker area, beside a large entrance to a much bigger room like the first.

Surprisingly, once he caught up with the Foot, he forfeited his sack to turn and face Mikey, and his stance portrayed a complete lack of the fear Mikey realized he'd expected. He grinned – this guy might actually be amusing.

"You ready to take on my Nunchucks of Fury yet?" Mikey taunted, smiling confidentially and spinning his chucks.

The guy actually responded – he huffed at first with a somewhat surprised tone, but then dipped his head in acknowledgement and widened his stance, and Mikey could almost imagine the confident grin he must've been returning. "Can't say I ever seen something quite like you," he responded, and Mikey recognized him as the rough, accented voice he'd heard earlier. "But it'll take a lot more than bein' ugly to impress me."

"Oh, you're on, fly-face!" Mikey laughed, and charged at him. As soon as the Foot ducked out of the way, Mikey realized that for all his talk, this guy didn't have the kind of skills the rest of the ninjas had. In fact, he barely seemed like a beginner. He remembered how his comrades had said he'd only been here for two weeks – maybe he was barely a beginner. Spinning around, Mikey came at him once more, and easily knocked the guy to the ground.

He wasn't able to wonder any more about it, because a second later, he realized he'd been caught up with – and at the same time, discovered his grand mistake of the night. There were many more Foot than before, roughly around fifty and coming, and they all knew he had infiltrated this weird base of theirs.

Deftly scooping up his sack, the guy rushed out of reach as Mikey was suddenly occupied with a wave of enemies. "Should've thought twice before you snuck in here," he said before he ran off. "My Foot clan pals here were just relocating. How you like the new place?"

He hurried away from the fray with a mocking laugh, and Mikey scowled, too busy to do anything about it. But now he knew – this was supposed to be the Foot's secret new base, and he'd caught them right as they were settling in. Now he'd stirred the whole thing up like a wasp's nest, and he very well might get pummeled to a green puddle on the ground if he didn't do something quick. Deciding to ditch for now, he switched from offense to defense, and his instincts started picking up every little opportunity he might have for escape as he tried to fend off a large crowd of ninjas. Managing to trick his way out of their grasp so he wouldn't be surrounded, he darted off in the direction he'd seen the other guy go in, looking for an escape path. Many of the Foot followed him, but after fazing into dark areas and making a lot of twists and turns, he managed to lose them again for a quick moment, when he suddenly stumbled across the foreign Foot again. They were near the first room where he'd come in, where he was running to ditch his comrades and escape the makeshift underground base.

"Hey, hold it!" Mikey yelled, running and tackling the man from behind. The sack he held went flying forward, and its contents spilled on the floor.

Mikey stared, shocked. In front of them laid a folder, a large canister with a radioactive hazard symbol, and a single, loose piece of paper. Immediately, the Foot lunged after his stuff, and simply out of reaction, Mikey dove to get to them first. He managed to get the one piece of paper and spun around to reach the canister, but the Foot had already scooped it and the folder into his bag and was making a mad break for it.

"Oh no you don't-!"

Mikey started after him, but the guy suddenly spun around, reaching to pull something out of a weapons pouch.

With his other hand holding the bag, he pulled off his Foot mask to reveal an easy, scowl-like grin of amusement on his sun-burnt brown, weathered and scruffy face and the steel in his green eyes, overhung by a mess of unkempt black hair. Mikey didn't like the grin on the middle-aged man's face, like he'd cheated him of every penny to his name in a fixed gambling rip-off, and he was getting away with it as easy as anything. As the Foot soldiers came flooding in after them, Mikey heard him say, "Thanks for the get-away card, freak." Before being drowned out.

Then – BANG!

Mikey didn't know what happened first – if he saw the gun or heard the shot. But it just barely missed his head, and the sound rang through the base, halting activity for a fraction of a second – though that was all it took to allow the guy to get away.

Now the Foot were conflicted – some coming after Mikey, some going after the guy, and some wondering what just happened and what they should do. Before too much was accomplished, however, a commotion was heard above ground, and Mikey recognized it as the sound of law enforcement approaching. Suddenly seeming scatter-brained, the Foot dispersed in all directions and started taking several escape routes, many weaving back into the rooms they'd charged after Mikey through. As one passed him by, he paused for a moment to glance at him.

"Shredder's gonna tear you apart for this," he said, and darted off. "Turtle soup!"

"Definitely time to skip," Mikey nervously thought, and plowed through the flurry to make his way back up the ladder at the side of the room he'd entered from.

.

.

When he made it back above ground again and left the building, a few Foot could be seen disappearing, and the foreign guy was nowhere to be found. Hurrying to a shady, sheltered place on top of a building nearby, Mikey finally admitted it to himself – that guy was definitely not a Foot soldier, and he wasn't sure he even had any connection to Shredder at all. He felt duped, in a way – who was he, and what was that stuff he was carrying? What is he planning on doing with it? Mikey wondered, at the same time the realization he'd almost been shot in the head catching up with him. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered a little; after curiously looking at the folded paper he'd snatched from the guy, still in his hand, he reached for his T-phone. This had gotten out of control a while ago – before he did anything else at this point, his brothers needed to know what was up.

Just as he was pulling up his contacts, a dark vehicle suddenly peeled into the power plant and skidded to a stop near the building they'd just been in, and men in black, thick-padded armor with large guns in hand seemingly started coming out of nowhere, pouring out of what Mikey realized was an army truck and dropping in from a helicopter that arrived quickly after, before swerving back out of sight. Shocked, Mikey backed further into the shadows and into a little nook in the beams of the steel tower behind him and watched with wide eyes, wondering what was happening. Cops blaring sirens quickly tore in behind the military truck as the soldiers, whom Mikey now realized was a SWAT team, infiltrated the buildings around them, including the one the Foot had just feverishly escaped. Watching this, Mikey crouched down further, knowing he needed to get away but wanting to know what was going on.

Another man then came out of the truck, dressed in more formal military attire, and a policeman approached him to discuss something. From where he was, Mikey was able to hear most of the conversation, and strained to listen.

"We should've figured we'd get a lead here," the FBI man said to the cop. "He seemed to have been moving in this direction with them lately. You sure it was actually them?"

He? They didn't mean him, did they?! Mikey's heart leapt up uncomfortably and seemed to lodge somewhere.

"Absolutely," the cop replied. "It makes sense – the Foot started moving whenever we got close to tracking him down. They definitely would've made the perfect disguise – and our latest evidence put this place under suspicion. We didn't need to give it a second thought when we got disturbance reports from this area."

"It doesn't sound like they're talking about me...phew. But 'disturbance reports'..." Mikey thought, dryly swallowing. "That wouldn't be me, with the fight I started, would it? Probably..."

A SWAT soldier then approached the FBI man, saying, "Nobody was found and much of the evidence was destroyed again – but there was enough to be sure they were here, sir. We got'em tacked down this time."

"Good," he said, and the soldier rushed off again to help his comrades. Without turning back to the cop, he continued, "My men turned this rat's nest up. They were here, but he's scampered off before we could catch him, again. Not only that, but four weeks ago, he managed to snatch up that radioactive material, and now he's made off with some confidential stats. Whatever plan he's got, he's successfully undermined all espionage tactics we've employed to sniff him out – always sneaking away again, like the little rat he is." Suddenly, the man threw his hat down and stamped on it in frustration, cursing.

Were they talking about that foreign guy, Mikey wondered? Duh – of course they were, he chastised himself. He was getting scared. He'd picked up that the guy was odd, but the FBI was tracking him down? The canister Mikey had seen was radioactive material, apparently. Who was he?

