The blue glow of the monitors is numbing after so long, and Donnie nudges his glasses up his face so he can rub at his eyes. He dreads glancing at the clock, knowing the sun would be up any minute, and with it, Master Splinter. There was still hope of sneaking back to bed before his sensei had time to reprimand him, though not enough for actually getting some rest. Splinter would have them in training as soon as the first cup of herbal tea came to a boil, and that would only give Donnie approximately 10 full minutes to get in bed, fall asleep, rest up, and wake up. He was better off just taking the lashing for staying up to work.

This "work" was becoming an obsession of his. Not completely unhealthy, despite the exhaustion. He was tracking mutagen leaks, accidents, and experimentations across the globe within the last century. So far, he'd come up with very slim traces of lab mishaps and sick mutations made solely for profit. This was altogether unsatisfying. He insisted to himself that there were others like himself and his brothers. That there were mutants living normal lives, that it was possible and that there were those to relate to.

Peculiar as it was, Donnie was the only one of his brothers who cared this much about such a thing. It was not that he longed to be normal, as Raph did, or that he sought acceptance from humans, as Mikey did. Not even that he secretly wished to belong, as Leo did. Instead, he was ultimately captivated by the idea. As many a scientist-mind before him, Donnie found enjoyment and even slight obsession in testing the waters. He wanted to know names, wanted to know occurrences of mutagenic related accidents, wanted to know causes, effects, it all. He wanted to know if there were things to learn from others—like how to control certain aspects, and often even wondered if there were parts of his and his brother's abilities that they had not yet recognized.

Three instances lit up his monitors. One being their own—the lab fire that destroyed mutagenic research funded by Sacks Inc. Another being a lab accident twelve years ago in a city quaintly named "Townsville". And the last being from halfway across the globe, in the depths of Africa. He searched that one until he hit government cover-ups, then he backed off and let it rest. The second one, however, was what he currently was undergoing extensive research over. Three scientifically engineered children, meant to be genetically unflawed, were exposed to a toxic chemical compound their creator had been constructing on the side. From there, there were stray news clippings, censored articles, all a very well edited cover up of whatever the hell was going on in Townsville. Strangely enough, most of it was kept on the down-low, even from those like Donatello, who wiggled their way into the most confidential of information.

He glances up at the screens and at the blurred images of the articles, then realizes that some aren't censored—he's just tired.

"Donatello,"

Though Donnie was taught not to jump when frightened, he had not noticed his Sensei approach, no matter how skilled his hearing had become over the years. Splinter steps up onto the metal platform and squints at the monitors. "My son," he begins slowly, skimming over the articles, the news feeds, the videos, "Your training begins at dawn. Have you slept tonight?"

Donnie turns in his chair and lets his eyes focus in the dark. When he can see Splinter, he clears his throat and says, "Ah, no. I've been up researching."

Splinter takes a step towards his son and looks up to the monitors and their bright lights. "And what have you found?"

Intrigued by the question and who was asking it, Donatello stammers to say, "Nothing yet. Just stray bits and pieces of information here and there."

"Of what?"

Splinter rarely delved into Don's personal research. This did not go unnoticed and was instead used strategically. "Oh, you know, Foot Clan related crimes, the like. Trying to see if they've started hunting down other mutants. . . i-if there are any."

Master Splinter stared for a moment, his black eyes making the turtle very uncomfortable. What he had said was only half a lie, after all. He had long ago rooted up Foot Clan activities and he and his brothers had weeded them out. The city was safe, for the time being.

The only reason he didn't tell Splinter that the research was practically all for fun was because the rat would have insisted upon meditation to cleanse Don's thought process. He considered spending hours in front of the screens, wasting time, to be a harsh effect on the soul. And Donatello had already been caught countless times in this same predicament, meaning the next mess up would land in back in the Hashi.

Splinter finally said, "And are there?"

