A/N: A little something I whipped up, from my own challenge at Stealthy Stories. Concept based on The Legend of Tarzan episode, Tarzan and the Gauntlet of Vengeance. Merry Boxing Day, everyone!

1.

It was cold, and dark. His head was swimming. Slowly, his senses returned, and he could feel the aching in his muscles. His head sagged forward, resting on his chest. He couldn't find the energy to open his eyes.

He got his bearings. He was seated, and probably had been for a while, judging by the stiffness in his muscles. His hands were bound behind him, and to whatever type of chair he was sitting in. Someone started to speak, and his eyelids fluttered as he fought to open them. It was no use, though. He fell back into darkness.

Raph high-fived him. "Nice shot, bro. He didn't see it coming."

Mikey smirked. "I'm just that talented."

He and his brothers stood, surveying the chaos below. A patrol of Foot ninja, that had been attempting to spring an ambush, lay incapacitated on the New York City sidewalk. They must have been new recruits, or they wouldn't have been spotted tailing their prey. He hadn't even broken a sweat taking them down.

His smug victory smile faded when Leo held up a hand. "Hang on, guys. I think we're still being—"

Something pricked his shoulder.

Pain exploded across his face. He jolted into consciousness, head snapping up. The sudden burst of confusion and adrenaline gave him the strength to open his eyes. A second after he did, he wished he hadn't. He wished he were unconscious again. Then he wouldn't know that he was in some sketchy warehouse. He wouldn't see the two shady guys dressed in tuxedos standing in front of him, leering at him.

"He's awake," one of the goons said.

He knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn't resist. "I guess you're the observant one."

The guy glanced sideways at him. "Get the boss."

The second thug disappeared into the shadows, leaving Mikey all alone with the genius detective. He was tempted again to make a smart-ass comment, but before he had the chance, his guard stepped towards him. He took out a pistol, and slammed it into Mikey's cheek.

"One more word outta you, and I break you're freakin' jaw."

Again, there was that twinge inside him, that urge to say something funny. He really had to work on that. Raph was always smacking him on the head. He wondered if he had brain damage.

Wait a second …

His brothers. Where were they? They had all been together last night, so where were they now?

He stared down at his arm. A needle was protruding out of his shoulder. Liquid of some sort was forced into his muscle. Almost instantly, he started to feel woozy. His knees buckled, and his legs began to shake.

"Mikey!"

Donny took a step towards him, and suddenly there was a needle in his arm. The same thing happened to his other brothers. Raph whipped out his sais, spinning around. Leo's katana were out a second later. It was useless, though.

Mikey's legs gave out, and he fell to the ground. Don bent down to help him, but stumbled forward, and ended up on his stomach. Raph was blinking furiously, trying to stay awake.

He couldn't see. He couldn't feel. And then everything just fell away.

Well, that didn't bode well at all. He glanced around the room, trying to disguise it as stretching his neck. Unfortunately, Captain Observant wasn't fooled. His smirk widened.

"Looking for your friends, weirdo?"

Somehow, that didn't warrant a response. Besides, he didn't really feel like getting pistol-whipped again. Mikey simply glared at him.

"They ain't here." Apparently, Sherlock liked the sound of his own voice. "But don't worry. Once the boss gets here, he'll explain everything."

Nope, he couldn't hold back. "I can hardly wait."

The goon stepped forward, raising his gun again. Before he could strike, the second thug reappeared. He was followed by a man in the biggest white tux Mikey had ever seen. Perfect, the Big Boss. He was so huge that he could probably give Hun a run for his money.

The boss folded his arms across his massive chest. "Glad you could join us."

Mikey twisted his wrists, testing the rope he was bound with. "Feeling isn't mutual. Sorry."

His captor chuckled. "I'd keep a lip on that mouth of yours. Otherwise your buddies might pay the price."

That got his attention. So, he wasn't the only one in hot water. "Okay. Where are my brothers?"

"Brothers?" Big Boss smiled. "Ah, so they're your family. Well isn't that just peachy. So you're gonna want to listen real carefully then." He turned to one of his henchmen. "Barone, get the photos."

The goon who had struck him disappeared. The boss and his remaining underling kept sneering at him, and it was starting to freak him out. He knew something was wrong, that much was obvious. His brothers were probably in similar situations, scattered across the city. Or maybe they were just in different rooms. Either way, he had a sinking feeling that something seriously bad was going to happen. He kept his mouth shut, biting back yet another snide comment. If his brothers were in danger, that was one reason not to tick off the guy who had them.

The thug reappeared a few moments later, holding a stack of pictures in his hand. He seemed to have a spring in his step, which only added to Mikey's feeling of dread. This was bad. Really, really bad.

"Why don't you take a look at these?" Big Boss nodded to his henchman, who stepped forward.

"Be glad to." Mikey smiled sweetly. "Why don't you untie me so I can see?"

"Nice try, turtle. Barone, show him the photos."

Barone sneered down at Mikey, and selected one picture from the pile. He held it up in front of Mikey's face. Immediately, the turtle's stomach dropped. It was a Polaroid—and frankly, he was surprised that these cameras even existed. But his split-second of astonishment was quickly replaced by panic. It was a photo of Donny, suspended by a rope that was far too frayed for Mikey's comfort. His brother was unconscious, hanging over the edge of a building. And something told Mikey that it was probably a long way down.

"You see that rope there?" The boss' meaty finger left a smudged print on the Polaroid. "That rope ain't gonna last for very long. And when it breaks …" He shrugged. "Well, I don't think this freak is gonna survive a fall like that. Next picture."

This time, he was prepared. He was going to control his facial expression. Don't let them see fear. It'll just get them off. However, he wasn't ready for the next one. It was Leo, unconscious like Donny, tied with his hands above his head to a pier.

"Tide's coming in soon." Big Boss looked sympathetic. "Poor freak. That anaesthetic ain't gonna wear off before that water goes over his head. Hope he can breathe underwater."

The last picture was Raph, who was, predictably, out cold. He was in a pit, suspended by a series of ropes attached to something out of frame. His feet were barely touching the ground—couldn't be good for his shoulders. Was that the dangerous situation? Dislocated shoulders? Well, Mikey knew who he was getting last.

"What this lovely photo doesn't show—" The boss rested his arm on Mikey's shoulder—"is the cement truck, sitting right next to that little hole. It's gonna start pouring in concrete. Ah well, at least it'll save you the trouble of digging a grave."

Mikey twisted his wrists angrily, hearing the rope stretch under the strain. But he was still a little groggy; his muscles were still numbed, not quite fully functional. The Big Boss reached inside his breast pocket, and pulled out a folded up paper. He spread it out, and shoved it into Mikey's face. It was a map of the city. On it, four red stickers served as markers. Mikey could guess what three of them were, but as for the fourth?

"Fourth one where we are?" he asked curtly. He wanted to get out and start running. He had no idea where he was; a moment's delay could cost his brothers their lives.

"No." The boss casually slipped his hand inside his pocket. "The fourth marker … is for this."

Before Mikey could even blink, Big Boss whipped out a syringe and plunged it into his shoulder. He tried to struggle, hoping to rip the needle out before whatever was inside it escaped into his body. It was no use, though. The mob boss held it steady, making sure all the contents were released.

"Courtesy of a mutual friend, Dr. Stockman." The boss smiled. "It's a poison he concocted, just for you. Aren't you lucky? You've got two hours, tops, before you drop dead on the street. The fourth marker—" He jabbed the one furthest away from the other three—"is the antidote. Now, you can either save your freaky family, or yourself. It's rather doubtful that you can do both."