Look left. Look right. Coast is clear. Michelangelo broke into a sprint for the open doorway to Donatello's lab, his footfalls as silent as a cat's. Once inside, he began hurriedly sifting through the piles of papers cluttering Don's numerous work surfaces, constantly stealing paranoid looks over his shoulder.

Soon every tabletop had been meticulously scoured with nothing to show for it. A brief search of several promising drawers was similarly unsuccessful.

No good. He had to think like Don. He had to think like a genius… Not exactly his strong suit.

"If I were Donny," Mikey mumbled to himself, eyes wandering the lab "Where would I hide it?" Scrunching up his face in thought for a moment, he snapped his fingers triumphantly when an idea struck him. It'd so be something Donny would do. No time to waste!

With a single-minded tenacity born from both haste and a larcenous thrill, Michelangelo raced to the opposite side of the lab where Don's bookshelf stood—crammed with an assortment of thick volumes. It was everything Mikey hated in one shelf: long books with lots of big, hard-to-pronounce words and no pictures. Half the time he forgot it was even here, and the times he remembered, he made a point to avoid it.

Hide it where Mikey wouldn't want to look. Simple, but brilliant. A scheme truly worthy of his clever brother.

Carefully rifling through the books to avoid disturbing their order—Donny was OCD enough to notice if something had been moved—Mikey grinned when he found his prize: Donny's laptop. It had been wedged in place by several encyclopedias in the back of the shelf.

"Nice try, Donny, but Dr. Findenstein is a master at scavenger hunts," Mikey crowed. Sliding the laptop out without knocking over any books, he clutched his prize to his chest and scampered to a workbench, setting the computer on top of Don's papers. Eagerly rubbing his hands together, he lifted the screen. Now he could finally—rats.

Mikey was faced with one imposing word: Password:

Shoot. No doubt Donny had already changed it by now. He still entered the old password for good measure, and was proven right, much to his disappointment. C'mon, Mikey. Think… What would Donny change it to?

It didn't take too much thought. Face deadpanning, he immediately typed in several variations of April's name. After entering April Showers, he knew he had a winner.

The computer whirred away on a flurry of activity, and soon the desktop had appeared, it's collection of icons neatly displayed in ordered rows. Finally! Now he could get back to leveling up his avatar in Realm of Witchcraft.

It was only a minor inconvenience when Don had banned Mikey from using the laptop… again. Minor because Don would soon forget—that, or Mikey would eventually manage to win his way back into his brother's good graces. For now, though, he was reduced to waiting until Donatello went out before stealing the precious time that he could with the device. Like it was a secret girlfriend or something.

The new ban wasn't even fair, in Mikey's opinion. After all, how was he supposed to know that that link for a free TV was actually a virus? The way he saw it, it was well worth the risk given the prize. Donny just needed to chill out. Well, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him…

Brimming with anticipation, Mikey dragged the cursor toward the desired icon on the desktop and tapped the touchpad. Nothing. That was odd... Maybe he needed to double click? Mikey repeatedly tapped over the icon, but nothing happened. Growing anxious as well as impatient, he began tapping other icons, hoping that at least one would respond, but he had no such luck.

This wasn't good. Did he break it again? How? He didn't even click any sketchy links this time. Mikey kept clicking icons. Donny was going to kill him if he'd somehow broken the laptop again. Especially since he was still on probation, and shouldn't have even had the opportunity to break it in the first place.

Chill, Mikey. Chill… It's probably just frozen. Okay, no problem! Just shut it down and start it up again, and it'll work just fine. Holding his breath, Mikey pressed the power button and watched the screen go dark.

A few tense minutes later, the desktop was back up and looked perfectly normal, much to Michelangelo's relief. With a confident tap of the touchpad this time, he attempted to click the icon again. Still nothing.

"What? Dude, why not?" Mikey begged, clicking practically every icon on the desktop in the faint hope that at least one would open. None did, and now panic was starting to settle in. Several reboots later, panic had taken up residence.

"Crud, crud, crud, crud!" Mikey shut the laptop and hugged it to his chest, stealing a terrified glance around the lab. He'd broken it again! But how? He'd barely even touched it! And that was the honest truth this time. "Yeah, good luck explaining that to Don as he beats you senseless," he bitterly retorted at himself. Maybe Don didn't have to find out. He was still out, right? There was still time to avoid all that unpleasantness.

He just needed to fix it before Don got back. Or rather, get someone who knew what they were doing to fix it. "April!" Mikey choked out hopefully. April was good with computers. She could at least tell him what was wrong, right? Maybe even fix it!

Running for the door without a second thought, he halted halfway. Wait. No… No, it wouldn't work. That's where Donny was right now. Setting up surveillance cameras outside some warehouse where Kraang were supposedly hiding out. With April helping him. Or the other way around, really. As soon as he had heard what she was doing, Don had practically flown over those turnstiles to go meet her. Mikey smirked. He'd only ever seen Don move like that when—Focus! Focus.