"Only a couple. And they're too tightly wrapped. There's just dead ends." Donnie swallows quietly, trying to maintain eye-contact. Splinter seems to accept this, however, and nods. "Wake your brothers," he says, "It's time to begin your training."

Don's bones pop as he stands and he can already feel the strain the workout will put him through. This is Splinters way of reprimanding him—making him face the consequences of an all-nighter.

Switching all the monitors into safe-lock, he shuffles into their bedroom and flicks on the light. There's a collective groan and the creak of beds as his brothers turned away from the light. Don doesn't have to say anything; they know the drill by now. Five minutes of rest, then they'd be up and groggily getting dressed. Donatello takes off his glasses and sits on his bed, rubbing his eyes absently until he hears Leo stand up and stretch.

"Up all night again?" asks his oldest brother. "Can't be good for you."

"It's hampering," Donnie admits, blinking at the room with fatigue. Raphael is cursing under his breath, the morning routine that helps him get up and around. Mikey's the worst with sleeping in, and can be seen rolling over and burying his round young face into the pillows.

"What are you looking for, anyway?" Asks Leo in a yawn.

"Probably chattin' with babes who think he's some billionaire playboy philanthropist," Raph grumbles, searching for his leather attires.

"It's too early to quote The Avengers," Mikey joins in the conversation, wiping away drool from his chin. Raph throws Michelangelo his hoodie and it smacks him hard in the face. "Damn, Raph, no chill."

"Never too early to quote a box-office God," Raph retorts with little pomp and circumstance.

Their bickering gets Leo involved and Donatello is just happy he didn't have to answer Leonardo's question. He hadn't told them in depth about his research, either. Not for the same reasons as he didn't tell Splinter. It was just . . . this was kinda Donnie's own little project that he enjoyed. His brothers probably knew, anyway, but talking about it would make him seem as obsessive as he was.

Either way, he was just ready to start the day, get training out of his way, and get back to the computers.

oOo

Bubbles wakes Buttercup up at the break of dawn, a huge grin on her face and the smell of chocolate chip muffins wafting through the apartment. "First morning in New York!" She exclaims, clapping her hands together. "Can't sleep in!"

"Watch me," Buttercup yanks her pillow over her head and flips the bird at her younger sister. "It's too damn early. If you're gonna wake up at the ass crack of dawn, go ahead. I'm sleeping in."

Dismayed, Bubbles retreats into the kitchen. They have a lovely view of four very tall buildings—not at all what the average New-Yorker would call picturesque—and she had pulled the small folding table up to it. She took her seat and picked up her cup of milk, sipping at it and peering down the five stories at the taxis and pedestrians that scuttled from one place to the next. She liked it here-very much-even if it was loud and dirty and grey. Townsville could get very dull itself after so long living there, even with its blue skyscrapers, green parks, colorful houses, and lively streets. She was so excited when the Professor allowed them to take a summer vacation here, after months and years of persuasion. It was just a shame that the only thing that tipped him over was Blossom moving off to college and the financial help she was sending. It helped to be super smart, Bubbles supposed, and to be able to get a starting career right off the bat just because of it.

The professor had not come with them; he had work to do and no sick days or vacation days left. He trusted them to be safe, however, because they were grown girls now, both almost nineteen, and not only that, but possessing of inhuman abilities.

They'd be fine.

It was New York he was afraid for.

"Couldn't go back to sleep," Buttercup groans, shuffling into the flat's main room. She sends a dirty look to her blonde sister before snatching a muffin and scarfing it down ravenously. Her hair was black, shaved off on the left side and a flowing mess on the right. Her eyes, green, were blood shot and squinted; jet-lag had almost killed her. She would have preferred to fly there on her own power, but there was a lot of luggage.

Plus Bubbles wanted to experience the plane ride.

She was wearing surfer shorts and a sport bra covered by a cut up band t-shirt. The December chill leaked through the glass of their window and she let out a low hiss of disapproval before sitting down. Bubbles was not bothered—she usually slept in fuzzy pants and a form-fitting t-shirt. Her hands were still warm from the muffins and she had a decent amount of body mass to keep her warm. "What do you want to do today?"

