A/N: The story is based on Mirage Comics volume 1 but is technically an AU as the timeline isn't respected. The events takes place nowadays.
I decided to draw a cover for each chapter. You can find it on my tumblr (check the Neververse tag) or on DeviantArt.
Beta-reader: SadoraNortica
Rating: M for adult themes, violence and such.


Neververse
Chapter 2
Le fond du trou

It smelled like piss, vomit, old clothes stiff from dirt, sweat, fear and anger. In short, it smelled like humanity. That's how Michelangelo knew he was in a cell, more than the cold concrete touching his skin, more than the weight of the chains around his wrists, the agitation around him, the radios buzzing or the echo of rough voices along the corridors. Fucking humanity. Michelangelo never had been in a human prison during his entire – and rather short – life but, somehow, he knew exactly how it was supposed to smell. Maybe he had watched too many movies and played too many video games. Master Splinter always thought it was a waste of time but Michelangelo had proven him wrong on this one. This knowledge gained with his butt on the couch was useful after all. He would crack a Nelson-ish "Ha ha!" to his master as soon as they got out of there.

Michelangelo opened an eye for a fraction of second to confirm where he was. He briefly saw Donatello in a cell in front of his. His brother was sitting very straight, like he wouldn't lean his back on the wall. Maybe it was because of the gruesomeness of the place but it seemed odd – they lived in the sewers, after all. Donatello didn't really care about tidiness or cleanness. If Leonardo or Raphael didn't remind him to do his part of the chores, he would never do them, too busy reading or doing stuff on his computers. If Michelangelo ignored his duty, the Evil League of Big Brothers would yell at him. That was kind of unfair but Michelangelo was used to it by now. Nobody ever yelled at Donatello because Donatello never yelled himself – or on extremely rare occasions, like that time Renet had hugged him and he had his face buried between her huge tits. He didn't know how to enjoy the little gifts of life.

Another peak taught Michelangelo there was at least a dozen of men nearby – he could hear them. One of them smelled like cheap Cologne and cigarettes and Michelangelo suddenly understood why a previous tenant had thrown up. He also felt the urge to free his stomach of all those nasty pizza slices, candies and drinks, but that would blow up his cover. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Michelangelo was gear-less, unarmed, and unconscious, totally harmless. It was better to fake his state at the moment. Someone would open that door sooner or later, thinking that strange turtle-man was out, and Michelangelo would use that opportunity to get out of there. He could easily free himself and take down the guards, no problem at all. He just needed someone to open the gate.

"I know you're awake, Mikey," Donatello said in Japanese. "I saw you open an eye."

Dammit Donnie, Michelangelo thought. He liked his brother's continual chit-chat about this and that, especially when he was talking out loud to himself, but for once Michelangelo would have liked Donatello to shut up. Maybe someone around could understand Japanese – it was a pretty popular language among the young. Michelangelo chose to respond in Quenya, an imaginary language created by Tolkien for his Elves. It was a bit complicated to use but very few people on Earth could speak that language. He had had some troubles learning it from the Internet, even more to convince his brothers to do the same. At last, all those hours figuring out the complex grammar and inventing words fitting the modern world were finally paying off.

"Could be a nerve or something," Michelangelo said hesitantly but kept faking his unconsciousness. Donatello recognized the Quenya and followed the lead, with no apparent effort. Donatello had a thing for languages too. The more complicated, the better.

"That would be a bad sign, probably of an upcoming epileptic episode."

"We could use the diversion," Michelangelo suggested.

"Leo ain't with us," Raphael growled from somewhere on the right. It was a bit dolorous to hear Raphael's rough voice massacre the delicate Elven language and its grammar.

"We are not leaving our brother behind," Donatello added.

Michelangelo sighed and sat on his concrete bench. His movement must have been too quick because he suddenly felt dizzy. The sneaky cheap cigarette flavored Cologne used that moment of weakness to remind him of its presence and Michelangelo emptied his stomach on the ground.

"We might not need you to fake a seizure," Donatello smiled out of compassion. "Seems like you've got a concussion."

"Yeah, yeah, I know what it's like to have one," Michelangelo growled as he leaned on the wall. It was cool and he needed that but the back of his head seemed to be a gigantic hematoma. To be honest, he didn't feel good, not at all. His ears were ringing, he tasted blood and vomit in his mouth, his head felt heavy and all of his blood vessels were buzzing. He needed his bad day blanket badly.

"What happened?" Michelangelo asked.

"You flew," Raphael snorted. "Gotta practice the landing though."

"I'll keep that in mind. Tell me the truth, Doctor, will I ever be pretty again?"

"I doubt that," Donatello answered.

"Thank you Donnie for your ever kindness. Where's Leo?"

"In an interrogation room, somewhere, I guess." Donatello's voice was a little tensed but it was only normal. Without Leonardo around, he was in charge of the operation. He had to decide if they were to abandon their brother or not. Knowing Donatello, it would be the not – for now. He wasn't the kind of leader to boldly jump into the action without a solid plan. Donatello had to know all the parameters and calculate all the probabilities before doing anything that would be dangerous for somebody else. So far, the odds didn't seem to be in their favor.

"So, we sit on our butts and wait," Michelangelo concluded.

"For now, yes."

A metallic sound indicated the opening of some gates in the end of the corridor and one of the guards started walking in their direction. Donatello's face became a hard cold mask, exactly what Daddy expected from them. Michelangelo knew he was doing the same but it always amazed him to see the quiet one of the team entering the mold of the fantastic warrior he was. Donatello usually was calm and composed, mostly because he didn't have much space between the three big egos of his brothers, the voice of peace and reason in the tumult. Even so, he liked fighting. Not the "kill all the enemies" part, obviously, but it was part of his life, of their life. Training was a big portion of their days. Without their regular eight hours a day, they felt awkward and guilty. Michelangelo had read somewhere that professional sportsmen were like drug addicts, only they got their kick out of physical training instead of crack or whatever. It must have been the same for them.

The guard risking a look in his cell was a tall blond guy in his thirties wearing the black uniform of NYPD. Fear and curiosity were fighting to take over his face.