So April was out. Mikey paced around the lab, chewing his lip. He was a goner. Unless… Maybe Leo knew a thing or two about computers? He sure knew a lot about the TV at least, like how to work the DVR and stuff. How different could it be from a computer? They looked like the same thing, and you could watch shows on laptops just like they were a TV, anyway. It was his best shot.

Leo sat in the living room watching Space Heroes with a glazed expression. That is, until Captain Ryan's face was obstructed by a green, freckled one. He sighed, trying to adjust his position so he could look around the insistent pout before him. "What is it, Mikey? Can't it wait until commercial?"

Mikey offered an uneasy grin as he chirped a little too brightly, "Hey, Leo, you… wouldn't happen to know anything about computers, would you? Like, technical stuff?"

Leo snorted dismissively, eyes still trained on the TV. "You're kidding. Why don't you just ask Do—Oh." He reluctantly tore his gaze from the screen now, first taking in the laptop desperately clutched to his brother's chest and then Michelangelo himself. He studied Mikey with an all-too-knowing expression. "What did you do this time?"

Mikey shifted uncomfortably under his brother's scrutiny. Well this was a bust if Leo couldn't help, and he'd sooner kiss a Kraang than confess what had happened. Onto plan C!

"Nothing!" He cleared his throat, intoning smoothly, "Nothing… I was just wondering is all." Leo looked unconvinced. Time for retreat. "Well, I gotta run, bro. Peace." As Mikey booked it out of the room, he cringed—the laptop feeling exceptionally heavy in his arms—when he heard Leo call after him "Better hurry! Don should be home soon."

Why did he always have to be so right?

"So let me get this straight… You think I would know how to fix what you broke?"

Raph arched his brow at Mikey as he set a bowl of lettuce leaves in front of Spike on the kitchen counter. Even Mikey wasn't sure what drove him to seek Raphael's help. Desperate times…

Trying to sell an innocent expression, Mikey put the full force of his trademark charm behind a quivering lower lip. "I never said I broke—"

Apparently, judging by Raph's sudden spurt of laughter, his brother had become immune to the Michelangelo trademark charm from years of exposure.

Laughed out of the kitchen, Mikey shuffled dejectedly toward the dojo, holding the laptop close. Maybe sensei would know what he should do? After all, he was really wise and stuff…

Mikey quietly poked his head inside the dojo. Splinter was sitting several yards away, his back to his son as he meditated thoughtfully, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

"Sensei?" Mikey ventured softly, "I have a problem… What—"

Without opening his eyes, Splinter instructed evenly, "Michelangelo, know this: licking up the bran, you will come up to rice."

His face a mask of confusion, Mikey rubbed his head as he tried to puzzle out his sensei's words. "Uh, right! I should lick bran and… get some rice. What's rice?"

Splinter sighed before explaining patiently, "Even the smallest deceit will rapidly grow into an imposing lie, its roots reaching deep and crumbling foundations of trust. I suggest that you honestly confront your brother regarding the condition of his device, and make the proper amends."

He knew. He knew? Mikey glanced first at the laptop in his arms, then the back of his sensei's head, stammering, "But—! How'd you know? I barely even said anything."

A cryptic smile inched across Splinter's serene face in response. "A crooked stick will bear a crooked shadow, my son." That said, Splinter resumed his meditation, indicating that Michelangelo had received his advice and should kindly excuse himself to act on it.

Mikey was going to ask Splinter how he could see a shadow if his eyes were still closed, but thought better of it. Being a sensei was like being a superhero. Master Splinter probably had a seventh sense or something. Ducking his head in acknowledgment, he slinked out of the dojo with heavy steps.

The Lair's silence was almost unbearably exaggerated as Mikey sat on the bench in the living room, guiltily drumming his fingers on Don's computer as it rested idly in his lap. Every sound set him on edge and tore a squeak of dread from his chest. Donny would be returning any second now. How was he going to schmooze his way out of this one? Especially right after what he had done to the previous laptop?

The sound of footsteps had his head snapping up in apprehension, only to find that it was just Raphael emerging from the kitchen.

As Raph passed by, expression smug, he slid his finger across his neck while making the appropriate sound effects. Mikey swallowed, watching helplessly as his brother disappeared into the dojo. That was the icing on the cake. This was just too much to fess up to. Sorry, sensei.

Mikey quickly rose to his feet, mind already racing for a good story to cover up his blunder. Before he could take a single step, however, he froze at the sound of feet rushing toward the turnstiles and launching their owner over the obstacle, followed by a terrifyingly familiar voice from behind:

"Mikey! Just the turtle I was looking for. April and I finished installing the surveillance cameras and needed someone to—What do you have there?"

