CHAPTER ONE

"One of the things which danger does to you after a time is, well, to kill emotion. I don't think I shall ever feel anything again except fear. None of us can hate anymore - or love."

~ Graham Greene

I can smell my own breath. It's warm and spicy, tasting of coffee and something else, something sweet, like honey almost, only more artificial.

I hear the crackle of static against my ear and Bishop's voice comes out of what I can only assume is an intercom of some sort. I don't know. I can't see anything.

His voice is rusty and low in my ear, yet smooth, and it reminds me of honey as it is dripped over razor-wire.

"You had better get moving."

I flex my fingers, feeling the scrap of paper against my palm; it's crinkled, warm and damp from being pressed against my skin all this time. It's a map, a map of the city, or at least, that's what Bishop says it is and I can't tell if he's lying or not. I never can and I don't trust him.

"How long before you crack?"

My breath quickens and I can feel the walls of the casket as they start pressing closer. They're shifting around me, even though casket walls arenot supposed to move. And I know that they can't, but why are they still moving towards me, crushing my arms and legs in a vice? I can taste my breath again as my beak crashes into the top. It's painful and I can feel the bruise blooming there, adding to the list of injuries. I wonder what number it is, but then I realize I've lost count.

"Not long I don't think."

Calm. Focus on my breathing, focus on my breaths that I know are running out. The walls keep closing in and I have to get them to move away, get them to just go back.

Somehow.

I have to get away. I need to get away. Away from the voice that is hissing and crackling in my ear. I need to get away from the box of matches that lies flush against my leg, away from the scrap of paper that may or may not hold the key to my freedom.

"It's a game after all."

That's all it is to him and I clutch at the phone. It has one single minute of airtime on it, Bishop said. I can call whoever I want. I can waste it on pizza delivery or I can call the president and tell him exactly what Bishop has been doing all these years. Or I can call my brothers.

Because this is all a game either way. A game.

And all around me, there is a whining sound, a high pitched, keening noise, and I scrunch up my eyes even though I cannot see anything anyway. My mouth is open, my jaw aching and throbbing as the realization comes- the sound is coming from me- from the very recesses of my throat where every primal fear, ever primal desire is stored. And it breaks loose as I push my bound hands against the roof. The paper sticks to his fingers and through it, I can feel the metal, cold and unforgiving. It feels just a bit like steel, but I can't tell. The whining gets louder as the roof gets lower, pushing against me until it feels like my arms are about to break. My wrist joints ache and pop but I don't care because I'm screaming now.

No, this animalis screaming now.

"Fear. Fear reveals everyone's true nature."

And I realize that until this moment, I've never truly know what fear is.

I can no longer breathe.

Buried alive...

"Just like any other animal."

I scream again.

*0*

"It's a kind of game you see."

"Bishop…" Raphael's voice is a low, deep growl, "What the hell have you done?"

The room is dark, almost too dark for Raphael to see the man on the other side. Even so, he aims his best death-glare at the hazy figure. Bishop is laughing now, a sound that is really beginning to grate on Raph's ears. Beside him, he feels his brothers tense. The bloodlust intent that is flowing off him, rolls off them as well, pouring out in thick, potent waves. And he has to wonder how Bishop can take that kind of fury.

"You will get a phone call. Listen carefully to everything he says. If he is still sane- you will be lead to the next clue."

The next clue- as if his baby brother's life is just some kiddies game of find-the-flag. He growls low, stepping forward, fully intending to rip the man's godforsaken head off.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back, restraining him. He hears nothing, sees nothing but feels Leonardo shaking his head. The hand on his shoulder is trembling. It's biting into his shoulder just a little bit harder than is strictly necessary. So Raphael says nothing. He stays back, not moving from his tightly coiled position. He's still ready to strike at any moment but he's not attacking either and it seems to satisfy his brother.

"You have about ten minutes left until the brain damage sets in. Fifteen, and it's game over. I'd hurry."

