Chapter 2: Strange Attractors

"strange attractor" (n.): an attractor for which the approach to the final set of physical properties is chaotic.
--The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition (Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004)

--

Impervious to the bohemian charm of her Manhattan loft apartment--usually a great source of joy and pride--April O'Neil sat glumly at the computer desk. Though she knew she should be researching a story online, instead she stared at the brick wall that stood in front of her. She was having a bad day, and the last thing she felt like doing was research. There were just so many ways that today was shaping up poorly.

First, outside the window of her apartment building, the sky was overcast and still streaked with unsettling red. She'd called up some of her old industry and government contacts to ask about the sky and, while they said it was nothing to worry about, she hadn't believed them for one moment. Second, she had noticed that her bank funds were dwindling down, and she hadn't had a hot lead on a new story in at least two weeks. And, last but most certainly not least, there were the turtles.

April sighed. There were always the turtles.

She was fond of the crime-fighting quartet, she had to admit. The affection she felt for them was genuine, and it was small wonder why. They were fun and spirited. They were surprisingly loyal. They had, on more than one occasion, saved her from the clutches of various villains and madmen. Not to mention all the scoops they'd gotten for her, back in the good old days before she'd turned freelance journalist.

And yet … all too often the boys proved to be a hindrance, as well. She couldn't even count the times that she'd missed out on a story because during a fight someone's katana or someone's nunchunk had accidentally taken out a video camera. Her longstanding acquaintance with the teens also hadn't won her any friends at Channel Six. Quite the contrary, good old Burne Thompson had almost axed her on more than one occasion--all because she knew "those green menaces," as he enjoyed calling them. And, of course, there was the small matter of Channel Six itself.

Blown up, because it made a good target since April worked there and the turtles cared about her. Blown up, because Raphael just had to shoot off his big mouth and accuse Shredder of bluffing.

Blown up. Her livelihood, her friends' livelihoods, everything—blown sky-high because of a stupid ninja blood-feud.

A bit ruefully April reflected that, once upon a time, she never would have imagined missing Channel Six. But she did. Even Vernon. Well, she amended silently, maybe not Vernon. Certainly her old boss, though, and certainly Irma.

She glanced over at the cordless phone that sat on the desk. Maybe she should call up Irma, see how her old friend was settling into her new job. After all, April couldn't even remember the last time they'd spoken. She missed hearing about Irma's crazy dating stories, missed her boundless optimism, missed her all-out enthusiasm for life. April's hand reached for the phone and then, just as her fingertips grazed the receiver, quickly pulled back again, as though she'd been burned.

No, thought April. Too much time had passed. Clearly Irma had moved on with her life, and April really couldn't blame the other woman for that. The Channel Six explosion had, after all, been more than a little her fault.

Still not as much as it had been the turtles' fault, of course. April shook her head and swallowed her bitterness.

Before she could sink any further into her depression, however, the phone rang. She snatched it up eagerly, hoping against all rational thought that it just might be Irma, and barked out "Hello?" in a mildly frazzled voice.

"Hello, April. It's Leonardo." Then, sounding gallantly concerned, he added, "Are you okay? You sound a bit out of breath."

Her heart sank. Perfect. Just perfect. "Oh, I'm fine. How're you and the guys--uh, I mean, how are you and Michaelangelo?"

"We're doing well, thank you." He paused uncomfortably, and all of April's reporter instincts began to sing. "Actually, we were wondering if you had time to, uh, do a bit of research for us. We just might have a lead on a very weird situation."

April grinned. Well, well, well. Maybe today wouldn't end up an entire loss, after all. "Sure thing, Leonardo," she chirped into the phone. "What--or who--am I digging up dirt on?"

"It's an underground group. Mutants. They call themselves … H.A.V.O.C."

--

It had taken nearly a week of sneakiness and surveillance, but Leonardo's nearly endless wells of patience finally saw him through. Here, finally, just as April had said they would be, were two of H.A.V.O.C.'s top operatives. Slowly Leo lowered his night-vision goggles and spared a moment to bask in quiet triumph.

Michaelangelo, meanwhile, was barely hanging on by a thread. He sat with his legs hanging over the building's ledge, his heels kicking against the bricks in steady rhythm. Every so often, he'd whistle a bit of tune, off-key. Leo glanced over and smiled sympathetically.

"All right, Michaelangelo. I think you've suffered through enough boredom for one night." He pointed down to the building across the street, several stories shorter than the one where they'd set up their stake-out. "You cover Bogey Red, and I'll take care of Bogey Purple."

For a moment Mike frowned in confusion at the code names. Then, brightening suddenly, he replied, "Oh! You mean you want me to go talk to Raphael?"

"Yes." Leo couldn't decide whether he wanted to sigh or laugh. He settled on merely shaking his head. "Yes, I would like you to go talk to Raphael."

"No problemo, dude. Can do!"

"Good." Finding his smile again, Leo instructed, "Raphael is heading down the fire escape. If you hurry, you should be able to catch him before he reaches the manhole."

With a nod, Mike took off running along the roof's ledge and then flung his grappling hook with all his might. Leonardo watched his brother until he disappeared into the blackness of the night, and then he raised the goggles back up to his eyes. He frowned. "What have you done, Donatello?" Leo murmured to himself, as he watched the hazy green outline of his erstwhile brother putter around on the rooftop opposite.

He wasn't sure whether he was asking about the radiation or about the way, just seconds earlier, Raphael had gone storming off towards the fire escape.

Hooking the goggles--yet another of Don's inventions--onto the clasp on his belt, Leonardo reached up and withdrew one of his katanas. Quickly he tied a length of rope to its hilt and, after taking a moment to aim, threw it like a javelin towards the building directly next to the one Don stood upon. The sword hissed softly as it flew through the air, and it hit its mark dead-on with barely a sound.

