I do not own TMNT 2003.

Leonardo and Raphael stood rigid in awe, marveling the marble white craft before them. Magnificent and well-polished, the private jet was a sight to behold, especially to two mutant outcasts of society. It responded to their shocked silence with the roar of its engines, and the turtles perceived that this will be how they will reach their practiced art's birthplace, the Land of the Rising Sun.

And to think that Michelangelo had come to New York in this civilized manner.

"Get on, guys!" Said brother coaxed as he peered through the doorway of the jet. "Don and the clan can't wait any longer!"

The turtles outside looked at each other before stiffly boarding the aircraft. They entered and drank in how spacious the inside was despite its cramp outer features. To their right was a plush couch delicately sewed in maroon fabric that was velvet to the touch. Directly in front of the piece of furniture and suspended from the ceiling by a bendable swivel-bar was a flat-screen TV, obviously expensive and probably of high definition viewing. To their left was a miniature refrigerator most likely filled with food and beverage of great quality and beyond the appliance was an amount of smooth-surfaced space allowed unoccupied. Carpeting most of the compartment save for the empty space on the left was a grey, grass-like covering, soft and ticklish to the bare feet of the jet's newest passengers.

The two mutants had been so captivated by the scene that when the door behind them was slammed shut, they jumped in alarm. They turned around to see a male human, tall and somewhat lean in build and pale in complexion. His black, shoulder-length hair was tied into a rattail and his burgundy eyes stared back at them with indifference, as if the sight of mutant turtles was an everyday thing to him. His slender-fingered hands smoothed out the folds of his tailored suit and pants and without a single word, he retreated calmly to the jet's cockpit to the far right of the couch.

"That was my…uh…bodyguard and pilot Makkurohane," Michelangelo pointed out as he flopped onto the couch. "He's also the clan's messenger and scout. Quite a quiet guy, if you ask me."

"Mikey, why do you have a bodyguard?" Leo asked as he joined his sibling on the couch.

"Yeah, an' human," Raph added, folding his scarred arms across his chest, "an' he didn't freak out when he saw us. Where'd ya get this jet anyway? Whose jet is this? How'd ya get a hangar fer this jet? Why – "

"Too many questions!" The youngest turtle exclaimed dramatically then laughed. "Okay, so the hangar and the jet are…clan property and since I'm part of said clan, I have the liberty to use them. And I have a bodyguard because…"

"Because?" His elder brothers repeated.

"Well…let's just say I have a really important role in my clan. It's a long story that you guys won't exactly understand unless we get there. Besides, I believe it's best if Don himself would tell you. And Makkurohane ain't exactly human."

"Okay, what'd ya mean by those last two parts? 'Bout Don an' that Makkurohane guy?"

Mikey shot his red-masked brother a slightly exasperated look.

"Like I said, it's a LONG story that Donnie-boy would gladly explain. The jet's supersonic so we got about six hours to get to Japan. Now tell me, Raphie. How'd you get those scars and that really cool eyepatch over your left eye?"

Raphael just smirked a rather nasty smirk.

"Oh, I don't know, Mike. It's a kinda a LONG story – "

"RAPH!"

"Alright, alright! Don't get yer panties in a bunch! Ya still owe us an explanation, though."

Sighing, he then sat on the couch, sandwiching Mikey in between him and Leo. Suddenly, the whole compartment lurched forward a little, causing the passengers to yelp in surprise.

"I apologize for the sudden start, Sirs," a deep and accented voice spoke through the speakers, "but we are currently on the move. Please fasten your seatbelts and I hope that you may enjoy the flight."

"Thanks, Makkurohane!" Michelangelo shouted as he and his brothers did as they were advised.

The turtles waited until the jet was in flight to continue their conversation.

"Go on, Raphie. Tell me the story!"

The sai wielder groaned at his youngest sibling's enthusiasm.

"Okay, so I got ma bad eye an' ma scars from Hun." He actually paused to snarl at the memory playing in his mind. "That bastard had a lotta fun beatin' an' cuttin' me up an' shit. An' I had a lotta fun killin' him afterwards, especially when… "

"When what?"

"He was the one who took Master Splinter away from us, Mikey, ten years ago," it was Leonardo who answered when his other brother fell silent. "It was horrible, how he killed Sensei. Something snapped inside me and I charged at him without even thinking."