"Any calls from Blossom?"

Bubbles frowned in disappointment. She loved her oldest sister very much, but Blossom was always the topic of their mornings. Professor and Buttercup equally missed the red-headed powerpuff, and not to be misinterpreted, Bubbles missed her too. It was just . . . she knew Blossom was happy where she was and she wanted them to be happy where they were. But with Buttercup always asking if she had rung in and the Professor constantly skyping with her, Bubbles feared Blossom wouldn't get the personal time she needed.

Not only that, but Bubbles was enjoying her newfound individuality. The trio had split up when they turned sixteen. There were a lot of fights between Buttercup and Blossom, and Bubbles had to sit through all that. They continued to fight crime, but they had adapted to not rely on each other as heavily. She had looked forward to Blossom moving off because she had thought it would mean a calm, relaxed ride into adulthood.

"No, not yet."

"Not even a text? Shit, does she even care what we do?"

That! It was that that Bubbles found so annoying. Buttercup was looking for a fight! She missed the fights!

"Look," Bubbles glances out the window, "They're putting up the Christmas decorations."

"They've had decorations," Buttercup mumbles. "The Macy's Day Parade had Christmas stuff all in it. They've been ready since October."

A deep-set anger stirred in Bubbles. She hated being degraded when she tried to be optimistic. "If you think I'm lying, look for yourself, Miss Priss."

Buttercup shot her a scowl, but reluctantly glanced down to the city below. A small shop was just now getting their décor up on the corner. There was a man on a ladder and a little boy holding it steady. Snow fell heftily past their window, down onto the sidewalks. "We should shop for a bit, how about it?" Bubbles said, trying once more to be chirpy. "Looks like a candy shop. You like those kinds of things, right?"

Buttercup made a "Hm," sound, scratching the back of her neck.

The phone rang and Bubbles was soon blinking at an empty chair across from her. Buttercup had flitted to the phone, faster than the speed of light, and had answered it with a, "What?" before Bubbles could even recollect what had happened.

The conversation on the phone went, "Yea, and? What do you mean? So? Some hacker has been delving into our government files, no problem. You can bypass his system from your laptop, no problem, right? Probably some journalist, you know how they get. Why do you care? . . . okay, so he has a high-tech fire wall thingy you can—well who cares if it's going to take some time. This is about protecting us—protecting our family."

"Buttercup, she must be busy with school—," Bubbles tried to say, but couldn't continue after the look her older sister shot her.

"Look, whatever. We're going to go out on the town for a bit. Call us back whenever you get it dealt with. Yea . . . love ya too. Bye."

Buttercup hit 'end call', then stared at the black screen for a long time. Bubbles didn't say anything until she felt Buttercup was out of her little swing. "Wanna go to the candy shop first? We could get some sour worms, you like those."

"Yea, whatever, let me get dressed," Buttercup ran a hand through her hair and cracked her back. The youngest of the two quickly put away their dishes and followed suit.

oOo

Donatello crashed into his rounded computer chair with a muffle groan. Everything was soar. He'd kicked Mikey's ass, and had won a first round with Leo, but his mind was elsewhere and he ended up on the sidelines, pumping as many pushups as he could get in before it was his turn again. Master Splinter had not gone easier on him knowing that he had gotten no rest. It was a miracle, really, that he'd even been able to win a match at all.

A 'blb' sound drew his eyes to the screens. There was a little white square in the center of his desktop.

"Firewall breeched. Systems failure."

"What in the . . ." he hisses, alert. Sitting up straight, he quickly does his best to bypass the hacker on the other end. His fingers flit across the keys, walls of coding flying past his eyes as he tries to re-write the system before his adversary can take it down. "I don't think so," he smirks, in full geek mode now that he was back in his element. It was probably the federal government again, trying to crack down on who was delving into their system. He'd handled them before and he would handle them again—

"Hey, Bill Gates. Nice try, buddy but not this time." His head flicks up to the top screen.