And then Bishop is gone. Even though Raphael doesn't see him move, he can feel it, the coldness seeping out of the air.

Beside him, Raph hears Don, his quiet, genius brother, cry out. It's a sound like nothing he's ever heard. A cry of pure, primal anguish. Anguish that they cannot make it in time.

Anguish and fear.

Fear that Michelangelo will not call, that his sanity will be overwhelmed and that they will not even have the slightest hope, the slightest chance.

Because in this game they are outgunned and outmanned, with consequences they all would die to prevent.

And Raphael realizes that he's terrified. It's a cold, harsh terror that he has never felt before. It sweeps through him, chilling him to the bone, freezing him all the way to his heart, crusting it over in ice. But it doesn't manage freeze his hate, never his hate.

Raphael turns to his brothers. Don is looking fearful but his jaw is set. And even though he is an odd shade of white, grey almost, he looks ready for anything. And at that moment, Raphael realizes that his brother might just be more afraid than he is.

He turns to look at Leonardo. Leonardo who is staring at him with ice in his eyes, the very same ice Raphael can feel in the tips of his fingers.

Leonardo's hand, that had once been on his shoulder (when had it left?), was now clutching at the hilt of his katana.

"You ready?"

Jaw set, Raphael nods, "Game on."

*0*

Earlier:

Time is free, but it's priceless. You can't own it, but you can use it. You can't keep it, but you can spend it. However, once you've lost it you can never get it back.

The snowflake was soft on his tongue, cold and wet, disappearing only seconds after contact. So fast, so wonderful yet so fleeting.

Michelangelo retracted his tongue, using the free moment to rub his gloved hands together. Adjusting his sweater's hood, he stole a glance up at the sky. Even the sky seemed to be covered in snow, filled with fluffy-looking clouds. Mikey wanted to jump into them, just roll around in the wonderful whiteness. Chuckling, he looked back down and began walking through the streets, what would Don say to that? He could hear his brother then, "Mikey, you cannot land in clouds, they're just water that has evaporated. And the snow is just a form of their condensation." Like Mikey cared. Snow was white and wonderful but more importantly fun. You could race carts in it and make snow men and snow angels. Mikey ginned; he really loved winter.

And another great thing about winter, Mikey noted, was Christmas. Christmas- a holiday where he could spend time with the people he loved- all of his family and friends gathered under one roof, exchanging gifts and eating the wonderfully cooked food- provided by him and His father of course. Christmas was no exception to his kitchen's most golden rule- no one allowed in the kitchen who couldn't cook. And tea did not count as cooking. Also, as he had told Leonardo on several occasions, the food had to actually be edible to count.

But all that was forgotten during Christmas, and everything was just so very wonderful. Mikey glanced into his bag. The gifts, of course, were the most important part of Christmas. Giving the gifts, not getting them. Of course he loved receiving, but something about the looks on his family's faces. They were always worth more than a hundred Justice Force comics. Nothing could replace the joy of making his family happy.

He had Raphael's gift, he had Don's and he had His mother's. Casey, His father and Angel he'd all bought for earlier in the season. One person, however, was proving to be a problem. Michelangelo had no clue what to get for Leonardo.

He face palmed, as he glanced through another store window. No- Leo did not care about the latest game. Nor did he care about the latest fashions or the latest clothes or the latest anything. There was a special art to buying for Leonardo.

Mikey paused as he passed Rossels' Café- a quaint little shop filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and delectable looking scones. He hesitated, but then decided that some coffee would help him clear his thoughts and that a slice of that divine looking chocolate cake couldn't hurt either.

He placed his order from a secluded table in the far corner, from a spot where he could watch everything without being noticed. He looked down at his gloves. It was hard to spot that he was a mutant, but then again, he couldn't afford to slip up now. Not before Christmas.