"Were you speaking Elven?" the dude asked, unsure of how he was supposed to talk to him. Great, Michelangelo thought. Just fucking great. Out of the handful of people capable of recognizing, and maybe understanding, the language they used, one of those fucking geeks was right in front of him. Michelangelo should have known better. Hazard, luck and the freaking Universe were almost never on their side.

"None of your fucking business," Raphael growled in English from his cell. Fear won on the policeman's face but apparently duty was more important than that.

"Huh, well, do you need water or something?" he asked this time. "You guys are cold blooded, right? Maybe you want to drink something hot, it's a bit chilly down there."

"Go fuck yourself," Raphael responded.

"You're not helping," Donatello told his brother in Japanese. He continued in English, "Water would be welcome, the temperature isn't important. The bottled kind, sealed, and don't try to put anything into it, we'd know." He tapped his beak to support his speech. The policeman nodded and walked away.

"I'll grab him and break his pretty little neck," Raphael warned his brothers in Japanese, "then I'll use his keys to..."

"We are not killing anymore," Donatello stopped him.

"We won't have another chance to..."

"We stay where we are."

"C'mon Donnie-boy, we gotta get out of here, find Leo and..."

"And what?" Donatello sighed. "We run to the Lair, all of New York police forces on our tail, get arrested if not killed in the process? Great plan, Raph, great plan."

"Do you think Master Splinter will come to the rescue?" Michelangelo asked to break the uprising argument between his brothers.

"No," Donatello answered coldly. "He wouldn't risk his life to save us."

"Fuck you!" Raphael rumbled from the depths of his cell. "Splinter's..."

"Master Splinter is far from stupid," Donatello interrupted hardly. "Look at the reality of the situation here, Raphael: we are in cells somewhere in a police station most likely in Red Hook but we don't know our exact location and it will not be revealed in any news channel because it is very sensitive information. Master Splinter always refused to learn how to use a computer so he can't locate our phones with the program I made for that. Besides, we don't know where are our phones, right now they can be anywhere in the city for analysis and on that point we're fucked because I didn't have time to wipe their memories. And that… that will be the end of everything."

Shit, they'll have access to my Twitter account, Michelangelo thought. He should have listened to his brother and logged off the application when he was done using it but it was just a waste of time to do that. With a sigh, Michelangelo looked at Donatello and his brother's body language screamed "guilty", with bright red neon all around him. Of course, it wasn't just about high scores in game apps or anything as devoid of importance like that, Michelangelo understood. A cellphone could give a lot more information than one would think. In their case, that meant their connection to April, the localization of their home, of Splinter. Their old master usually slept from midnight until six in the morning. Michelangelo didn't know what time it was now but maybe a SWAT team was already at Splinter's door, knocking with a battering ram.

"To resume," Donatello continued, his voice a little more tensed, "Master Splinter has no idea where we are and what situation we are in. We are ninjas. Information is an important part of any mission but he has none and has no time to collect some. He will never take the risk of freeing us."

"You don't know that," Raphael grumbled, calmer than before.

"I know I wouldn't."

And on those words, Donatello shut up. Michelangelo watched his brother for a second before catching his eyes but he couldn't stand it and looked away. Humanity also smelled like failure.


The phone was ringing and it was too damn early in the morning to be anything else but urgent. Gordon palpated the bedside table in search of his phone and barely raised his head of his pillow to answer.

"Miller."

"Lieutenant Gordon Miller from Criminal?"

"Yes, this is he."

He didn't recognize the voice and his intuition told him he had lived something similar a few years ago. Of course, he was awaken by phone calls from the police department pretty often, that was part of the job, but something felt different this time. That something shook him up and Miller sat on the edge of his bed, catching his glasses on the bedside table at the same time.

"Who is this?" Miller asked.

"I am Anton Bianco, night liaison of the Red Hook district, Sir. We, huh... There isn't many ways to tell you that, Lieutenant, so I'll be straight forward: a speaking manlike turtle gave us your name."

It would have been a bad joke if Miller didn't know exactly who that liaison was speaking about. A speaking manlike turtle. He had met three of them about two years ago, in the events following the Eastside Massacre, and he had spoken to one in particular. Leonardo. Five feet four of bulking muscles compressed between a plastron and a carapace with two katana-like swords, calm, composed, competent. Very competent.

"I know it sounds like a bad joke, Sir," Bianco continued, "but it is actually true and..."

"Give me the address," Miller ordered. He was already up and jumping in his pants, out of habit. By the time the liaison had given him the address of the precinct, Miller was slamming the door of his apartment.

It took him twenty-three minutes to get to Red Hook, thanks to the siren on the roof of his car. There already was a group of journalists gathering in front of the building but Miller didn't pay any attention to them. He entered, shoving his badge in the face of the policemen at the door, and walked right to the chief office, a certain Sullivan. The man was in his late fifties, gray hair and dark circles under his eyes. He looked at Miller like he had all the answers of the universe and beyond in his possession. Too bad for Sullivan.

"Lieutenant Miller," Miller said. "You called me."

"Yes, Anton did, yes," Sullivan nodded. He stopped talking, not sure of what to say maybe. It was understandable. It wasn't easy to admit there actually were little green men walking among the streets of their beloved city.

"I need to see Leonardo," Miller said. He got himself a cold look from the captain. Those old hard bastards never liked to be ordered around, especially by a total stranger who seemed more informed than they were. It might remind them of the feds or something. The feds, Miller thought. How long before they get here and try to take away Leonardo and his brothers?

"And how exactly do you know that... Leonardo?" Sullivan asked as he leaned in his chair.

"We don't have time for that," Miller responded. "If you're not helping, someone else will." He turned on his heels and started walking but Sullivan quickly caught him up. The old man took him to the elevator and they went to the second floor without a word. The corridor leading to the interrogation room was crowded with curious onlookers. No wonder the journalists were already there. "Only a few selected people you trust on the other side of the mirror," Miller ordered in a murmur to Sullivan before opening the door to the interrogation room. "And get rid of this crowd, it's not a zoo, dammit." The captain nodded and Miller left him behind him.