Suddenly, he remembered something one of the Foot had said, only but an hour ago:

"So what about that new guy? He's gonna do something stupid and get us busted. You know how they've been hot on our tails lately, for some reason."

Whatever was going on here, Mikey had led the FBI right into the midst of it all, effectively pouring fuel on the fire.

"Thanks for the get-away card, freak."

That's what he had said, right before he got away. No, right before Mikey practically swung the door open for him and guarded his way out. He scowled to himself. What was he going to do with the chemicals he'd stolen? But whatever he did, Mikey had given him the perfect opportunity to get away with it, and now who knew where he was.

As Mikey thought, everything fell into place, and the scale of things left him feeling suddenly nauseous. He'd been such an idiot. What was all this possibly going to mean?

"We've got to move," the cop said. "They must put heavy concentration on all terrorist surveillance in case he and any others try to leave the country. We cannot allow them to use what they've gotten their hands on."

"Exactly," The FBI man said. Another truck arrived, and after he executed a few hand signs, the SWAT soldiers started going back to the trucks with some of their findings. "We don't know where he went, but he couldn't have gotten far – we'll fan out; we're not resting until these bastards have been found. With the latest developments, we have several theories back at base of an eminent attack – and he's obviously had the help of some buddies tonight. I'll contact the president to tighten all borderline security, and you and your men keep an eye out. You know what details are confidential; don't humor the press more than you have to, but issue a request for everyone to be careful. We might be in a lot of danger here."

Terrorist.

That's what the guy was. Now Mikey knew exactly what his mistake was going to mean.

He'd been such an idiot.

How was he supposed to know?!

With a curt nod, the man and the cop quickly marched off to their respective vehicles, before – the sound of a machine gun suddenly exploded through the air, and concrete shrapnel flew up in Mikey's face. Startled, he jumped and looked around, heart flying in his chest, to find an FBI soldier had spotted him and was climbing over the side of the building toward him. It drew the others' attention, and all eyes were now on his silhouetted figure.

"It isn't a Foot. I got another terrorist over here!"

The shouted announcement almost seemed dull in Mikey's ears as they started ringing. Oh, no, oh no, oh no – Mikey's mind whirled in a thousand directions now, and he started moving automatically, trying to make an escape as a smokebomb and gunfire started coming out of nowhere, almost just like how the soldiers had arrived. What should he do? Was he about to get taken out and taken apart by the FBI? Where should he go?! Home! – No!He couldn't go home now – not without leading all hell to their lair. With the same thought, as Mikey ducked and bolted around like a rabbit, somehow making an uninjured escape away from the power plant and running faster than he ever had in his life, he tucked his T-phone back into its pocket in his waist strap. There was no way he'd be able to contact his brothers now, not safely. It was too late for that; he didn't want to risk anything, not even allow the smallest chance that he might lead these guys to his home.

So, what? What now? What was he supposed to do?

Before anything else, he needed to find a place to clear his head for a minute, think about what just happened. Looking behind him several times to see if he was being followed, he headed away from the area, further into town with all the crowds of people going about their business, and found a tight little corner beside a dumpster and behind some garbage cans in an alley. He hunkered down, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, and he buried his head, eyes clenched shut and terrified.

After a few moments, he contemplated moving further out in case he was being chased, but was too petrified to try, or even look up to check his surroundings. He started shivering in a cold sweat, and his pounding heart started to feel like it'd come right out of his chest. Taking a few minutes to try to calm himself, when he finally convinced himself he would've been caught by now if they knew where he was, he mustered up the strength to glance about; and only seeing regular people rushing around on the streets like normal when he looked around the dumpster, he managed to relax enough to collect his thoughts.

He still felt too paranoid to try to go home. No – he shouldn't go home, he scolded himself again; that was stupid. It was too dangerous, for his family if nothing else, to wimp out and try to run home with the FBI on his tail, and with their technology, trying to call probably wasn't too much different. No – it was wrong. He knew these fears were somewhat far-fetched, but when it came to his family and the government, neither he nor any of the other four risked anything. He quickly knocked it out as an option.

So since he was on his own for the time being, what should he do? Try not to screw up any more than he already had? He felt so stupid. But what was he supposed to do? Of all the times he and his bros had fought the Foot, now he had to run headfirst into some lethal scramble between two opposing countries. What was that even about? He had no idea a terrorist had joined the Foot clan – apparently nobody really did, not entirely. He didn't even know it was possible, but he supposed something as crazy as that was more likely than he thought – a terrorist hiding within the guise of another, secret terrorist organization.

Mikey mumbled a curse, putting his hands on top of his head. He'd let that guy get away, and the FBI was hot on both their tails. What had he done?

"...In the suburbs of New York City, where gunfire has been heard in the past hour."

The phrase caught his attention, and Mikey's gaze snapped around to the TVs behind the window of the store across the street, where some people had gathered to watch the news.

"Wow, that's scary!" A female reporter mused. "But the crime rate had just dropped again."

"Indeed," another reporter responded. "It's still a scary world out there. Remember everyone, gang fights are very dangerous, and the area should be avoided while the police handle the situation. – Oh, wait, I've got incoming news. The gang face-off seems to have escalated further than we thought,"

Mikey's face slowly continued to fall as the news unfolded on the TV. The people watching started looking shocked, and more gathered to watch the story.

"This just in," the reporter announced, "What we previously thought was a gang fight is turning out to be something more. Our sources are telling us that a terrorist may have been the center of the conflict, and law enforcements are currently working to handle the situation. We've got Rick Dunman, head of the N.Y.C. Police Department on the phone. Tell us what's going on, Rick?"

"Yes, hello," a mechanized voice came. "Just like you said – according to our intel, there has been some terrorist activity recently in the suburb area, and we've had a bit of a scuffle here tonight, but there have been no casualties or injuries and our team is hard at work to control the situation. Ah, it's advisable that everyone remain calm and keep cautious during this time to ensure everyone's safety."

"That's some heavy news, Rick," the reporter said. "Are there any safety procedures the locales should follow at this time?"

"It's highly recommended that everyone near the immediate area return to their homes or seek shelter," Came Rick's automated voice, "And keep your kids indoors, for sure. Don't interact with anyone suspicious, and report them to the police immediately. Developments around the old power plant –"

Mikey's attention shot back to himself as his T-phone suddenly started ringing. No! What were they doing? – Scrambling, he dug his phone out of its pouch in a panic and looked at it, jamming the mute button several times. It was Raph – they were probably all wondering where he was. If they were watching the news, and based on the timing of the call, he could only assume – then they were probably worried.

He cut the call off, hoping the contact would go unnoticed by any higher authority or whatever he was afraid of for now, and returned his attention to the TVs across the street.

"...Near the suburbs," Rick was saying. "We still don't have producible proof, but reports from the scene indicate a terrorist sighting. Our team was unable to identify him, but he appeared to be a short man in battle gear. No threats have been made, but every suspect terrorist is being considered armed and dangerous, so everyone needs to be very careful at this time and remain calm. We've currently employed a large militia to eliminate the threat, and we can assure that this will be done promptly."

"Thank you, Rick," the reporter said. After the call ended, he said, "Well, there you have it – our local police force strongly suggests everyone near the area return home for now; be careful out there, everyone. We'll be following this story..."

Slowly turning to look back at the side of the building in front of him again, Mikey shivered and pulled his knees in closer, stunned. His chest felt heavy with the weight of the situation, and his brain was muddled down with anxiety; and he was sick to the stomach, not for the first time this evening.

He knew the FBI was chasing them, but they'd just declared a lethal manhunt.

