Rated 'M' for violence, language, sexual content and a plethora of potentially offensive material including but not limited to drug use, underage drinking, and possible mild references to rape.

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, but one day...

Equilibrium: Chapter one

-Of Hammocks and Darts-

"Too slow, Raphie-boy!"

The turtle in orange landed in a crouch on the roof of an old brownstone building. Standing swiftly, he posed with his hands on his hips. "You couldn't catch a cold in the rain!"

At that, his pursuer dropped off of the nearby building and disappeared from sight, leaving one nervous looking Michaelangelo to scan all potential structures and shadows. Naturally, he couldn't let his red-wearing brother best him at an exercise game, but there was so much more at stake- like his shell. Lately Raph has been doing a surprisingly exceptional job of keeping his temper in check. Okay, so maybe his temper is still the same...only Mike has fewer bruises to show for it. Take for example, the last incident; someone might have snuck into Raph's room, and they might have wound a certain turtle's hammock after watching too many late night reruns of Gilligan's Island. And it might- no, it was- hilarious when one could hear the rock music turn off, the punching back settle, and a loud THUNK followed by a string of curses involving censored body parts, multi-meaning verbs, and one comic-reading turtle. Said turtle could be found feigning sleep at the time...and doing a bad job of it. It's hard to pull off deep slumber when you're laughing so much the bed shakes.

So what if he's taking advantage of this strange, whap-less era? One short-tempered turtle can't get too mad over a few practical jokes. Was Raphael just waiting for the perfect opportunity to combine all his aggravation into one brotherly ass kicking?

Something moved in the alley to his left, so he darted to the right, amazed at the other's clumsiness. Reaching the edge, Mike leapt the span of another alley to land on a far fire escape ladder, grabbed the railing, and flipped up to the roof of a newer apartment building. After sprinting the length of that one, he used a telephone pole to swing down onto an old storage unit. Wanting to throw his would-be challenger off, he doubled back a few steps to jump off the south side, used a neighboring ledge to propel himself through the air, and landed on yet another apartment building. He then ducked behind a fire-escape entrance that was placed in the middle of the roof. This provided him with a moment to catch his breath, to remain in the shadows, and to listen for his brother to make another mistake. Confident in the knowledge that poor Raph was lost to his location, he decided to be generous and give him a break.

"C'mon, just admit that I'm the ultimate champion of ninja-tag, and I mi-"

Mike found himself with a face full of concrete as he was shoved roughly to the ground. Three feet away, where he was standing just a split second before, was a small dart embedded into the fire escape door. Raphael was standing over him, poised, a single sai gripped in his left hand and his eyes locked straight ahead. Just as Mike registered the fact that the other sai must have been thrown, a cry was yelled out from the darkness of the next building.

The turtle in red was already leaping toward the sound by the time Mike was back on his feet. With a final glance at the dart, he followed his brother to the next roof. There's no shame in admitting that the sight made the youngest turtle stop cold in his tracks.

They had killed before- it's all part of being a ninja. Awesome disappearing tricks, kick-ass combat moves...and life or death situations that can leave a teenage mind scarred. This was one of those situations: a man lay on the roof, the long end of the sai embedded in his left eye and protruding from the back of the skull. If he saw it coming, he didn't have time to blink. The short prongs were about an inch into his forehead and another through his left cheek.

It's safe to say that such a sight still bothered the jovial teen; but what bothered him more was his brother's reaction. Or lack thereof. With a grunt, Raph pulled the weapon from the man's head and didn't even flinch at the wet smacking sound as the lifeless skull fell back to the roof's floor. He then used the man's sweater to clean off the blood and thicker things.

Wanting to focus on anything but what the 'thicker things' used to be, or his brother's apathetic expression, Mike noticed the gun that was still on its stand, pointed to the fire escape door he had previously occupied. Though none of them were too familiar with the make and model of guns- it was a dishonorable and cowardly weapon- it reminded the turtle of the type of rifle he saw in sniper movies.

There was also a pair of obviously expensive binoculars, a canteen, and four more little red-tipped darts. He nearly started when his brother broke the silence. "We should probably take one of 'em back to Don. He can tell us if this scumbag wanted to knock us out or take us out." At the mention of the attempted attacker, Mike looked back at his face- or what remained of it. His nausea must have been visible because a three fingered hand found its way to his shoulder.

"It's a 'right Mikey. It was him or you."

He swallowed dryly and turned to follow his brother back to their sewer home.

"Good choice."