Leonardo was chained to the table, very still, looking right in front of him at his reflection. He was the only spot of color in this grayish beige room. It was actually the first time Miller had a chance to take a good look at this creature and he took it. Leonardo was green, as expected of a turtle, with red around his eyes and you could see slightly darker marks in symmetrical patterns on his naked body. His carapace was damaged here and there, as much as his skin and plastron. He looked bigger than two years ago. From what Miller had understood, Leonardo was the student of some martial art expert so he must have been a teenager or a young adult at best. And he was a reptile, for what Miller knew, and reptiles continued to grow throughout their life, so maybe his growth spurt was normal, he didn't know.

He didn't know and he didn't care. Miller walked to the angle of the room where the camera was and disconnected it. It was too late for that obviously but it would be better if there was no recording of what they were going to talk about. The few witnesses behind the glass may be convinced to shut their mouth later. And what about all others in the corridor? God, there was no way out of this.

"You're seriously fucked," Miller harshly said as he sat at the table. Leonardo didn't blink, his white eyelids doing a perfect job of freaking Miller out. He had learned a thing or two about turtles since his first encounter with Leonardo – actually, he knew more than he needed to know – but that knowledge seemed irrelevant now that he had this mutant on the opposite side of a table. He would have liked the turtle to drop the nictitating membranes in order to have a real face to face conversation, though.

"I know," Leonardo responded. There was regret in his voice. "I thought this would spare our lives a little longer than any other option. Are my brothers all right?"

"I don't know, I didn't even know they were here too. I suppose that means nobody will try to get you out of here in a glorious slaughter."

"I suppose."

"Good. You don't need another massacre on your back. None of us need it, actually."

Leonardo nodded. Miller rubbed his eyes then put his glasses back in place.

"I know I told you I'd keep the police away from you guys but I can't do miracles, you know that?"

"I do."

The turtle's impassivity was starting to get on Miller's nerves.

"What am I supposed to do then?" he snapped.

"I don't know," Leonardo admitted in a murmur.

He's just a kid, Miller realized. A Goddam kid who thought he was doing the right thing and ended up waist deep into quicksand. His every move would drag him lower and lower. It was normal that he had tried to reach the only vine he could think of. Unfortunately for that vine, that would lead to a lot of questions and a lot of evidence that had magically disappeared from the archives. Leonardo's attempt to save his own ass was totally going to cost Miller his job.

The lieutenant took a deep breath to calm down and tried to organize his thoughts. The situation was bad but he had seen worse. Nobody was dying at the moment, which was always a good point when you had to deal with those freaking ninjas and their bloody vendettas.

"How did you get there?" Miller asked.

"It was a trap." It seemed difficult to admit from Leonardo's point of view. The great ninja, master of shadows, wasn't proud of himself on this one. Good. He wasn't supposed to be.

"Can you elaborate?"

"Karai asked us to meet her earlier and..."

"Karai," Miller interrupted.

"Yes."

"The Karai, head of the Foot Clan, enemy of your master, the Karai who's responsible for the massacres all over town two years ago?"

"Yeah...," the teenager confirmed, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Goddammit, Leo!"

The turtle seemed truly offended by the nickname but Miller didn't care. For some obscure reason, that little prick reminded him of his nephew, who was a little younger than the turtle but so full of himself the only thing Miller wanted to give him was a slap. He hated teenagers. He hated kids, actually, from birth to adulthood, even after most of the time.

"We had a truce," Leonardo defended himself. "You know we helped Karai, settling down the situation and made peace with her two years ago. She asked for a meeting because someone or something was attacking her and we had to help her."

"But it was a trap," Miller said, trying really hard to stay calm.

"I didn't believe it at first, and a part of me still doesn't, but, yes, it might have been a trap."

"You're an idiot."

Leonardo winced and even frowned.

"That's right," Miller insisted, "you're an idiot. It was a really stupid idea to make a pact with the Devil."

"Karai is not the Devil," Leonardo responded coldly. "She's trying to get a legit business and..."

"Oh! Oh that changes everything, Leo," Miller mocked him. "And what would she do then? Open a sushi restaurant in the Upper East Side? That would be a good cover for her other business on the side, you know, the assassination and so called protection business! God, you're so naive."

Leonardo shut his mouth. He was starting to look pissed off and something told Miller he should stop playing with fire. He knew what Leonardo was capable of, he had seen it first hand, and he knew deep down those chains wouldn't be of any help if Leonardo had decided to free himself.

"What are you still doing here?" Miller sighed. Leonardo raised his hands and the chains jingled along. "Come on, we both know that can't possibly stop you."

The little frown between Leonardo's eye ridges was a clear sign of admittance. He leaned on the back of his chair.

"My brothers and I are hurt, Mike may still be unconscious and Raph's state is pretty bad, even if he'd never admit it. Sure, we can get out of here but that would not be easy and not possible without killing a lot of people. That's an awful lot of work with bare hands." Leonardo let that one sink in before continuing. Somehow, he didn't look like a stupid teenager anymore. "And now, the turtle's out of the sewers, so to speak, there is no going back. We'd be hunted down, where ever we go. Escaping is a stupid idea, I know that, as stupid as surrendering at the time but I didn't have a choice. Cops were surrounding the warehouse and there is no possible way they were there for the fire, it had just started. Someone tipped them of about what was happening. It was a trap, Miller, and I did what I could."

Leonardo had rejected his guilt and his shame for the moment, looking straight into Miller's eyes. He was serious and that was good. They could work with that. Miller also leaned on his chair.

"No going back, then? You're sure about that?"

"Yes."

"And how do you plan on escaping when you are being split in two by the end of the day?"

"We may be mutants but we are more valuables alive than dead," Leonardo stated coldly. "Besides, we are sentient beings, as smart as any human."

"You think that will stop anybody from killing you? History is full of 'sacrifices' for science."

"We are not animals."

Leonardo's voice sounded like a threat. The mutant wasn't desperate. He was determinate. If things were not going his way, he would get out of here with his brothers, whatever the consequences would be. In some strange sort of way, Leonardo was actually cooperating by staying quietly in this room and answering questions. Cooperation. It was a long shot but Miller didn't have any other idea.

"I can buy you and your brothers some time if you cooperate."

"To do what?" Leonardo asked, skeptical.

"Take down the Foot."