He needed to find the terrorist, but he was afraid of being found himself. On top of their search-and-destroy mission, they said back at the power plant that they'd be securing the New York and U.S. borderlines, so maybe they'd catch the guy after all. Sticking his snout any further into this was probably far more dangerous than anything else –

Aw, who was he kidding? The man had managed to steal a whole canister of radioactive chemicals, sneak into the Foot, and slip out from under Mikey, a trained ninja, in less time than it took the FBI to pin him down to his location. Despite being unskilled as a warrior, Mikey had failed to realize his other tactical specialties and the fact that he was purposefully being employed for a single mission, which had caused him to out-reach the turtle by a long shot and get away. He was packing some serious stuff, and had probably already left the state.

Mikey leaned his head back and let it hit the wall behind him with a sigh. Nothing felt safe anymore. He knew he had to move, but he didn't know where to go. He felt the FBI had pretty successfully already cornered him before they'd even found him.

He took out his T-phone again, conflicted, and stared at it. With a sudden realization, he wondered if his brothers were coming after him. Since they weren't bombarding him with calls, he had to imagine Donnie had pinned his location with the tracker imbedded in all their phones, and they were on their way.

Startled, Mikey got up looking around, as if expecting to see them. When he didn't, he went behind the building and started quickly snaking his way down the dark alleys, not knowing how close they were. Finally coming to a somewhat secure, cluttered, shadowy place behind a restaurant, he came to a stop again and contemplated his phone, gripped tight in his hand.

He absolutely couldn't risk keeping the tracker. And if his brothers were going to be trying to call him, he needed to make sure then and there that nobody could be traced back with signals.

None of his bros really thought about it, but if Donnie was a mechanic, Mikey was a tech junkie. He had a long enough history with modding his games and gaming systems, using Don's various computers and tweaking his T-phone to know his way around a few more wires than he let on. He flipped the phone over and opened the battery compartment, and began dismantling things in the way.

After he removed the tracking device, he dropped it to the ground.

"Sorry, Donnie," he said, lamenting his brother's intricate piece of machinery. He stomped on it, crunching it.

The next part would be somewhat more complicated, but he'd done it once before, as part of a prank. Though, last time he had Donnie's library of tech tools and how-to-nerd books at his disposal. Using the blade of his Kusarigama, after removing the battery and motherboard, he got down into the tiny wires and pieces beneath. It took a bit of wire re-crossing and a little tweaking of the motherboard, but after just a few minutes he was done. He put it back together and turned it on, and after entering a code on the starting screen, it looked completely normal again.

"That'll scramble my signal," Mikey thought as he stuffed his phone back in his belt. "Anyone who calls can't pinpoint where I am, and no one can follow any contacts I make. Hopefully it'll do what I need it to..."

There was a ca-chunk sound on the roof above him, and immediately he fazed back into the shadows, looking around fearfully. He probably just had the jitte –

There was a moving black form on top of the building that had been behind him, and as it moved closer to the edge, he realized it was a SWAT soldier. Another one came up behind him; even though they were trying to be inconspicuous, Mikey spotted them. He watched them with wide eyes and waited, not daring to move.

The first guy made a few hand motions, and the other one nodded before they took one last peek at the alley and moved away again. They descended another side of the building and started sneaking away in that direction, away from Mikey.

Quickly easing up, as soon as he thought he could, Mikey stepped out of his hiding place with a quiet, shivering sigh and quickly went back the other way, down the alley.

After deliberating for a moment as he ran, Mikey finally decided to get it together and go look for the terrorist himself. It was either put himself in untold danger and try to fix this mess he'd made, or risk his whole family's safety by running home and sitting back to watch whatever kind of hell unfolded because of tonight's events. He knew which he had to do; after all, if that guy could evade the FBI, then he guessed, so could...gosh darnit. He didn't know that, and he wasn't about to jinx himself.

Yet, if things stayed this way and he kept hiding, he had a feeling he'd get caught...or freeze to death. He nodded to himself – he had to go after the guy. It was the only thing he could do.

He didn't have any leads, though. Where was he supposed to look first? He didn't see which direction he had gone when he left the Foot lair.

"I can't just run around like a shot deer," Mikey thought. "I'd be caught that way for sure."

After taking a quick second to appreciate that he had managed to make it this far without being shot, he stopped on a fire escape on the side of a building, wondering what to do, when he heard a crinkling sound and looked down. He noticed a piece of paper wedged in next to his phone pouch – the one he had nabbed from the terrorist.

It was folded in half. He still hadn't looked to see what it said.

Taking it out now, he hesitated with it in his hands, and unfolded it. Scanning it over carefully, he read the scrawled handwriting:

Indian Point plant, 2 gl. drum

H. wren south, initiating in 20 days

After re-reading it a few times, Mikey lowered the paper. From what he remembered from some news report a few years ago, Indian Point was a nuclear power plant in Buchanan, NY. The guy must've gone there to get his – "2 gl. drum", as the paper put it.

H. wren south, initiating in 20 days...

Wren south? What did that mean? Who was H. wren?

Of course, the paper was curt enough that he couldn't really tell what anything meant – probably on purpose, he supposed. But even so, the word "south" was all Mikey needed to go on. Taking hold of the paper with both hands and looking up, he decided where he had to go from here.

Other than that, he couldn't make sense out of the rest of it, so he left it be. However, whatever was happening in 20 days, he had a feeling he wanted to make his intervention before then. He didn't like the sound of it.

Folding the paper back up and shoving it back in his belt, he looked around and started moving again – what did this mean he had to do? How far south was he going to have to go? He wished he knew, but he reminded himself he couldn't go back home until this guy was found anyway – so it was going to have to not matter. But depending on the distance, he might have to make some considerations. Did he need to hitch a ride?

Blast it all, just how far south did it mean?!

Before he was able to think about it any more, a sharp, crackling sound made him jump, and a hard impact suddenly sounded directly behind him, where he whirled around to see a taser attached to the brick wall beside him. Before he could react, he then heard the exploding sound of bullets flying out of a machine gun and ripping through solid matter, and the bricks near him were assaulted as he ducked, just in time to see the line of bullet fire slice through the area his head had just been. Heart racing, Mikey cursed and darted out of the area, hearing a voice behind him shout into a walkie-talkie –

"We've got one, South Edmans St. and heading southwest!"

Mikey's thoughts flew through his head now, realizing he had no time left. If he stayed any longer, the FBI was going to eat him alive. They'd caught back up with him, and they weren't about to let him go.

If he was going to avoid the FBI, find any trace of that stupid terrorist, and protect his family, himself and the country at all, he had to get the shell out of state, NOW.

"Don't leave the lair, guys," Mikey pleadingly thought, hoping to God that his family had seen the news and would act smart about it. "Not now. Wait for me, ok?"

.

.

His feet seemed to move on their own as he flew away from the soldiers, straining keen vision to keep a lookout for more and slipping through small, twisted routes to lose them, headed toward the pizza parlor he knew was so close by. There was a delivery guy who had an old pick-up truck he was working to replace, though it was large and not suited to the job he'd chosen, and he was always on the go so he often left the keys in the ignition between deliveries. For a fraction of a second, Mikey felt a little bad, but it was gone immediately with another fear-stricken glance behind him, looking for pursuers. He just hoped the delivery guy was at the parlor right now.

As he got closer, he thanked everything good and right when he saw the familiar old truck sitting behind the parlor, already running as if it were waiting for him. Mikey had jumped down next to it and flown into the driver's seat almost before he even realized. At this point, however, he hesitated. He'd never driven before.