As he received his coffee, he thanked the waiter with a smile, even though he knew she couldn't see past the shadows of his hood. The coffee was warm against his frozen hands and as he stared into the black brew, he mulled over Leonardo. What would his brother want? Michelangelo was not in the habit of buying stupid, useless gifts. Actually, he thought he was quite good at giving the most wanted presents. But with his elder brother…

He took a bite of cake. Leo was a bit like a cake, Mikey mused, all soft inside with a hard exterior- the base- and he was a really nice person with great morals and… yes, like a cake. Mikey nodded absently. But then how was a cake protective? And would cake stay up with you in the middle of the night coming into your room and comforting you when you had a bad dream that woke you up screaming? Would it be an over protective, neurotic but lovable big brother? Mikey doubted it, and had to wonder what Leonardo would say to being compared to a cake. Then again, Michelangelo loved cake and that had to count for something.

As he downed the last dregs of his coffee, it hit him. Grinning, Mikey paid the bill, leaving a slightly larger tip that was necessary, and scampered out of the restaurant.

That was it!

He made to cross the road, his footsteps heavy and quick, excitement fluttering at the base of his chest.

He could see the shop he was looking for just up ahead. He moved quickly along the edge of the alleyway. Unsuspecting and completely off guard, Michelangelo never heard the footsteps as the approached, never heard the sound of wind as something was raised into the air. Something heavy and hard, it seemed, because when his instincts finally kicked in and he whipped around, he was seconds to late to avoid the knock-out blow.

*0*

Raphael flipped the TV remote in his hand, turning it over, tossing it into the air and catching it in his other hand.

"Raphael. Stop that."

Clank.

Raphael looked at the shattered remote lying at his feet, and then at Leonardo, "You're telling Donnie." He leaned back in the chair.

"And why, exactly, must I tell him? You broke it."

"Yeah but you interrupted me."

"You were playing with it and annoying everyone around you."

"Which was only you right?"

"So?"

"So? What the hell's your problem today?" Raphael leaned up from his reclined position in the chair, "Aint you usually one for avoiding arguments?"

Leonardo slumped back in his seat, "Sorry." He mumbled, "I know, it's Christmas time even you're not fighting with Mikey anymore, and here I am trying to stir things up for nothing."

Raphael shook his head, "If you'd said another word I Dunno how long my self-control woulda lasted."

Leonardo gave a wry smile, "Yeah."

"So what's got ya so wound up?"

"Mikes not back yet."

"Ha." Raphael let out a bark, "Shoulda known it was something like that."

"Raphael!"

Raphael smirked, "What? Not much else that gets yer panties in a twist so bad except our safety and shit." He tucked a hand behind his head, "How longs he been out?"

"Six hours and forty six minutes." Leonardo paused, "Approximately. But it's past ten; most of the department stores would be closed by now."

"And the arcade and the pizza hut, Leo?"

Leonardo frowned.

"Come on, I bet it's nothing."

"Yeah, sure... You're probably right. I over react."

"Nah that's just with me. But feel free to back off."

Leo gave him a withering glare.

"Just sayin." Raphael grinned, one hand held up in surrender, "Just sayin."

A soft tune interrupted Leonardo's comeback, and he turned to look for the source of the noise which took the form of Bon Jovi's Have a Nice Day.

"Aw crap…" Muttered Raphael, patting down his belt, "'S mine…"

He looked up, eyes searching, "Ey Leo, mind passing it over."

Leonardo turned to the phone, lying a foot away from him and leaned over, catching the phone beneath his finger tips, before tossing it to his brother.

Raphael caught it easily, flipping it open, "Talk to me."

Leonardo watched Raphael's expression change, becoming clouded and dark, "What?" He growled into the phone.

"You god-damn...bastard….how did ya even…?"

Raphael scowled, "Fine."

Leo raised an eye ridge.

"Bishop." Raph ground out, covering the speaker with his hand.

"What?" Leo was off his seat in seconds.

"I know." Raphael seethed, "He wants to talk to all of us. Shell knows how he even got this number…" He glanced at Don's lab, "Go call Don would ya?"