"That's not going to happen." Leonardo tried to fold his arms but the chains stopped his movement. They both knew he could tear them off of the table if he wanted to but Leonardo gently put his hands on the metal instead. That seemed to be a sign of goodwill. "I can't betray Karai."

"She betrayed you first."

"I am not sure of that."

"Think of your brothers, Leonardo," Miller said coldly. "Their lives depend on your decision right here, right now."

'What's betrayal compared to your dear brothers?' was a clearer version of what he had said but Miller knew it was a bad idea to make a direct threat to the turtle. Beside, Leonardo was perfectly capable of understanding what Miller meant. He may have been a brat too full of himself but he was smart. You couldn't be a mutant hiding for years in New York and fighting criminals without a sharp brain.

"Alright," Leonardo cringed. "I'll tell you all I know about the Foot."

"Good," Miller responded as he stood up. "I'll see what I can do."

Leonardo nodded, fist clenched on the table. Miller was at the door when the turtle spoke again, his voice full of accusation.

"Who's the Devil, now?"

Miller slammed the door.


Elisabeth Wolfe started her day like any other: she woke up, responded quickly to Nature's call, turned on the radio in the kitchen, made some coffee and jumped in the shower while her cup was cooling down. She was shaving when she heard the news: four mutated man-size turtles had been captured around two in the morning. Elisabeth cut herself on the calf when she heard the news but she didn't let panic overwhelmed her. She was not that kind of person and her job didn't give her that option anyway. She was a lawyer, a freaking good one, and she was going to do what she was good at. That cut was fitting, she decided as she got out of the shower. A warrior always collected scars during a battle.

Elisabeth arrived forty minutes later in front of a tiny precinct in Red Hook near a big avenue. It has been pretty easy to find out where to go, a few calls here and there and tada! No need of magic for that but she knew she would have to use her tricks at some point.

With her suitcase in one hand and four cups of coffee in a cup holder plus a bag of donuts in the other, Elisabeth walked through the growing crowd of journalists and curious in front of the two story beige brick building. The policemen guarding the door naturally stopped her but Elisabeth didn't really care. She used her most charming smile on them and helped herself with a little something from her bag of tricks.

"I'm Elisabeth Wolfe, from Clark & Wolfe, here to represent my clients, Michelangelo and his brothers. You know, short green guys, with a shell on their back?"

"They have a lawyer?" a policeman asked, not believing it.

"They do now," she answered, confident.

"But they... they're not humans, ma'am," the other whispered while looking over Elisabeth's shoulder.

Of course, they were attracting the curiosity of the journalists. Elisabeth could see the camera flashes all around her and feel the attention on her. She would have liked to control the media for this story but apparently she couldn't, not if those policemen kept making things difficult. Elisabeth pushed in a little more as she spoke to be sure they would let her in.

"Everybody has the right to be defended in this country, Sir."

The policemen knew it didn't make much sense but they let her in anyway, numbed by the push. Elisabeth didn't let her chance escape and squeezed through the gates.

The ground floor looked and sounded like a hive: people were walking everywhere, rushing from one desk to another, phones were ringing and buzzing and nobody really paid attention to that tall mestizo girl in her expensive suit with coffee and a greasy bag of donuts. Elisabeth didn't complain. For once, it seemed she didn't have to thump her and her firm's name to get access to her client. Authorities didn't like Clark & Wolfe. Their business was to get rich people out of tricky situations or to help them get richer by bypassing the law. Elisabeth didn't have any problem with that. She liked her job and the perpetual challenges which come with her fat paycheck.

Elisabeth had no clue where Michelangelo was so she used the agitation around her to snoop here and there. She had met Michelangelo a little less than two years ago. She had been at that boring costumed event at the museum only to kiss asses for work. She was one of the boss's daughters after all, a rising star among the young lawyers in her firm and in New York, she had to be there to smile and shake hands. She grew tired of it eventually and wondered in the museum that her firm had rented for the evening. Not any museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art of New York s'il vous plaît. Clark and Wolfe liked to show off. It was one of the three top firms, not only in the city but on all east coast, so they had to spend a lot of money for their clients in this kind of events. Elisabeth considered it more as a way to intimidate the competition than anything else. It was a ridiculous "who's got the bigger dick" contest. Her dad and associate won every year.

She had found a guy in a turtle costume alone in a room dedicated to Monet. He was in front of the Bain à la Grenouillère, a painting representing a restaurant on the Seine in Paris but truly famous for being the beginning of the impressionist technique created by Money and Renoir. Elisabeth wasn't particularly fond of Monet but she had to admit that painting was pretty impressive. The water work was lively.

"Nice costume," she had said to the guy, "but why the belt and stuff?"

He had turned his head to catch her eyes and she had known that he wasn't in a costume. Hell, he wasn't even human! And the little frown between his white eyes had told her he also knew she wasn't a regular human either. Another look had told her he was armed and those big muscles all over his body were a good indication of his capacities.

"Did I forget my pants again?" he had answered and Elisabeth couldn't help but laugh. He had cracked a smart little smile and that had been it. They had spent the rest of the evening visiting the museum and commenting the paintings, sometimes seriously, sometimes absolutely not, and by the end of the night, they had made love at her place, sweet, passionate and very awkward love. They had seen each other from time to time since then.

Elisabeth had hoped Michelangelo would be somewhere in an interrogation room where they could have a minute of privacy to get their story straight before being interrupted but he wasn't above ground. She overheard about the freaks in the cells so she headed for the underground level. The high policemen density per square meter was a pretty good indication she was in the right place. Elisabeth was noticed this time but claiming she was a lawyer sufficed to help her reach the grates at one end of a corridor with cells lined up. There were no humans in the corridor, they seemed to have been packed in another one, but she could hear Michelangelo's voice speaking in Japanese to someone else.

"You can't be there, ma'am," a tall blond policeman stopped her at the grates. "No one is authorized to go further."

"I'm their lawyer," Elisabeth repeated once more. "Elisabeth Wolfe, from Clark and Wolfe."

Somewhere in the corridor, Michelangelo and his brothers stopped talking.

"I'm sorry ma'am, we have orders," the policeman insisted.