He yelped in terror before he could suppress it. Busted.

In those next few moments, Michelangelo considered many things. He considered running. He considered hiding. He considered making up an outrageous story about Spike, lettuce leaves, and a misplaced spoon to ultimately pin all the blame on Raph. He even considered begging for mercy. But at the center of all those thoughts were his sensei's words: bran, rice, and lies.

Gathering his breath and turning to face Don, Mikey squeezed his eyes shut and spoke quickly to minimize the pain of the confession—like tearing off a band-aid with one quick motion. "It's your laptop I kinda borrowed it to play that online game I like—I mean, you really need to find a better hiding spot it was way too easy there was no challenge in finding it almost wasn't even fun—and it kinda broke I think cuz the screen went all wiggy on me and froze up and I stopped and started it a lot but the screen was still frozen and I know I shouldn't have even been touching it but you know I just can't help myself sometimes and I'm really sorry that I broke it again Donny I'll make it up to you I promise, like, what if I did your chores for a whole month would we be cool then?" Gathering his courage, he tentatively cracked open an eye to view his brother's reaction.

Donatello blinked as he scrambled to sort out Mikey's stream of conscious thought. What he did manage to make sense of, coupled with the sight of Mikey desperately clutching his laptop, gave him enough information to work with. His face grew grim as he crossed his arms sternly. "You mean to tell me you broke it again? Even after I gave you explicit instructions to not touch it until I said otherwise?"

Mikey nodded miserably. "Yeah. And I really am sorry, Don. Like I said, I'll do your chores for a month and the time you save from that should make up for the time you'll have to spend fixing it, right?" He didn't try to work out the math in his head. It seemed like a fair exchange, so he was running with it. Holding the laptop out to his brother as an offering, he pinned him with the most repentant eyes he could muster.

Donatello impassively regarded his brother, pretending to ponder Mikey's compromise for a moment just to make him sweat. Satisfied that Michelangelo had suffered long enough judging by the anxious way he was eyeing the bō staff strapped to Donny's back, Don relented with a sly smile and accepted the laptop, amending casually as he did so, "All my chores, and I get an extra slice of pizza from your share for the next month."

Mikey hesitated, cringing at the mere prospect, but ultimately jerked his head in begrudging agreement. "Deal." Offering a hopeful smile now, he ventured carefully, "So we're cool?"

Donatello smiled and rubbed Mikey's head to reassure him. "Yeah, we're cool. What I really appreciate is your honesty in this matter. Maybe you are growing up after—" Donny's breath was crushed from his lungs before he could finish as Mikey enveloped him in an enthusiastic hug—his feet left to dangle when Mikey leaned back to lift him a couple inches off the ground. No small feat, given Donatello's superior stature. Smirking, he idly corrected himself with labored breath, "…Or maybe not."

Appearing not to hear or care, Mikey chirped, "Thanks, dude! You're the best. I'll try to be better; I promise." Releasing Don, his face brightened as he added, "I'll get right on those chores now, even! Just to show you how serious I am about that." Without pausing, he turned and dashed for the kitchen, his steps a thousand times lighter as he absently hummed Lady Gaga songs.

Tucking his laptop under his arm, Don shook his head in amusement and watched his brother disappear around the corner. He knew a lot of words—enough to fill dictionaries. But to his knowledge, not a single word existed that justly described Michelangelo.

Bearing his laptop to his lab, Donny set the device on his workbench and, after stealing a quick glance over his shoulder, lifted the screen and entered his password. Soon enough the desktop appeared, the icons frozen unresponsively in place as ever before. Permitting himself a sinister grin worthy of a comic book villain, Don brought up another set of icons with a few deft clicks and effortlessly opened an Internet browser.

It had been one of his more brilliant ideas, really. And he had churned out many brilliant ideas in his time. Naturally, Donatello knew as well as anyone that it took more than a futile computer ban to discourage his brother from tampering with his laptop. So he had decided to Mikey-proof it. The remedy was so simple, yet so effective. He merely had to take a screenshot of the desktop, icons and all, set it as his desktop image, and hide the real icons, leaving a convincing image in their place. Then if Mikey tried to click on anything, he would merely be clicking on the desktop picture, not an icon itself. After several failed attempts, Michelangelo would lose interest and ideally move on to other less destructive distractions.

Admittedly Don hadn't anticipated his brother's reaction to the trick, but he hadn't felt compelled to enlighten him, either. Michelangelo had broken enough of Don's technology to warrant years of recompense. A month of chores and forfeited pizza was a small price to pay, really.

Don triumphantly smirked to himself as he brought up the surveillance camera feed and minimized it to a corner of his screen. Maybe now Mikey would be a bit more hesitant to mess with his stuff. At least for a week. Or maybe a day… Heck, he'd be grateful for three hours of peace.