Stargazing didn't really work in New York. The city lights drowned out the stars—but the heat rising from the streets made the city flicker in and out, wavering like a mirage, and the streetlamps and glowing gold of the windows made the city seem like a layer of stars floating on a black ocean.

Leonardo sat with his little brother, watching Michelangelo sketch the dark outlines of Manhattan, the bridge and the river. These were the best times in life—quiet, surrounded by the city but unbothered by it, listening to his brother work.

"I think if I add in the river," Michelangelo murmured, "make it reflect all the light from the windows...what do you think?"

Michelangelo turned the art journal toward Leonardo, waiting for his opinion. The position left him balanced precariously on the building's edge, his legs dangling from the side. Leonardo sat behind him, shell against the ledge, leaning sideways so he could rest his head on his arms.

Lifting one eyeridge, Leonardo glanced at the drawing for a moment, then sighed and relaxed again.

"It'll look like the city sunk," he murmured.

"Will not," Michelangelo said, sticking his tongue out. "You'll see."

Leonardo didn't argue. If Michelangelo didn't think it would look silly, then it wouldn't. His little brother was a good artist. And he was too tired to argue. They really should have started back home, but the night wind carried the cool salt breeze from the ocean, clearing away the smog, and, for once, the city felt clean.

His communicator beeped.

With a faint sigh, he reached down and unclipped it from his belt, thumbing the button that put it on speaker.

"What's up?" Michelangelo asked, not looking away from his drawing. "You almost here?"

"Change of plans," Donatello said distantly. "Raph came back from Casey's all banged up. Ice cream'll have to wait."

"How bad is he?" Leonardo said. "If he can't make it—"

"He could if he wanted to," Donatello said. "Relax, he'll be fine. Knocked his head up and I think he actually cracked a couple knuckles. Splinter just said he's not allowed to go climbing around the city."

"Awww..." Michelangelo heaved a long sigh, then started putting away his pencils. "That's no fun. We'll have to bring you guys back some, then."

Leonardo assured his brother that they were on their way home and clipped his communicator back to his belt, then glanced at his brother.

"Anything we bring would melt by the time we get home."

Michelangelo grinned. "So I'll make sure to eat it before then."

Finding his brother's laugh infectious, Leonardo was coming to his feet when he felt it.

Intense dread welled up in him. Facing Shredder alone, nearly losing his brothers—he'd felt this before, but never without knowing why. He felt the heavy lead sinking through his soul, weighing him down, and when he glanced up at Michelangelo, he saw that his little brother felt it, too.

Michelangelo had frozen as if going numb, grabbing Leonardo's hand as if he was going to fall. They both looked around, but there was nothing obvious. Just silver clouds over an empty black city and a golden city shimmering in the background.

A sudden burst of birds—pigeons and sparrows and seagulls and crows—all roared up from the alleys and streets. The great flock covered the sky as thousands of them wheeled up and away, soaring over the coast, following the line of the ocean away from the city.

Leonardo tightened his hand on Michelangelo's and pulled him toward the edge, toward the fire escape, knowing he had to get them to safety, to underground, away from being so high—

The ground rumbled, as if a terrible monster shifted underneath the dirt.

Something flashed across the sky, lighting up the city as bright as day for a brief moment.

Michelangelo started to turn, to see what had happened behind them, only to be yanked forward and over the side. As they ran down the steel steps, Michelangelo caught the briefest glimpse of a white bubble growing over the city, its glare reflected in every window. The bubble grew orange and red with golden streaks, and just as they reached the ground, the bubble burst.

Every window exploded, and the air sparkled with shards of glass.

The wind roared, and he saw cars and people sent flying through the air as if picked up and hurled by giants.

The heat came just as suddenly, and the ground began to steam as the temperature rose and rose and rose. Just as he became aware of the pain, he felt his brother's arms around him. There was a terrible rush of darkness, and then the air began to grow cooler again, to grow quiet again. Michelangelo stayed awake just long enough to squeeze his brother's hand and feel nothing in response.

Two buildings had collapsed together, the steel beams and wooden planks of their old construction bearing down on each other, propping up either side from complete destruction. Over the settling dust and mortar, a lone piece of paper fluttered onto the bricks, smoldering and catching fire as it lay still.

Over Manhattan, the mushroom cloud rose higher above the burned shell of the city.