"You know it's illegal to prevent a lawyer to talk to her clients, right?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"They're not humans?" Elisabeth sighed, irritated. It wasn't reasonable to abuse her tricks but she pushed again. "So what? You may have a genetic mutation you don't know about which completely separates you from Homo Sapiens and we still consider you as a human so shut up and open those grates."

The policeman hesitated. Apparently, he was one of those humans capable of resisting her tricks, someone with a great willpower. The other one was ready to give her access but the tall one didn't know what to do.

"It's okay officer, I know her," Michelangelo said from his cell.

"She's really your lawyer?" the policeman asked.

"Yep."

Elisabeth rubbed her victory smile all over the tall idiot's face as she walked triumphant through the grates. There were eight cells, all empty but for three of them. Elisabeth first saw a mutant on the penultimate cell on her right. He was chained to the wall and hurt pretty bad, dried blood all over his body. The look he gave her made her shiver. This would be Raphael, the brother with anger issues, if she remembered correctly. The tenant of the last cell on her right seemed very serious. He was sitting very straight on the edge of the concrete bench, hands on his knees. He could have been Leonardo or Donatello, Elisabeth had no idea. Michelangelo never told her much about his brothers. She knew their names and some general personality traits but that was it. They had to keep a lot of secrets to stay safe, he had told her, and Elisabeth perfectly understood that concept. Her family also had some pretty skeletons in the closet, to be honest.

Michelangelo was chained to a wall as well and he didn't look good at all. He had scratches and hematomas all over his body and a large cut on the side of his head. He looked green – well, greener than the usual, not the good kind of green to be exact.

"I'm okay," Michelangelo said with a poor smile. "Thanks for coming."

"That's what friends are for, right?" Elisabeth shrugged back. "Are you guys hungry? I brought donuts and coffee."

"Ma'am," the tall policeman called her, "you can't..."

"Yes I can," Elisabeth interrupted as she turned to face the grates. "What, you think I'm stupid enough to sneak something into coffee cups and donuts?"

"No, ma'am, but we have to check anyway," the policeman answered. He unlocked the grates and waited for her to come back.

"It's okay Beth," Michelangelo tempered. "This one is all about doing things right but he's not that bad."

"Yeah, he doesn't stink like the other one," Raphael grunted behind Elisabeth.

She sighed and walked back to the grates, resigned. Mister Procedure used his pen to check the coffees and lightly palpated the donuts through the greasy paper. He nodded and with that Elisabeth was allowed to go back to the end of the corridor. She snapped her high heels with red soles on her way just because she could. She then figured out that Michelangelo and his brothers could probably not reach their cell's grate to grab the cups. She'd have to wait for someone to open the gates.

"They're hurt," Elisabeth reminded the policemen. "Aren't you going to do something about that?"

"Someone's coming."

Elisabeth sniffed.

"We've seen worse," Leonardo or Donatello said quietly. "So, you two know each other." There clearly were reproaches in his voice.

"We've met at a party," Elisabeth responded with a smile and it was the absolute truth. "I'm sorry for being rude but which one are you? Leonardo or Donatello?"

"Oh great, she knows our names," Raphael grumbled. "Good job, Mikey."

"I also told her you had a small dick," Michelangelo responded without hesitation. Raphael snapped his tongue in a very annoyed little noise before his brother continued. "Yes, I told her some stuff about you guys. Beth's a good friend, no worries. And the one in the red corner," Michelangelo said in his best announcer's voice, "is our resident genius, chief in second, the one and only, the incredible Don, Donnie, Donnie-boy."

"Donatello," the concerned corrected. He didn't seem amused by the nicknames or the jovial way he was introduced.

"And where is Leonardo, then?"

"Don't know," Michelangelo shrugged. He regretted his movement immediately and rubbed his left shoulder, the chains singing along.

"What happened?" Elisabeth asked, more out of concern than curiosity or professionalism. "I thought your motto was 'stick to the shadows'?"

"It still is," Donatello insured, "but it seems we have fallen into a trap."

"No kiddin'," Raphael grunted.

"What trap?" Elisabeth insisted.

Donatello gave her a quick summary of the situation before going to the point: "Cops were surrounding the warehouse when we got out to escape the flames. Not firemen, policemen. Besides, the fire ignited by my grenade had just started so..."

"Woh woh woh, stop right there," Elisabeth interrupted as she turned to face the genius. "Your grenade?"

"Yes, my grenade," Donatello confirmed. "Our usual weapons were inefficient against the lizards' skin so I had to employ something stronger. Explosives were the next logic option."

"A grenade," Elisabeth repeated, not believing it herself. Damn, she had no idea Mike & Bros had access to this kind of weaponry. Being a mutant ninja with swords and pointy shurikens was already bad but being a mutant ninja with grenades and totally thinking that using explosives was logic was really, really bad. She turned to Michelangelo.

"Yep, he's like that," he smiled. "'told ya I was the most normal of the family."

"Bitch please," Raphael laughed as Donatello frowned, his lips a thin putty line.

"Guys, this is serious," Elisabeth sighed. "You're in big trouble, do you realize that?"

"Already made my peace with that," Raphael responded. "You a lawyer, right? Well, this is my will: in the hypothetical case some sucker'd put an end to my miserable life, and be sure I'll take down as many as I can before that happens, my body goes to science but they gotta keep my hand in formalin or whatever with my middle finger up."

"I am here to make sure you'll get out of here alive," Elisabeth insured.

"Sure, Darling. Good luck with that."

"Raphael is not the most optimistic of us," Donatello thought necessary to clarify. "I will give you more details on what happened but we should wait for Leonardo before taking any decision. Can you bring him down here? I believe it is a task within your power and it would be very helpful."

"I can try," Elisabeth said.

"'Do or do not. There is no try'," Donatello quoted.

"Einstein?"

"Yoda."