Well, maybe that wasn't true. He did once, during a battle, but it lasted about five seconds before he deliberately wrecked the car in their enemy's face.

Oh, what to do, what to do?! Thank goodness it was at least an automatic instead of a stick-shift, but that was practically the only thing modern about the truck. Wishing desperately he'd made himself take the Shellraiser on a test-drive months ago, trying desperately to look at all the controls quickly and figure out what to do first, he shifted into reverse and hit the gas, flying backward.

"Crap!" Mikey yelped, smashing into some garbage cans behind him before switching back to drive and moving forward. Peeling away from the parlor, he got onto the road and merged into traffic before it struck him that he was actually driving.

Forced to slow down in the midst of the traffic, he looked wildly around through the windows in search of the SWAT soldiers, but he saw none for the moment. Maybe he'd actually managed to lose them for the time being, but he knew it wouldn't last long. Had they actually seen him? This question was gnawing at his brain. They hadn't initially – that is, not in enough light to know he wasn't a human – but he'd encountered them again once after that, on the fire escape. No – the place had been heavily shadowed, he was fairly certain they hadn't gotten a much better view than the first time. Forcing himself to calm down a little, though his heart was flying in his chest and his hands were shaking, he now let the nervousness of being tightly packed in by people when he didn't really know how to drive attack his upset stomach.

"I just hope I'm doing it right," he thought, re-checking the controls whenever he got a chance.

.

.

Not having a compass or directions of any kind, he did his best to follow traffic and road signs south, though all the criss-crossed, hanging and posted road signs directing him in every possible direction and toward each and every McDonalds within a 3-mile radius of each other did managed to confuse him thoroughly. He kept thinking of how much easier it was to recognize where he was going, and just go there, when he and his bros went on night patrols and ran along the rooftops. He never realized how different and complicated driving was. He wondered if Leo ever felt like this when he drove the Shellraiser?

Although Mikey was always the one in charge of giving him directions, which was hard enough itself. He wondered if he could remember some of the roads on the map installed in the Shellraiser to help him go south.

A few times, unused to the controls, he forgot which pedals were the gas and the brake, but almost slamming into the backs of numerous cars and barely escaping with his life through an intersection – all without his seatbelt on – helped him learn quickly and reminded him to buckle up. Besides this, as hard as he was trying to blend in, he accidentally broke a few traffic laws, managing to get some angry shouts from impatient citizens – which otherwise would have all made him shrink back in embarrassment, but he could hardly concern himself when getting away was so pressing on his mind. He flew down every road he could get away with, not even trying to mind the speed limit. Being flagged for that kind of thing in the city he lived in, at the time of day it was, was the last thing he was worried about.

Eventually, as he was making it closer to the outskirts of the city, he saw something unusual – there seemed to be an incident of some kind up ahead, and there was a ton of traffic waiting to get through. Slowing to a stop at the back of it, wondering what it was, Mikey had a sudden idea and turned on the radio, switching to a station he knew would have updates about things like this.

After a second of heavy static, the radio cleared and a voice came on, saying, "-All around the city, blocking up every road north, east, west and southbound and everything in between. Search for the terrorists is ongoing, and none have been reported in yet by our local police department..."

They hadn't caught him, after all, Mikey thought. He'd figured as much...but now he guessed what this giant traffic jam was.

"Incoming and outgoing traffic will continue to be monitored until further notice, according to our sources. Delays are expected all over the state -"

Mikey shut off the radio again, putting his fingers to his forehead for a second before looking around through the windows again. He wondered if he could afford to just sit here, but he felt relatively hidden amongst the crowd of other cars trying to leave the city. More importantly, how was he going to get through inspection?

Even as he wondered, there didn't seem to be anything he could do. People had come in behind him and he couldn't turn around to try to find a different route. All kinds of possibilities went through his head – somehow letting the truck get towed and hiding in the backseat, pulling off somewhere to find a disguise, even winging it and flying through the inspection point – but nothing he came up with seemed realistic. There wasn't a lot he could do without being seen, either, he thought; even though the night concealed him enough to make up for the clear, dirty windows of the old pick-up, he couldn't just jump out in the middle of all these people to abandon the truck. He was coming up really close to the checkpoint and seriously considering trying to cut through traffic to pull off and ditch the truck somewhere to hide in another one, but soon realized he didn't have to.

Cops were walking around with flashlights and investigating cars almost directly in front of him, and he broke out into a cold sweat when he saw one start walking towards him. His mind went blank and he was suddenly sure he was doomed and cursing himself for not ditching the truck sooner, when they all heard the commotion behind them.

SWAT soldiers had suddenly shown up at the back of the traffic jam and were loudly making their way through, investigating all the cars they passed by much more abruptly than the cops in front of him. Feeling cornered, Mikey looked ahead again in a panic, and saw the cops had come to a nervous stand-still while the cars in front of him were moving forward quickly.

He didn't waste any time. Mikey stomped the gas and got out of there.

Weaving around the other cars that had also taken the opportunity, Mikey hurried down the less-congested road ahead of the checkpoint and took brief glances behind him to find the FBI. They were still assaulting the cars waiting in the traffic jam, and either hadn't noticed or dismissed the few that had just taken off ahead.

He couldn't believe it. He'd made it through. Mikey leaned back in the seat and continued driving, making a b-line for i-278 and whimpering as he feverishly scrubbed away the panicked tears leaking out of his eyes with shivering hands.

The road had started changing.

One mile rolled by, then three, then he was out as far in the city as he and his brothers had ever ventured – then, after the nervous, daring next few miles, he was out of familiar range. It was a very strange feeling. Scary, exhilarating, nerve-wracking – his stomach did a flip when he nervously, wobbly veered onto the highway and drummed up the speed, and found he couldn't stop staring at the buildings of the outskirts and the scenery around them. The great city of New York brightly, loudly welcomed visitors, but once you started making your way out, the lights and the buildings and the noise slowly faded and became smaller, as if it weren't aware you were leaving, and as Mikey went, he couldn't seem to be able to convince himself that he was.

As the city became increasingly less and less evident and his surroundings less hospitable and tourist-friendly, Mikey started feeling a painful ache in his chest and a deep yearning to go back, run back to the city and go home. But he couldn't – and that feeling struck him and continued to haunt him for hours, as he numbly watched a never-seen, strange landscape creep out of the pictures in his mind and whizz by him from where he was in the old pick-up truck. It was as if he were entering a new, strange, darker world with new rules, and he was completely naive and vulnerable – only making the anxiety and fear of his escape worse. At certain times, he thought the pain and the fear and the longing for his family would be too much to bear. As soon as he was far enough past the city limits that it was all gone, out in the cold, quiet night, he found a sleepy town, picked out a sheltered corner behind a drug store, crawled in the back seat and immediately shut his eyes and tried to go to sleep, shut down and forget it all.

...

Hours passed. His brothers had started calling him again before, trying to contact him some time after he'd made it out of the city, but he ignored them. He wanted to turn his phone off, but he was too afraid of making a mistake while driving, his desperate longing to retreat back home stopped him from cutting himself off, and everything was overwhelming him. He couldn't make himself do it. But every time his phone rang, his heart clenched again and he cursed inwardly as he blinked back the newly emerging tears blurring his vision.

As it grew later, the calls lessened when they realized he wasn't picking up tonight, and by the time he'd reached a small town a few hours from the city, they'd stopped completely, and in the silence he felt more alone in all the world than he'd ever known. Even with the quiet, Mikey found he was completely unable to go to sleep – the stress of the night left him feeling anxious, guilty, sick to the stomach and bitterly awake. And to top off the fact that he was cold, hungry, scared and miserable with an intense headache budding in his skull, the weight of the loneliness came crashing down on him now so everything felt ten times worse, and he had absolutely nothing but his gear and weapons – and his ipod. He'd grabbed it to go sewer skating.