There's a girl. On a webcam. A video transmission he had most certainly not approved. His fingers faltered on the keys, terror racing through him at the thought of her seeing him. But then she said, "Don't worry, this is just a warning. I can't see you; it's a one-way. I just want you to know that I have no interest in pursuing you any further, but if you continue to stick your nose where it doesn't belong, I will be forced to take further precautions. Got files? Got web history you would really rather not be shared with family, friends, and coworkers? Good. Then don't pry into things you have no part of."

Donnie had immediately went back to the coding after she said it was a one-way. She was ahead of him now, and he was furiously trying to keep up with her viruses. He kept glancing up to her as she talked, his mouth gaping, his brow furrowed in disbelieve. Her hair was a rusty orange color, her glasses highlighted by her computer screen. She had a slim face and pink lips, and when she talked, she sounded smart. Capable. He worked for another five minutes to debug her breech. After a pause, her mouth twisted and she leaned into the screen, her fingers making loud clicking noises as she continued to invade his systems.

"You're not for the CIA, are you?" she says, and there's a touch of uncertainty, "I don't think you can be; too shady. Either way, you're fast. And you know what you're doing."

He scowls as she breeches the last of his firewalls. "Shit!" he curses under his breath, "Shit shit shit!"

"There we go!" her mouth cocks to the side in a smirk. She's pretty. He grimaces up at her before staring in horror as she wipes all the drives clean of browsing history, files, cookies, the whole sham-bang. He lost everything within minutes. It would take days to reboot all his systems—security, tracking, the like.

"Shit, no, shit." He smacks his hands hard against his face, rubbing his eyes, before he snaps in anger and whips his arm across the surface of his desk, sending all the papers, tech, and spare bits to the floor. "Dammit."

"Whoa there," she says, "I can still hear you. Don't panic, I'm sending you a white flag of sorts."

This 'white flag' was a reboot. All systems came back online within seconds. He could look up and see her looking somewhat sympathetic as she restored his drives. "You've got a lot of shady sub-systems. Why do you need a motion sensor activated alarm system throughout the sewers of New York? Why do you have tracking systems on four moving objects in said sewers? I'm not worried about it. All I did was clean all information you had of mutagen leaks—that's some dangerous waters to be testing. I'm kinda doing this as a warning, because government agencies won't be as passive as I am."

"And who are you to make that call, exactly?" He grunts. He's bitter in defeat; no one has ever infiltrated his systems before.

"If you're smart enough to keep up with me while I'm breaking down your firewalls, then you're smart enough to know that you shouldn't ask such a stupid question. Stay out of my family's personal business."

Then the monitor clicked off and all was silent.

Donatello sat there for a few seconds in utter shock of what had just happened. Outdone by some mousy college girl. Not only outdone, but tremendously defeated by said college girl! He might as well hang his head in defeat; this was his element! This is what he knew best! And here he was, infiltrated.

He didn't even bother tracing her back to her laptop. He knew she had it guarded and was prepared for him. All he could do was sit there and boil.

"Donnie, bruh, we're about to play some Grand Theft Auto. Wanna join?" Mikey chirped, sticking his head through the passage way that lead into their bedroom. After seeing the mess on the floor and Donnie's disgruntled face, he mumbled a, "Oh, nnn, yea, okay. I'll catch ya later then."

Donnie sighed as he watched Michelangelo retreat. He'd have to lay low in the mutagen research until he could fool-proof his system again. He still had no idea how she had managed to get past the last one; he had thought it impregnable. But whoever she was and whatever she had to do with the mutagen cases, she was ready, she was watching, and she knew where he was.

A sick feeling settled in his stomach. He'd put his family in danger.

oOo

Let's play "Can you spot all the geek innuendos in the hacking scene"

Just chapter one! Sorry its long and drawn out and slow. Character depth is very important in first chapters. As it goes, and if it goes, it'll pick up some pace. Thanks for reading!