It made sense, Elisabeth thought as she walked through the crowd in search of whoever was in charge. It totally made sense, somehow, that a green mutant had quoted a fictional green alien, but even so Elisabeth had difficulties believing how calm the brothers were. They were joking, right in front of her, even chained to a wall in the basement of a police station with a hundred policemen around. First option: they were crazy. Honestly, it was the best option, the most logical one too – like that damn freaking grenade. Elisabeth had no trouble picturing Michelangelo and his brothers going completely coocoo because of the stress or the blood loss or both. Second option: they were not worried at all by the situation. They were capable of getting out of there at a moment's notice. That was worse than the first option. It meant Elisabeth and all the people around had greatly underestimated what those brothers were capable of. She had known Michelangelo wasn't a cute little pet turtle, he had told her he had been trained to be a ninja, but she had no idea how good he was, how dangerous he was. It made her shiver as she finally found the captain's office. She should have stayed in bed that morning.

Elisabeth knocked on the doorframe. The captain seemed busy in his office, there was a bunch of people talking to him already. The old man gave her a cold look and made a sign for somebody to close the door. A seemingly tired black guy gave her a forced smile before shutting the door. Elisabeth was not used to this kind of treatment and she was ready to kick some butts but what she overheard was more interesting.

"Their phones have been modified, the OS is a custom Android kernel unknown on the Internet," a woman said, "with a lot of care put in security. Everything is encrypted, it will take a while to have access to any meaningful information."

"So we can't trace them?" The voice was husky, probably the captain's.

"Not for now, no. But we've learned some things about them anyway. For example, two of them have a Twitter account. One has over five thousands followers."

"What? Other freaks?" someone else panicked.

"Unlikely," the woman responded. "One of the... the turtles we have down there is 'The_Green_Dude'."

"Hey I follow him!" a fourth interrupted. "Fuck, I can't believe it!"

"And what does he... huh, it talk about?" someone asked.

"Video games, comics and stuff like that. He has a blog too. Fuck! I finished the Deadpool video game thanks to his walk through!"

"So one of them plays video games," Husky Voice sighed. "What else?"

"Not much," the woman continued. "I told you, pretty much everything is encrypted."

"What about the phone numbers they call on a regular basis?"

"Encrypted."

"You kids always rely on technology with your iPhones and your WiFi but it's not that complicated, dammit," Husky Voice complained. There was some noise inside, some plastic unfolded. Instead of decrypting the numbers, he was just about to call the most recent ones, Elisabeth understood. She knew she should let them do it, it was a clear violation of the law if no official investigation was running and that was good for her, but that also meant big troubles for whoever was going to answer those calls. She had no obligation to Michelangelo's friends or his brothers' but the Turtles were counting on her. And her number was in one of those phones! Michelangelo hadn't called her since late April but still, the cops would know sooner or later.

I am such an idiot, Elisabeth realized just when she was knocking again at the door. She was Michelangelo's lawyer, of course he had to have her number! But it was too late now. She didn't wait for an answer and entered the office. The phone was ringing in the old man's hand. A voice-mail box answered the call as Elisabeth walked in.

"Welcome to Anthony's pizza! We're closed right now so please call us ba..."

"A pizza place?" the woman said, surprised. The others were all looking at Elisabeth.

"Ma'am," the captain growled behind his desk, hanging up the call, "you have to wait outside."

"No, no I don't," Elisabeth responded. "I am Elisabeth Wolfe, from Clark & Wolfe, representing my clients, Michelangelo and his brothers, and I just caught you breaking the law. I am asking you to release my clients immediately or the procurer will be notified of your lack of respect for..."

"The procurer?" the captain barked. "Are you out of your mind, miss? Those freaks are not your clients, they are not humans!"

"They may not be but they still have the right to be defended."

"No they don't. Get her out of here before I put her personally in a cell."

"You'll have to respond in court for that," Elisabeth insured the captain as the black guy escorted her to the door. She couldn't get out, though. A man in a cheap suit wearing glasses was blocking the way. He seemed to recognize her but she had no clue who he was.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" the captain growled. "Did it talk?"

"Leonardo talked, yes," the lieutenant responded and insisted on the name of the mutant. "I'll have to move him and his brothers out of here, somewhere safer."

"No, they stay here."

"I just got off the phone with my boss and the Turtles are now under the protection of the Criminal department," Glasses insisted. "They are crucial witnesses in many gangs crimes perpetrated in the last four years."

"Yes, the Foot and Purple Dragons, I know that, it told me, but they are not witnesses, Miller, they were part of it! For God's sake, this freak coldly admitted it killed some of those idiots in pajamas! It was trained for this purpose by some sort of fanatic! It looked me right in the eyes when it told me that, and it was perfectly okay with doing it!"

"If they help us put the Foot down," Miller said, "I'll gladly do everything I can to give them immunity."

Behind her, the captain was ready to explode, Elisabeth could sense it. The lieutenant didn't seem to care at all. He was determined.

"I'll help," she said with a smile and she didn't have to use her tricks to convince Glasses.

"You're from Clark & Wolfe, right?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Good. We'll need bad guys to put badder guys down. Follow me."

Elisabeth was too glad to obey the order.

"This is not over, Miller," the captain threatened but the lieutenant wasn't impressed at all. Elisabeth instinctively knew she couldn't mess with this guy. His determination was too strong for that.

"So, where is Leonardo?" Elisabeth asked as they headed for the stairs.

"He'll be down with his brothers shortly but my guys are on their way. We won't stay long in this shit hole."

"Good, good. So you have a verbal agreement with my clients concerning information for protection."

"I do."

"I strongly suggest you put that down on paper."

"Yeah, right," Miller snorted, "because Leonardo's signature will totally protect him from anything. It's not like he is an American citizen."

"As much as I know, they were born on American soil."

Miller eyed her heavily over his shoulder as he headed down the stairs.

"Okay, that won't stand," Elisabeth admitted. "But we could try to make someone their legal guardian and that person would have the legal authority to..."

"We don't have that kind of time. It'd take months to a court to assign them someone."

"What about their master? Mike told me they had a master."

"Leonardo said no one would come to help them."

"Oh. But they have friends, you know?"

"Let me guess, you're one of them," Miller said.

"Yes, to Michelangelo anyway. I came as soon as I heard the news."

"Yeah, the news," the lieutenant signed, rubbing his eyes. That was another problem, Elisabeth knew it too. "So your boss doesn't know you took this case, right?"

"Hmm, nope."