Feeling an emotional meltdown coming on, Mikey quickly dug his ipod out of the back of his belt and stuffed the earbuds in, trying to calm down and listening to some song, but he couldn't help it; he fell apart, there in the tattered back seat of the old truck, behind some drugstore in a place he didn't know, holding the sides of his head tight, and he let out a frustrated, broken cry, ripping out the earbuds. He hated himself and everything that had lead him here - that terrorist, the FBI, Shredder and his Foot clan, this stupid old truck. He didn't think anybody could hear him, and he didn't care. He sobbed, curling up in a ball and burying his face in his arms, angry and defeated. He could hear tree frogs quietly in the background – he'd never heard them in person before – and their lulling sound seemed to be trying to comfort him, but they didn't help. He could only lay there, shivering and sobbing, and he wrapped his arms around his head, wishing he could fall unconscious and let it end.

After a few minutes, his phone rang again.

Mikey's crying softened. Slowly, he looked up at his phone, laying on the seat at his head. The screen lit up the side of the seat where the moonlight shone through the dirty window, softly illuminating the night. Leo's icon displayed the identity of the caller; Mikey watched unmoving as the ringtone played. It was late...everyone had stopped calling a while ago, and Mikey just imagined Leo sitting in bed, bent over in despair with his phone to his ear, not expecting to be answered but calling out of anxious worry. Unable to sleep, like Mikey.

Weeeeeeeeeeee-ooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-oooooooooooeeeeeeee.

The tree frogs quietly played their song in the background, gently offering comfort. As Mikey listened, laying limply on his side, it seemed their song began to change.

Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeo, Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeo, Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeo.

He sighed, closed his eyes. He reached up over his head, took his phone and put it to his ear, put his other hand over his eyes. He answered the call.

There was silence on both ends for a few seconds. Then, as he knew Leo was realizing he had answered, Mikey spoke up with a sob-choked, croaky voice; "Leo."

"...Mikey?" Came a weary, increasingly frazzled voice on the other end. "Mikey, is that you? Oh, God..." There were another few seconds of muffled silence, and Mikey thought he heard stifled whimpers, as if Leo had put his hand over his mouth. It broke Mikey's heart to hear him so worried. Then, Leo continued quietly, "Mikey, little bro, are you ok? We saw this crazy news report, the FBI and something about a terrorist being hunted down – and then we remembered you were gone, you had gone out but you hadn't come back yet, and we tried to track you down and we found your skateboard but we lost your signal and had to go back because it was too dangerous - oh, Mikey, we sat in front of the TV just watching the news for hours, waiting to see if anything new came up 'cause we didn't know what had happened to you or if they were after you, and everybody tried to call you but you never answered - none of us left any messages, we were too scared, we just wanted you to answer your phone..."

Another couple seconds as Leo gathered himself again. Then, "Mikey, please, please tell me you're ok?"

"I'm alright, it's ok, Leo, I'm fine," Mikey said, putting his hand on top of his head, now understanding the full extent of his family's desperation as the guilt wrenched his insides apart. It killed him hearing all the worry and devastation in his oldest brother's voice. Leo never cried – well, not openly and not often, and it was really unusual for him to ramble on; it definitely confirmed how terribly worried he'd made them all. "I'm ok, I'm fine. I promise. I'm sorry, Leo, I'm so, so sorry. It wasn't just me – I tried to stop him but I screwed up big time, bigger than any stupid mistake I've ever made before, and I'm never, ever gonna be able to – I – please –" his croaking voice grew increasingly unsteady, and he broke off with a whimper, unable to say any more. He started crying again, and dragged his hand down over his face, melting into an emotional mess. "Please don't hate me," he quietly whined, his voice high and faltering. "I'm so sorry, please don't hate me..."

Leo hushed and soothed him as he cried, giving more comfort than Mikey thought was possible over the phone. He curled up in a tighter ball and cradled the phone to the side of his face, squeezing his free arm around himself, trying to ease his crying.

"No, no, no. Shhhhhh, it's alright, little baby brother...don't cry. It's all gonna be alright..." Leo's voice came gently, softly, even as he still sounded upset and choked up himself, and in all likelihood was scared to death by the outburst of an explanation Mikey had tried to give. "I don't hate you. Mikey, I'd never hate you, no matter what. No matter what, Mikey. Don't you cry...everything's gonna be ok, I promise. Don't you cry, little baby brother..."

Mikey rubbed his muzzle, trying to quell his insistent crying, but every time he thought he was getting better, he'd choke and break down again. He didn't know how long he laid there, taking in Leo's worried comfort, how long they stayed on the phone wishing they could be with each other. Mikey only knew his episode of panic and then lack of words, his unceasing, stressed crying and his inability to pull himself back together scared Leo to no ends. He didn't like it – worrying his big brother so bad. He knew it was gonna happen, that's one of the reasons he never wanted to answer the phone. But he just couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't...

After Mikey's crying had finally quieted some, the tree frogs filling in the quiet, they both took a few minutes to let the calm and the stillness dry their tears. Mikey heard the familiar, digitalized sound of the city on Leo's end, muffled, quiet and lulling in the lair. It had always helped him sleep before, and it relaxed him a bit, reminded him of home. He knew Leo could hear the tree frogs on his end, and knowing his brother, he expectantly waited for him to ask about them, once they spoke again; but they were both nervous, he hesitant to explain his situation, and the other nervous to venture. But the prolonged silence might only be making the nervousness worse, Mikey figured. He could tell Leo was scared, and the anxiousness to keep Mikey on the line might be driving him crazy.

"Leo," Mikey spoke up again. "I miss you guys, really bad."

"We miss you too, Mike, so much." Leo replied, and Mikey could almost hear his sad, longing expression in his voice. "I hear tree frogs in the background," he huffed a small laugh, taking an indirect poke at the where-are-you subject, trying to gently approach the matter.

"I've never heard them before," Mikey said, and smiled a little. "Not in person. They're so relaxing...I wish you guys could be here."

Leo chuckled. "They sound nice...I wish I was there, too, ya'know."

Mikey giggled, too, and sighed. He wanted to tell Leo all about what happened, why he left, where he was. He knew he was dying to know. But he couldn't tell him his location, because he knew the millisecond Leo got a lead, he'd jump on the Stealth Bike and tear through the city to come get him. And...he just couldn't let him do that – he'd come all this way to keep them all safe, and protect them from what was going on. He had to give him something, though. He deserved that much, all of them did. He mustered up some courage, tried to suppress his guilt and started trying to figure out what to say. As Mikey hesitated, Leo guessed what for, and waited as patiently as he could.

"I just didn't know what else to do, Leo." Mikey began, his thoughts starting to whirr again. "It's a long story, but I swear to you, leaving was my only option. I – I had to do it to protect everyone, ok? It was all my fault. It all happened so fast – The FBI was after both of us. I got mixed up in a bad situation with the Foot – if Shredder gets his hands on me he'll chop me to pieces and hang my head on a stake. It got too dangerous, and I had to leave to fix my mistake. I promise, I tried to make the right decision. I'm so sorry, I'm such an idiot – I'm such an idiot! One day I'm gonna get everybody killed, and -"

"Whoa, whoa, Mikey, slow down!" Leo said, sounding shocked. "Both of you? Y-you really – the FBI found you? So they were hunting you-! But the Shredder? – Mikey, just what happened?" Suddenly sounding very much more worried, he asked, "Are you sure you're alright? Are you hurt? You aren't hurt, are you? Mikey, please -"

"No, no, I'm fine, Leo, it's alright! I'm ok, I promise," Mikey said, sitting up in the back of the truck. "Just..." Tucking his legs up close and wrapping his free arm around his knees, he repeatedly tried to better explain the flurry of information he just threw at his nerve-rattled brother, but not knowing how to begin, he finally gave an exasperated sigh, giving up.