Gracefully Leonardo leapt from the roof and, as he swung forward and downward, began clambering up the rope. In less than a minute, he stood atop the building, his katana once again laying safe against his shell, the rope coiled up and tied to his belt. From his vantage point next to the other building, he stared down at Donatello's silhouette, dark against the moon behind him. The brainy turtle didn't even seem to realize there was someone else present.

Well. Time to let Don know what was up. Silently Leo knelt down, picked up a small piece of gravel, and stood back up. Almost casually he tossed the tiny piece of rock down onto the rooftop next to him. The gravel skipped along several feet before coming to a stop, just a few inches from Donatello's left foot. With a surprised shout Don whirled around.

Leo smiled despite himself. It was indescribably reassuring to see that Don was still sharp, still ninja. Still Don.

"Who's there?" Donatello barked out while reaching for something on his belt. Then, spotting Leonardo, he pointed the device in his direction. "Who are you?"

A gun? Was that … a gun? Leo swallowed thickly before carefully lifting his hands in the universal "don't shoot" gesture. "It's all right," he called down quickly. "It's just me. It's Leonardo."

Even through the dark and distance, Leo could see his brother's shoulders relax. But the weapon never lowered. "Leonardo?" Don's voice was soft, incredulous, almost awed. "You … you really shouldn't be here."

Apprehension began creeping its way up Leonardo's spine, but he resolutely ignored the feeling. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have something important to discuss with you."

Shrugging, Donatello turned around and resumed working on … whatever he was working on. Leo resisted the urge to fidget and, after a few moments of silence, decided to just plow on ahead.

"I believe your Zetratron radiation formula may have been misplaced. Or, uh, possibly stolen." When Leo was met with yet more silence, he offered a gentle nudge: "Donatello?"

"Go home, Leonardo. Just for once, stay out of this."

Leo frowned. The uncomfortable feeling from before seemed to concentrate in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, he felt slightly dizzy. "I don't understand … "

At last, Don turned back around to face him, and through the dark Leonardo could just barely see the whites of his eyes. "The radiation formula wasn't stolen." Donatello's voice sounded oddly flat. "I'm using it. Personally. Let's just … leave it at that."

It was as though he'd been punched right in the gut. Kneeling swiftly, Leonardo placed one hand down to brace himself. It helped, a little. The nice, solid feeling of the roof beneath him. The fresh breeze cooling the sweat that prickled all along his skin. The soft hum of whatever doomsday machine Don was building less than twenty feet away.

"Leonardo? Leonardo, are you all right?"

No, thought Leo, I most certainly am not. But, in lieu of a verbal reply, he instead reached for a sword.

--

April drummed her fingers on the top of her kitchen table and sneaked another glance towards the clock. They were late. Of course they were. They were always late, weren't they? Almost always. Nervously she turned her eyes towards the door. She had to admit that, this time, it wasn't just the boys' tardiness that had her on edge.

She'd kept on digging after finding out what Leo had wanted to know. It had been a challenge, true--but if there was anything April liked, it was a challenge. So after a week of trying to hack into the local Army base's computer systems, she'd finally succeeded. And what she'd found out … Well. Suffice it to say, she really needed the Turtles to hurry back. As soon as possible.

She didn't allow herself to think any further than that.

Instead, she occupied herself with wondering just how much Don and Raph might know and, even more importantly, just how deeply they might be involved. While Leonardo and Michaelangelo had insisted that the two other turtles couldn't have anything to do with the sky or the radiation, April didn't feel nearly so certain.

With a bittersweet pang in her chest, she remembered the last time she'd seen Donatello and Raphael. It had been about a month after the Channel Six incident, and the boys had dropped by her apartment to check in on her. Which was sweet. Very sweet. But she'd still been angry, then, and the pair had instantly picked up on that. Most of their visit was spent awkwardly not talking about Channel Six.

Even beyond that, they had just simply changed. Raph's smiles had seemed sadder. Don's demeanor had grown pricklier.

Finally, after about a half-hour of uncomfortable conversation, Donatello had announced, a bit stiffly, that they should go. April had nodded sadly and told them to be careful.

And that had been that. She'd heard nothing from either one for the next six months, not even a Christmas card. Had heard nothing, in fact, until last week, when Leo had mentioned that pro-mutant organization and two of its more recent recruits.

Frowning, she wondered why neither Leo nor Mike had mentioned it before. Odd …

Gah! This whole "waiting patiently" thing just wasn't meant for an action news reporter! Abruptly April pushed away from the table and jumped to her feet, with every intention to pace the kitchen like a caged lion. But a loud, brisk knock on the front door interrupted her plans. Whirling around, she stared hard at the door. Only one person she knew knocked like that--three short knocks, firm, rapid, in perfectly-spaced succession. She smiled. It was about darn time.

"It's not locked, Leonardo!" she called out. "You guys can just come in."

After a beat of silence, the door slowly swung open. Still smiling, April opened her mouth, to launch into an explanation of all she'd learned from her diligent cyber snooping, but she shut it again the moment she saw four turtles tumble through the doorway instead of the expected two. Then, when she noticed that only three of them were conscious, she gasped.

Gesturing to Donatello's limp body, slung over one of Leonardo's broad shoulders, April blurted out, "What on earth happened to him?"

"Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix," Leo replied with stony face. Brushing past her, he continued on to the living room. He carefully lowered Don to the couch and stared down at his brother with a thoughtful frown for several moments. Taking one of the couch's pillows, he tucked it under Don's head and gave a tiny, approving nod.

Then he turned to his other two brothers. Raph, still standing in April's doorway, gulped audibly.

"Raphael, I want you to tell me everything you know about H.A.V.O.C." Leo crossed his arms over his chest. "And I do mean everything."