"Clark & Wolfe is well known to be in bed with some pretty big assholes, from the police point of view anyway. Make sure your firm doesn't protect anyone even slightly related to the Foot, otherwise you can't work on the Turtles' case."

"There would be a conflict of interests," Elisabeth realized. "Shit."

Miller arched an eyebrow but didn't say anything. He ordered that the basement be cleared off of all the onlookers trying to have a look at the Turtles and then waited near the elevator. It didn't take long before the doors opened on ten heavily armed policemen surrounding the fourth brother, Leonardo. All the chains around him barely let him the freedom to walk but he looked like it had no importance at all. Elisabeth started to believe it was only a show for the audience. They acted confident to make the puny humans around them uncomfortable. That wasn't a good move. For now, they should play it safe and be a little more humble.

Leonardo didn't make any difficulties and stayed silent during the short walk to the grates. He didn't pay any attention to the soundless crowd of spectators either, chin up as if they didn't exist. Everyone held their breath. Leonardo's chains clinging along were the only source of noise in the corridor, until they reached the grates.

"My apologies for the way you were brought here," Michelangelo said from the depth of his cell. "I wasn't sure you'd accept a formal invitation."

Leonardo smiled as he passed the grates and replied:

"There's always something formal about the point of a pistol."

Elisabeth had no idea if it was another quote or some sort of a secret message between the brothers but she clearly saw it had made the crowd uneasy. Yes, the Turtles were capable of humor and they cared for each other. They weren't some sort of bigger version of a limited reptile with the ability to speak, only driven by blood. They were people. Green scaly regular people.

"I want to see my brothers, Miller," Leonardo warned the lieutenant.

Miller gave orders accordingly and Leonardo was allowed to walk to the end of the corridor. Elisabeth followed at a respectful distance, as did Miller. Leonardo first turned to Donatello.

"How is your back, brother?"

"Pierced, it seems. This kind of body modification always fascinated me but experimenting with it without the proper tools is not pleasant."

"Infection?"

"I hope not. Once was enough, thank you."

Leonardo nodded before turning to Michelangelo. He looked at him a little longer before talking.

"How are you?"

"I'm alive," Michelangelo answered almost shyly. "Leo, I'm sorry for..."

"Shit happens, Mike," Leonardo interrupted. "I'm glad you're okay." He then took two steps back to have a look at Raphael. "It might have been a trap."

"Might?" Raphael snorted. "It was a trap, Fart Face! Maybe you'll listen to me next time."

Leonardo winced and it was clear he was asking himself if there would ever be a next time. He then let the policemen lead him to the cell in front of Raphael's and he disappeared from Elisabeth's vision. She was about to ask for some privacy when two clueless guys arrived in the corridor, big plastic suitcases in hand. They looked young, less than thirty year old.

"Who are they?" Elisabeth asked coldly.

"The vets, ma'am," the tall blond policeman at the grates responded as he locked up behind the newcomers. They seemed impressed by the security and completely lost. So early in the morning, they would have been on duty at the nearest clinic or something like that, probably still students paying for school with some night shifts.

"Vets?" Raphael shouted from his cell, making everybody around jump in the air. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"It's better than nothing, I guess," Miller responded with a shrug.

"Do I look like a freaking pet to you?" Raphael insisted. "And who the fuck are you anyway?"

"Gordon Miller," Leonardo calmly answered as the policemen were getting out of his cell. "We rescued him and his partner about two years ago, Mike, you and me. The Foot had infiltrated his team."

"Ouh, yes, I remember!" Michelangelo joyfully interrupted before Raphael could reply. "Some asshole stabbed me in the back with a sickle, that night. Good times, good times, lots of fun."

"Excuse me," one of the veterinarians hesitated, "but we're here for the tortoises?"

Miller pointed him Raphael's cell and the guy bent a little to have a look. He straightened himself almost immediately and became as white as milk. Raphael was grinning like a Cheshire cat, both dangerous and amused at the same time. Elisabeth took a mental note: never alone with this guy.

"That's not tortoises," the veterinarian said, shaking.

"We're turtles, actually," Donatello corrected from his cell.

"They're speaking," the veterinarian insisted. "They're speaking turtles."

"And wait till you hear me sing, buddy," Michelangelo taunted.

"Yeah," Miller sighed. "Well, do what you can. You'll do better than doctors anyway."

"That dude is not touching me," Raphael warned, pointing his finger at the shaking veterinarian.

"Are you refusing any treatment?" Miller asked him.

"Heck yes!"

"Good. Less work for them then."

"You're hurt pretty bad, Raph," Leonardo reminded his brother.

"That's my problem. Give me a needle and some thread and I'll do it myself."

"Thread?" the veterinary jumped. "But that's... that's for clothes!"

"'cause you think we have a medical bay fully equipped, genius?" Raphael snorted.

"Raphael is actually the best of us when it comes to stitches," Donatello informed. "Now, could we please move on to the actual treatment? I personally mind having holes in my back."

Michelangelo laughed in his cell and Donatello replied with an irritated little sound. The veterinary team hesitated a little more, heavily eying each other. They wanted to get out of here, it was pretty obvious.

"Start with either Michelangelo or Donatello," Leonardo told them, pointing to his left. "Mike was hit on the head pretty hard and Don was bitten. Don't worry, they won't do you any harm, unless you can't stand bad jokes."

"That hurt, bro," Michelangelo pouted.

"You'll survive," Leonardo responded automatically, his attention fixed on the veterinarian. He gestured to show them the end of the corridor and they finally moved. Elisabeth was pretty impressed by the leader's confidence. Her eyes stayed fixed on him a little too long and he noticed her. Even if his eyes were covered by the white membranes, Elisabeth could feel their intensity on her. It made her shiver.

"What are you?" Leonardo asked.

The question startled Elisabeth. She tried to compose herself but the penetrating look Miller gave her voided all her efforts. She could only manage to gabble the name of her firm.

"Your lawyer," the lieutenant explained.

"Yes," Elisabeth insured. "Yes, that I am. And I have to call my boss. I'm coming with you, Lieutenant, so don't try to escape while I'm on the phone."

"Don't tell me that," Miller snorted.

"Right," Elisabeth realized. She lifted her suitcase and walked out of the corridor, anxious. She had a bad feeling about this.