If they were gonna get anywhere with this conversation, one of them was going to have to calm down, Mikey thought, almost making a sarcastic chuckle. Just by how cold, hungry, vulnerable and sickly anxious he was, just telling Leo he wasn't hurt felt like a lie, he thought with a shiver. Since he started trying to escape the city, he felt unsafe in his own skin, paranoid and constantly looking behind him. Even though getting away gave him much better chances, he was never sure he wasn't being followed. If anyone happened to catch up to him, he definitely wouldn't be ok – but that was a chance he was forced to take.

"Mikey," Leo suddenly asked, fed up with drawing it out any longer. "Where are you?"

Leo sounded so desperate, so pleadingly begging to know where he was, if he was safe. Mikey dipped his head and put his fingers over his scrunched eyes, biting back a sob. When he didn't respond, Leo spoke again, sounding nervous, maybe frightened. "Mikey?"

Mikey breathed in slowly, let out a quiet sigh to steady his voice and pull himself together. "I can't tell you, Leo." He said, ignored the distressed sigh Leo let out and interrupted before he could start begging, "Listen. The FBI was after a terrorist that was hiding, disguised as a Foot soldier. I didn't know, I just found a group and was following them; but I ended up making the wrong move and got mixed up in the guy's mess. I should have called you guys. But he got away with some dangerous stuff because of me, and I led a SWAT team right up into everything – now the FBI thinks I'm one of the terrorists. I had to get away to avoid them, but they're looking for shady foreigners, not turtles, so you guys will be safe – just please try to be careful right now, they're scanning the city for anything suspicious, and Shredder probably has a reward for my disemboweled head for attracting the FBI to him."

Mikey paused for a second, letting out a small, frazzled sigh and putting his hand to his temple. "I think I'm the only one who knows where the guy escaped to, and it's my fault he got away. Screw it – if I don't go try to fix this, I could end up with a lot of blood on my hands. I think they might be planning an attack, and I have to stop them; it's my responsibility. Once I just find their base and expose it, the government will wash them out and the issue will be resolved, and they can go back to raising taxes and stuff elsewhere. I just – I have to do this, Leo." Mikey said, and after a moment, put his hand over his face and let his forehead hit his knee guard. "I'm sorry. I'm the biggest idiot on the face of the planet, and might've jeopardized the entire country. I said I tried to make the right decision. But if you guys hate me forever, I'll understand."

There was a short moment of silence. After better explaining the stupid, sticky situation he'd managed to get himself in, he couldn't imagine what was going through Leo's mind now, but he completely expected full-out rage from at least one of them when they all found out. After thinking for a few minutes, Leo spoke up again.

"Mikey, you're not an idiot, and I don'thate you. Quit saying that. Moreover, it's not your fault that you brushed up with an undercover criminal, or that this situation is even happening. But if –" Leo cut off and sighed, and Mikey recognized the tone of his voice; he was thinking really hard. "How do you know where the guy went? Are you sure you're the only one that knows?"

"I nabbed a piece of paper from him when I was trying to stop him. It had a little information on it. I'm pretty sure it's the only info there is."

"What does it say?"

Mikey took a second to take the paper out of his belt again, and unfolded it. Hesitating, he pondered if he should actually tell Leo he was heading south, but decided it didn't matter. Even if they tried to catch up with him, they didn't know where he was – and he doubted they were going to be able to make it through the FBI's security to come looking, anyway. Leo probably wouldn't even try to risk it, for Raph and Donnie's sake, either way. He said, "Indian Point plant, 2 gl. drum; H. Wren south, initiating in 20 days...he had a canister of radioactive material, which I think is the 'drum' it's talking about. That's why it's so important that I need to do this quickly, Leo. Nobody knows what they're about to do with that."

Leo sighed, sounding troubled.

"I don't know who H. Wren is, but I'm headed south, if you have to know. Also, I couldn't figure out what 'initiating in 20 days' meant."

"He took off after he got what he was after, didn't he?" Leo asked.

"Yeah," Mikey responded. "It sounds to me like he's at least gotta be somewhere in 20 days."

"Just what I was thinking," Leo agreed. "And this is just a shot in the dark, but maybe – since he has twenty days – he could've left the country?"

"...I don't know," Mikey said, skeptical. "20 days is plenty of time to do that...but I'm not sure he was planning on being able to get through airport security with a giant canister of radioactive chemicals. I just get a feeling that he hasn't gone that far..."

"I guess you're right," Leo said. "If you have a feeling about it, I'll take it. Your 'feeling-about-it's' have saved our shells more times than I can count."

Mikey grinned. "I hope I'm right; nothing about any of this is solid...who do you think H. Wren is?"

"Not sure," Leo wondered. "Maybe the guy you saw?"

"Maybe...isn't Wren kind of a girl's name, though?"

"I think so," Leo paused a second. "Wait, is 'Wren' actually capitalized on the note?"

"Huh?" Mikey looked down at the note. "Oh...no, I guess not. But what else could it mean?"

"Hard to say," Leo mused. "But if it's not a name, then that opens the door to more possibilities. Anyway, this is just a guess, but based on my own experience – if it's not a name – the first thing that comes to my mind for H is 'headquarters'."

Mikey blinked, and stared at the paper again in shock. "That would make sense," he mumbled. That gave him a little more direction – if H did stand for headquarters, then he knew he was at least going in the right direction toward what he wanted to find.

"That's just a guess, though. I'll have to talk it over with Donnie, first thing tomorrow." Leo added.

"Ok..." Mikey shoved the note back in his belt, and switched the phone to his other ear. "Other than this, I don't really have a lot of leads right now, but I have to keep moving forward. Maybe I'll find out more later – decoding 'wren' will probably help, too."

"Maybe," Leo sighed. "So you're really out of state?" He asked, a little more quietly.

Mikey thought about it for a second, wondering. New York City was so close to the state line, he wasn't sure if he'd already crossed over. The FBI had shown up, after all, so maybe he had.

Either way, he couldn't have made it very far. Now he questioned how safe he currently was even more seriously.

"Yeah," Mikey responded, looking down at his feet sentimentally. "I think so..."

"Hmmm..." Leo groaned, the idea probably as strange to him as it was to Mikey, and it didn't sit well with him; but, there was nothing he could do, not as long as Mikey kept being stubborn about where he was. There was a pause, and Mikey could tell he was thinking again, concerned about something.

After a minute, Leo continued, "Mike, if nothing else, why can't we at least come and help you?" He paused. "You know how worried we all are. We're scared for you. Why did you leave by yourself?"

Mikey sighed, too – he'd hoped he wasn't going to have to answer that question, but figured it was inevitable. "Because, Leo, this is my screw-up and I'm not gonna make you guys risk yourselves for it, not like this. It's way too dangerous and I have to –"

"Mikey, don't give me that crap," Leo cut him off. "You know that's my line. Sure, this is something we've never had to go toe-to-toe with before, but honestly, none of us would give a darn if it's happening anyway – we'd never just leave you all alone, not if we had to take on 50 Shredders in one night. We won't ever," he said. "We're a team, Mike, but more importantly, you're our brother!"