Leonardo nodded wordlessly, and seconds later, he appeared with Don at his side, a worried frown on the younger turtles face.

"Okay Bishop, we're here." Raph put the cell on speaker phone, "What is it that you want."

"I want you to listen and listen closely because I'm only going to say this once." Bishops voice came out distorted with static but they could still hear him just fine, "There's an abandoned art exhibition room on the corner of fifth and sixth. Meet me there in exactly ten minutes if you ever want to see Michelangelo again. I'd hurry."

And then the line was dead.

*0*

The present:

Raphael gripped the phone tightly, barely noticing his knuckles as they turned white, "Mikey…" He swallowed hard, "Bro, I need you to just breathe. Okay bro? Breath for me."

Crap, he wasn't cut out for this. He wasn't, he wasn't. Why couldn't it have been Leo that Mikey chose to call? Or Don? Both of his brothers stood beside him now, crowding anxiously around him. He couldn'tbreathe damn it.

Mikey had called him, and for whatever reason, his stressed out mind had chosen Raphael as the right person to call. And now, Raphael had to honor that choice by helping his brother.

He could hear Mikey's rasping breaths on the other side of the phone.

"Okay. You okay now?"

"…Raphael, I'm scared."

How long since Mikey had said that? How long since he'd sounded vulnerable like that?

Raphael swallowed again, "Mikey, it will be fine. Do you know anything about where you are?"

"The map… the map says, it says, "Eight kings threaten to save ninety five maidens for one sick knave."" Mikey was breathing harder now, "And, there's a bit of map, I think… it says fiftieth street…."

"Okay Mikey…" He glanced over at Don where his brother had copied all the information down, "Okay bro, you did good. Just stay calm. If you can, regulate your breath. Remember, like we did with the Triceratons?" Raphael had a feeling his brother was far too worked up for that, but he had to try.

"Mike, just stay calm." He glanced at Leonardo and Don, "We wont let anything happen to ya bro."

"Raphael, Bishop said tha-"

And then there was static. Horrible, terrifying, deadstatic.

"Mikey? Mikey! Damn it!" Raphael slammed his phone shut, "It went dead."

"Eight kings threaten to save ninety five maidens for one sick knave." Leo was frowning, "What did that even mean?"

"A riddle… trust Bishop…. Shitty, good for nothing…." He trailed off into a stream of curses, "Eight kings threaten to save ninety five maidens for one sick knave….what the hell is it supposed to mean?"

Don frowned, "I think…It's… it's two packs of cards."

"What?"

"It makes sense…. Eight kings… four in each deck….and it goes on…"

Slowly, Leonardo nodded his head.

Raphael on the other hand, was not convinced, "That makes no sense at all! What does that have to do with Mikey?"

Don shook his head, "And Fiftieth Street… near to that is the Bus terminal, Broadway, the cathedral…"

"Broadway!" Leo exclaimed, "There was a play…. Uh, Alice in wonderland I think..." Raphael snorted, "Anyway... Mikey wanted to go." He bit his lip, "Aren't there cards in there or something, like, a messed up queen and…" He trailed off, looking at Don.

Don was nodding thoughtfully, "Yeah… Yeah that might be it."

He looked at Raphael, "This is pretty convenient...what do you think?"

"I think we better get going! We aint got time to figure out if we're right or not! We got ten minutes, less now with all our yammering!"

"We have fifteen…" Don started

"So you want our bro to be brain damaged for life?" Raphael was seething.

"No!" Leo held up a hand, "Don didn't mean that- let's just get going!"

Raphael nodded, tucking his phone into his belt, he took off, Don and Leonardo not far behind him.

The clock was ticking.

Eight kings threaten to save ninety five maidens for one sick knave.

They had better be right.

Alright. So I accidentally deleted the original. Along with all your awesome reviews. My bad. I am sort of devastated, but live and learn.

What did you think?