It was seven in the morning when April woke up. There was noise in the kitchen and she would have liked to have known it was Donatello in there, returning after a night of God knew what to take care of her all day. She would have loved it. She had a special bound with each one of her little brothers but only Donatello could make her totally forget about her life. His mind was always racing, there was no time for the past and barely for the present. He always had something to do, a new project to put on paper, a new program to code, a new move to get right. He told her once it was only a fuite en avant, a headlong rush to escape what he didn't want to think about. At that time, April had tried to explain to Donatello there were some problems they had to face even if it hurt and he had given her the weirdest look, as if he had thought she was taking him for an idiot – they knew each other for only a few months back then. Of course, he knew all of that, he had responded, but that didn't stop him from pursuing his own way of doing things. It was a confusing time, a difficult moment of their life, far from home after crazy events, so April hadn't insisted. Now, curled up on the couch, faking being asleep to escape her boyfriend's presence, she wanted badly to run away in her thoughts and she found herself about to cry.

She never got the text from Donatello telling her they were safe at home. If Raphael or Michelangelo had promised her that text, she wouldn't have worried because they both forgot every other time but it wasn't normal for Donatello. He never forgot the "safe at home" text and he knew April could stay awake, waiting for it all night long if needed. Something had happened. April didn't know what and it made her sick. Part of her tears came from the anxiety but she couldn't ignore that the other part was caused by Casey. It wasn't just a bad day. Deep down, she knew she had to do something about the situation but she couldn't bring herself to take action. Casey had no job, where would he go with a two year old little girl? And what kind of shitty job would he end up with anyway? He had no diploma and, let's be honest, not the biggest brain around. That was what April regretted the most about him. They couldn't talk about anything. He never opened a book and only watched sports on television. Their discussions were superficial, meaningless.

It had been enough, four years ago, in that shit hole of Northampton. The Turtles were so focused on themselves that April only had Casey to turn to to not end up crazy. She had worked as a waitress more to get out of the angst pit than anything else and her chit-chat with Casey after her shifts had made her stupidly laugh. He was charming alright. His caveman act and his muscular body had made her head light and fuzzy more than once but she needed more than that in a man. She didn't want to be a damsel in distress; she was perfectly capable of standing on her own. And she needed to talk with her companion, talk about books, politics, ideas, life. That's a hard thing to do when you didn't have one.

"Babe? You awake?"

Shit, April thought. Shit, shit, shit. She must have sniffed too loud. She could still fake being asleep but Casey would come sooner or later around the couch and shake her gently. If it wasn't him, it would be Shadow at some point. April swallowed her tears and sat up on the couch, trying to put the mess of her hair in order.

"Want some coffee?" Casey asked from the kitchen.

"Yeah," April answered. "Yeah, sure."

Hello to you too, she thought as she stood up. She grabbed the remote on the coffee table and turn on the television. It would make the noise she didn't want to make. She was pretty sure she couldn't talk at the moment without crying. She should have listen to Leonardo and take his offer to sleep at the Lair, even if she never really could accommodate the smell in there. Maybe he would have called off the meeting with Karai and they would have spent the night all together in a blanket fort. She was pretty sure Donatello would have built the best blanket fort ever, with a strong internal structure to resist his brothers' bickering. They would be all together, safe, far away from any worry.

Casey approached her with a coffee mug and April felt her throat tighten. What was wrong with her? She had spent three years with this man, sharing every moment, every meal, even her bed. How could she suddenly not stand his presence around her anymore? She had loved him. She knew it. At some point, Casey had been there for her and that should counterbalance what she had felt recently for him. And he loved her! How could she do this to him? April turned her head, tears in her eyes, and walked straight to the bathroom. There, she turned the water on in the shower, sat down on the toilet and silently let her tears fall.

It took her ten minutes to recover her calm and five more to make herself decent. Her eyes were still red but she could blame it on a bad night on the couch. If Casey asked why she had slept on the couch, she'd say Donatello had promised to come back to tell her in person everything was all right and she hadn't wanted Casey to be awaken by the visit – he hated when the guys caught him defenseless. It was a lie but that was better than the truth. Just thinking of it, she felt her eyes burn from hot tears again and April splashed her face with cold water once more. She then looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was a mess. She would eat breakfast and head to the Lair. If the guys were alive and well, they would be sleeping by now but Splinter would listen to her. He would probably make her tea and advise her to meditate but it was better than staying home all day or going out once more.

April walked to the kitchen, the television broadcasting some news channel, bright blue and red everywhere. She noticed something important was going on but it could wait. She had to face breakfast so April sat down at the table, took her mug, blew on it twice, took a sip and burned her tongue. April put the mug back on the table, her determination a little damaged. Casey wasn't in the kitchen. She couldn't hear him over the television but he must have been in Shadow's bedroom, waking her up. Behind April, the controlled voice of the female lead of the news was buzzing but she started paying attention to it eventually.

"… already rise: where do they come from? What are they? Are they dangerous?"

There was some sort of very dramatic jingle and a certain Paul Newman told Jessica Something there was a new development in the story.

"Yes Paul, we are listening," Jessica encouraged him.

"Yes, Jessica, as you know, I am in Red Hook in front of the seventy-sixth precinct on Union Street and we were just informed that the mutants would be moved any minute now."

April froze.

"We will try," Paul continued as April stood up and ran to the living room, "I say try, to have a good look at them but the officers made us back fifty feet off so I'm not sure it will be possible, but be sure we will do our best to document this historic day."

"Thank..." started Jessica but Paul kept talking about this incredible event.

All April could see on the television was a crowd barely contained by policemen around a beige shitty building. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest and she could barely breathe.

"Thank you, Paul," Jessica insisted as the reporter's small window was reduced in a corner and muted. The beautiful blond Jessica was smiled for the audience. "Welcome, if you just joined us," she dramatically said. "Today's main news: teenage mutant ninja turtles discovered in New York..."

All April could do was cry.


To be continued

Title: "Le fond du trou" is a saying for "to hit rock bottom", being at the lowest point. "Le trou" (the hole) is also slang for a prison, a cell.

Note: for Gordon Miller, see Tales of TMNT vol.2 #36