"I-I know, Leo," Mikey said, "I knew you were gonna say something like that, but I just can't, ok? – I'm gonna be fine." He said, assuring the iffy fate that neither was confident of. "The last thing I'm gonna do is let you guys get all tangled up in this, too, not with the FBI. I dug this hole and it's my responsibility to climb back out. A lot of people might be in danger, and I've gotta fix this. It might be a deep hole, but that's what I got into."

"I told you to quit it, Mikey," Leo persisted, impatient. "I'm proud of you for trying to take on so much responsibility, really I am – but you're being way too hard on yourself. This isn't your fault – and you're making a terrible decision keeping us out of this! The threat of the FBI is nothing compared to your safety! Now please, just tell me where you are, and I can be there before -"

"NO, Leo!" Mikey refused, cutting him off, this time. "I don't have to tell you where I am, and I don't have to answer when you guys try to call me, either. If you can't let me go, then...I can't talk to you guys anymore until this is over."

He really hated to say it, but he had to. He told himself he'd just turn off his phone, but still, none of his emotions could back up this resolve, and he wondered if he'd really be able to. Anyway, he'd answered his phone this time because he couldn't help himself, he needed his family. Another short period of silence, and Mikey could hear Leo sigh in exasperation, trying to come back with some very frustrated argument, but unable to undermine his threat. Eventually, he said, "You know, I really hate it when you blackmail me."

Mikey sighed. "I'm not blackmailing, I'm just trying to hunt down a terrorist in the safest way possible."

Then, there was another long moment of silence. After a while, Mikey decided whether or not Leo was so frustrated he didn't wanna talk anymore, he didn't want to hear whatever else there was to say. He looked at the time – they had been talking for the better part of an hour; it was closing in on 2:00 am. He closed his eyes and moved his thumb over the "End Call" button.

As he was about to press it, he heard, "Mikey."

He paused. Slowly, he moved the phone back to his ear, and said, "Yeah..." He didn't realize how croaky his voice was going to be, miserable and tired.

"Tell me this one thing. Are you outside? Have shelter?"

Mikey huffed a little chuckle. "I'm in the back of an old truck. I drove out myself." He said, his voice scratchy.

There was a somewhat susprised pause, then Leo asked, "Can you do something for me?"

Mikey paused for a second. "I guess it depends. What?"

"...If you're gonna force all this on yourself, then fine – there's nothing we can do about it. But as long as you are, you have to do something for me. I want you to go out, find something to wrap around yourself, like a blanket or a sweater. Find some kind of store, something – I want you to steal it if you can. Alright?"

Surprised, Mikey stammered, "W-what for?"

"I want you to be warm," Leo said. "I know you left without anything but your gear. I can't imagine how miserable you are, and I know it's late and you're exhausted. But I need to know you have something to protect you from the cold. And whenever you run into trouble, whenever you're scared or upset and feeling all alone, I want you to be able to squeeze that thing tight around yourself, a hug from us. Cry into it, and think of your family that wants you back home." Leo paused. "I don't hate you, Mikey, you have to know that. None of us do, nothing could ever make us. I need to know that you're gonna at least try to be careful," he said desperately, "And I need you to know that we love you, so much, and we want you back. So get something to remind yourself, to hold you for us until you get home. Can you do that for me?"

Speechless, Mikey sat there trying to think what to say. Tears slipped down his face, and almost without warning, he found himself laughing. "Leo, you made me cry again."

Leo laughed too, and all of a sudden, he heard the sound of a nose loudly blowing into a tissue. "Little Mikey, if you make big, 'fearless' Leo cry any more, we're both gonna have problems. Now go get a blanket or something for me and get some rest while I keep being a ridiculous teenage girl over here."

At that, Mikey couldn't help but burst out laughing. Usually, he was the one to always lighten the mood in his family, and helped keep his brothers from being stressed. But somehow, whenever he was upset, he could always count on them to try their darndest to find a way to make him smile again in the end. Even if it was more difficult for them, and they ended up saying something goofy. "Alright. I'll try to find something."

"Good," Leo said. "Hey, I know this has all been really hard." He said after a moment, sympathetic. "I can't imagine what level of hell you've just been through...but I really don't think you should be so hard on yourself about all of it. It sounds more to me like you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even if you contributed to stirring things up a little, the FBI was already close on the guy's tail, and it seems like he was prepared to make off with all that stuff anyway." Leo laughed. "And as for Shredder, he's probably more concerned about the fact that a guy like that managed to sneak into the Foot than you blowing him out,"

Mikey giggled. "Think so?"

"I'd bet'cha," Leo affirmed. "And, you know what – the fact that you were there at all just might be what stops these guys."

"I sure hope so," Mikey said, smiling sadly at the window and seeing his reflection in the dirty glass. "Well, it'd better be."

"Of course, I would've liked all of us to have been there, but, y'know."

"I'm sorryyyyyyyy," Mikey groaned, getting a laugh from the other end. "I told you, I know I should'a called you guys, but Leeeeeoooooo."

"I know, I know." Leo laughed. "Well, forget it. What's done is done. It didn't all come crashing down because of you, though. You can't let yourself think that."

Mikey smiled. He knew it wasn't entirely his fault, but he still felt guilty. Leo's words were really encouraging, more than he knew.

"Thanks, Leo," Mikey said sincerely. "You don't know how much that helps."

"I mean every word. Don't mention it," Leo responded. "And...Mikey?" He suddenly added, sounding like a small, meek child now, almost as if he were about to sincerely ask for a cookie.

"What?" Mikey replied, extremely curious.

"Please don't cut us off," he said, sounding so pitiful it made Mikey break out into a smile again in amazed sympathy. "Please let us keep up with you, ok? We all want to know you're alright..."

"Ok, Leo," Mikey laughed, and immediately felt terrible. "I'm sorry, really bro, I won't. I know you're really worried – of course I'll keep up with you guys. I don't wanna have to do this to all of you..."

He said that, and earnestly meant it, but he knew he'd have to issue the threat again if his family pestered him about his whereabouts the whole time. It broke his heart in pieces to do it, and he wasn't sure how he'd manage to follow through with it, but it was his only weapon to fend them off and not just break down entirely and give them his satellite-precise longitude and latitude, along with a complete visual description of every Mcdonalds within six miles of him. What else could he do? He just wanted to keep them out of this.

"Just as long as I know you're alright," Leo said, relief in his voice.

"But, I can't have you guys calling me all the time – tell Donnie and Raph not to flood me every day, ok? I don't have a phone charger, and I'm gonna have to figure out how to get my hands on one. Besides, Donnie's already proven it doesn't help to have your phone ring when you're trying to be stealthy."

"Sure thing," he chuckled. "But hey, just because you won't tell us where you are doesn't mean you can stop us from trying to find out." He said, suddenly making Mikey nervous. "I don't know what you did to your phone to keep us from tracking you, but I'm telling you now that Donnie and Raph and I are gonna be working 24-7 to crack your code, you hear me? And as soon as we do, we're coming after you, and you can't do anything about it."

Mikey laughed nervously. "Alright, alright...I guess that's fair."

"What'd you do to it, anyway?"

"You think I'm gonna tell you?" Mikey asked incredulously, laughing all at once. "Anyway, a magician never reveals his secrets!"

"Shoot! So close."

Both laughed again, and neither spoke for a few moments. There wasn't much left to say, and the night was tired. Frankly, Mikey figured if Leo was gonna make him go find something to warm up in, he knew he needed to go do that right now – he felt like he was about to actually fall over, he was so tired. But even with nothing to say, neither wanted to hang up. The thought of ending the call almost felt like losing each other all over again.