As he talked, he was unconsciously rubbing at the scorch mark that ran from his left shoulder to halfway down his forearm. Mikey mentally guessed that it was one of the many reminders that Hun had made on his brothers.

"Hey, guys," he began as he swung an arm around each turtle's shoulders, "you shouldn't be gloomed out by that. I'm sure Sensei wouldn't want us to still be moping around for him. And think about the reunion we'll have! The four mutant ninja turtles – Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello and Michelangelo – back together again!"

"How is Donnie, anyway?" Leo inquired, his mood brightening up a bit. "He isn't here with us right now."

"An' the last we heard, he was dead," Raph recalled, "Sensei told us that he saw ya two in some sorta battlefield in a vision. An' when he described Donnie…Leo an' me really didn't take it all too well."

"Our genius brother is very much alive," Mikey stated, smiling as he motioned to the entire cabin. "In fact, he was the one who had the whole interior of this baby redesigned and teched-out."

"Good ol' Donnie!" The elder mutants cried out with laughs.

"Yup. He even had that space on the left turned into a miniature training area. He really works out a lot these days and has muscles that would put the Terminator to shame, which is necessary since he's – "

The nunchaku wielder cut himself short, making his brothers turn to him with raised eye ridges.

"He's what, Mike?" The eldest among them questioned.

"He's…um…got a really important role in the clan we joined, much like mine but not exactly like mine. It's all part of the long story he'll tell you later."

Needing to change the topic, Michelangelo got off the couch and came to the refrigerator. He opened its door and searched the inside for something suitable. What he finally took out made his siblings' jaws drop to the grey, ticklish floor.

"Champagne, anyone?"

-TPWT-

With closed eyes, he heaved out a heavy sigh as he brought the sakazuki to his beak. He had the sliding door of his room pushed to the side to allow in the scent of the sakura in the rock garden outside, soothing his weary mind and soul. On his lap were his two katana, vibrating inside their sheaths yet again. They were still alerting him, still pressing him about the menace long thought to be vanquished from the face of the land.

'Fear…they are afraid…of HIM…'

He shook his head. The legendary blades Totsuka and Kusanagi…afraid? The swords once in the possession of the god Susanoo…terrified? He still wouldn't believe it, still refused to accept that the Accursed One would return to threaten the existence of all life. But his scouts and spies had seen the signs and the attacks recently made on his territory were those of the Accursed One's followers. They know that he has the weapons to harm their master and the power to eradicate their master permanently.

They want him dead, for the sake of their master's resurrection.

"Nidaime-sama."

He did not open his eyes for he knew the woman standing in his doorway and blocking off the sakura's wafting fragrance. She had salmon pink hair long enough to reach the small of her back and jade green eyes whose pupils were slits. She wore a pale yellow kimono held in place by a cyan blue obi. She would have been mistaken for an ordinary woman in her early twenties if it weren't for the salmon pink cat ears sprouting from the top of her head and the split-ended tail extending from her rear.

"What is it, Momoko?" He asked, setting down his sakazuki.

"The other leaders are already here, Nidaime-sama, and since Fukuchou-sama is on a business trip, they require your presence."

He sighed again and flashed Momoko a small smile.

"I'll be there shortly. Kindly tell them to wait for me."

Momoko bowed down low to him and went off to report back to the guests. For the third time, a sigh escaped his beak.

'And what sort of business trip did Michelangelo skedaddle off to now?'

He got up and dressed into his usual attire: Golden yellow haori with black Eastern Dragon prints draped over his broad shoulders and a lilac yukata that had baby pink flame patterns dancing on its ends and was kept on his person by the sunny yellow obi around his waist. He clothed his feet with a pair of clean white tabi and had his katana tied around his waist and to his right by a narrow leather belt.

'Now I have to take care of the meeting, including Hitotsume's side comments and temper.'

He finally bound a long torn piece of purple cloth around his altered eyes, hiding from the world the curse and gift he had received when he had been returned to the plane of the living. Once the cloth was secure, he grabbed the heavily marred bo staff in the corner and exited his quarters, an air of authority cloaking him as he strode down the corridor despite his sightlessness. He stopped in front of a particular sliding door, the room inside alive with boisterous chattering and shouts. He restrained himself to sigh for the fourth time.

'Well, someone has to be the bearer of the bad news. I just wish it shouldn't have to be me.'

He pushed the door to the side and entered, only to be greeted with an unearthly bellow, and the contained sigh fled out of his esophagus.

'Ah, shell.'