"I miss you a lot, Mikey," Leo said. "And I don't have to tell you how worried I am."

Mikey smiled. "I miss you too," he said, feeling bad. "I'll try to be careful, but you guys do, too. Half the reason I left was to keep the FBI away from you. It won't help if you go rushing out straight into their hands."

"Don't worry," Leo confirmed, "I'm not gonna let anyone go out for any reason unless it's necessary, and only in groups. You better be careful," he said, "Or else I'm gonna come after your shell, and I don't care if you won't tell me where you are, 'cause I'm gonna whoop you so hard -"

"Alright, alright!" Mikey said, laughing but quivering a little with nervousness. "I said I would, already. No need to get violent."

"Good," Leo huffed, "Knucklehead."

Mikey giggled, and stretching his arms out, yawned. It sort of felt like Leo was stalling, he thought, and he chuckled. "Leo, I gotta go. If you want me to get something to warm up in tonight, anyway."

There was a pause, then Leo said, "Alright. Try not to set off any alarms."

"I'll try,"

"And please -"

"Be careful, I know." Mikey grinned.

Leo chuckled, and there was another short pause. "How's the weather over there?"

"GOODBYE, Leo."

Leo laughed, and Mikey did too. "Ok, ok. Goodnight," Leo said.

"Goodnight."

"Call me if you have nightmares!"

"GOODNIGHT LEO!"

Laughing, Mikey smashed the "End call" button with his thumb, and hearing laughter on the other end, too. Leo was one to call him a knucklehead, he thought, rolling to the car door to his side and getting out.

Getting up and stretching, he suddenly realized how much better he felt. A major weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders, now that he'd had the chance to reconnect with his family; well, part of it – and discussing the terrorist's note with his tactical-minded older brother relieved some of his stress over whether he was actually taking the right actions. With that out of the way, he had a little more confidence.

However, once he found the terrorist base, he had more to do than just "expose" it – he'd kept that much from Leo; there was no point in worrying him further. Once he found it, there would probably be some immediate action that needed to be taken; and he had a bone to pick with the first guy, anyway.

Turning to look at the old truck, he noticed the pizza delivery sign still attached to the roof. Snickering, he came closer and deftly kicked the sign off, before stashing it in a nearby dumpster. He'd feel silly driving around with that the whole time.

Finding an outlet store was mostly uneventful, actually. He did his best to stick to the shadows and creep around quietly, immediately becoming wide awake again with the new nervousness, which he inwardly groaned at and counted the minutes until he could get back into the truck, lay down and close his eyes. But all in all, for a town so close to New York City, it was really shut down now that the sun was gone – Mikey couldn't seem to get used to that. For once, night didn't mean night life. It meant rest, and most everyone here seemed to be asleep.

Finding a store and looking through the glass window, he immediately saw clothes hanging on racks for sale, and his eyes automatically went to the front door, which he knew would be locked. The store was dark and obviously closed. At first, he snuck back into a hiding place and scanned the town around him, wondering if there was possibly a similar shop that was still open – that would make it easier to sneak inside without setting anything off – but there were none to be seen, and he didn't feel like going bargain hunting.

Mikey let loose a long, exhausted sigh, and turned back to the building. "Fine," he thought.

He went around to the back. He knew from experience with his brothers that finding and unhinging smaller, closed-off openings like air vents or even windows were his best bet, but there didn't seem to be anything big enough like that back there, so he made his way to the flat roof and kept low to keep from being seen. Spotting a sealed-off door up here, he took a nunchuck out of his belt, released the blade and pried it open relatively easily.

Slipping inside, he made his way down from an attic-like area and found himself in a back room with supplies, where he could have easily and freely walked to the front counter of the store, but first found the computer in charge of the security system and cameras to momentarily switch them off.

Now, then. Mikey snuck up behind the front counter, wary of alarms he might've not found to disarm, and looked out at the array of clothes. Unfortunately, in good marketing fashion, all the womens' clothes were spread in easiest reach throughout the store, while – in not-so-great marketing fashion – the mens' section was tucked away to the side as if afraid to come out. Scanning the mens' clothes over in the dark, peering to see details, he finally made out what appeared to be casual jackets.

"Bingo," he whispered.

Taking one of his nunchucks out again, he let the chain and blade loose, aimed with a keen, trained eye, and let the chain fly across the store. The bladed nunchuk hooked onto the hanger of a jacket, and drawing upon his balance distribution and momentum techniques, yanked the chain back with the item.

Mikey caught the jacket, and set his nunchucks down. "Aw, what?" He groaned, realizing up close what he'd missed further away. Not only was this going to be too small to fit around him and his shell, but it was a button-down jacket. As a general policy, Mikey hated buttons, didn't have time for them, and was not about to make himself deal with them every time he put on or removed anything.

"Well, ok," he sarcastically mumbled, setting the jacket aside and picking up his nunchucks again. After taking a second to contemplate the irony of his fear of walking through the store after he'd just launched a weapon across its interior, he decided to stick to what worked so far and tried again. This time, he scanned the clothing items across the store more carefully, straining his eyes in the dark to make out details he required. Finding some bigger sizes, he threw his nunchucks out again and fished back a hooded sweatshirt.

He set his chucks down once more and looked the new top over. It looked big enough this time, thank goodness, so he took off his elbow pads and tried pulling it on to check. Almost perfect fit, with room to spare – and with his shell being relatively un-protrusive from his back, it ended up hardly showing at all, save a peek out the top and bottom, and he was definitely ok with that. It was a really simple hoodie, grey and nothing fancy, a pocket in front and a hood in back with drawstrings. The hood would help hide his face, which was going to be really important.

"Doing good," Mikey thought, and looked around the store again. As long as he was here, he decided he might as well pull together a disguise, because he had no idea how necessary it was going to be to show himself in public from here on. At the very least, he could avoid drawing attention when driving; the night sky was the only thing that had shielded him until now.

Not even bothering to try to figure out how it'd work out first, Mikey scanned for some pants. He fished over a big pair of jeans, and after taking his knee pads off and wondering for a moment, tried them on. He pulled the waist up around his shell, and immediately realized he'd need a belt – so, instead of trying to find one, he experimented with the harness already around his waist. Once he put it on over the pants, they stayed up pretty securely. Satisfied, he scanned the store one last time and yanked over a clearance snow cap with ear flaps and a scarf, and hiding the first jacket under the counter before scooping up his knee and elbow guards, he spun on his heel and started back out the same way he'd come in. Maybe later he'd find some gloves and God forbid even shoes, but right now, all he wanted to find was the back of his eyelids.

After turning the security back on, he slipped back up and out of the building, leaving very little trace of his visit behind. Once outside again, he snuck back to his truck behind the drug store, hopped into the back, shut the door, and fell over, letting the items in his arms fall to the floor. Shivering while he warmed up in the chilly night air and letting the pounding in his head begin to be soothed with sleepiness, he vaguely decided to be up in a few hours in order to get an early start before too much of the town got up and busy, grabbed the hoodie tighter around himself and drifted off.

-Chapter Stats-

Location: Pennsylvania? (Shh! Don't tell the guys!)

Possessions: Weapons & gear, clothes, iPod

Money: none

Note:

Indian Point plant, 2 gl. drum

H. wren south, initiating in 20 days

Song: All The Little Lights (Passenger)

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! I consider this story (like most of mine) to take place as if the others I've written hadn't happened, so if you've read my other fics To Death And Back or Going Going Gone, don't be confused when those events aren't mentioned. However, I do like to keep certain themes cannon through my stories, like how Mikey listens to his music while skateboarding and Leo's cloak (which will show up much later in this story.)