I am now, an instrument of violence
I am a vessel of invincibility
I cannot leave this undecided
Stepping down to battle another day
Remember me for all time this
Determination is a vital part of me
Surrender now or be counted
With the endless masses that I will defeat

Come on bring it
Don't sing it
Better believe it
Broken down 'till your hope has died
Beat down 'till victory's mine
Stand up and show me some pride
And now, are you ready?

I'm one with the warrior inside
My dominance can't be denied
Your entire world will turn
Into a battlefield tonight
As I look upon you, through the warrior's eyes now
I can see the fear
That will ensure my victory this time

I can't be told to compromise this
They'll never doubt the body lying at my feet
A most formidable reminder
They will speak my name for eternity
I have no need of any guidance
I am a weapon, powerful beyond belief
Seen through the warrior's eyes, I
Never need to question, how to defeat you

-Disturbed, "Warrior


Chapter Nine

For the first time in a nearly a year, Michelangelo felt free in a way he didn't think he could describe. There were no words. But it didn't matter.

He did a quick handstand on a telephone wire and rapidly followed his smaller, faster counterpart as they reached Central Park. They had already gone through some Purple Dragons, basic criminals, and street gang battles. Now was the time to rest.

Weaving the wind around him, Mike flipped off a pole and landed carefully on the grass. His little self landed right next to him in stance, a wide grin on his freckled face. "Now that's good parkour!"

Mike walked to a bench and leaned back, enjoying the breeze. "It's quiet," he said happily. "I'm all for good parties in New York, but this is when you get to listen to yourself think."

Little Mikey sat beside him. "Yeah, same here. When I was little, all I wanted was to meet people and have a real life, y'know?"

"And now?"

A shrug. "Now I just wanna meet people who don't want to shoot laser guns at me."

Mike laughed heartily, and the rush of emotional energy emanating from his small counterpart lifted his spirits. "It's a fucked up world, kid."

"Yeah, but you've done a super good job of keeping it safe."

"Well, so have you. And you'll continue to do that." He looked at Little Mikey with pure fondness. "You and your brothers really kick ass. You blend into the shadows better, you're faster, you run on pure instinct and connection. That makes a good team."

Little Mikey was blushing. "Yeah, tell me how you really feel."

Mike paused, tilting his head. He let his gaze travel over the white and pink lines of old scar tissue, down to the raised keloid stretching down the left thigh from hip to knee. "Proud," he said softly. "Honored. Really surprised. Happy."

Little Mikey smirked, his bright blue eyes even brighter under the various lights. "Yeah. It's interesting for me too."

"Seriously, don't blame yourself."

"'M not."

"You sure? Because I can feel it…"

Shrug. "I…I dunno. It might have happened anyway. It's a moot point though, right? You share some of my power. We're connected. You're learning really fast."

"Got a good instructor."

"Yeah, well….yeah."

Little Mikey stood and walked to a shaded area near a tree. "I mean, your whole world feels different to me. No wonder my Donnie and your Don kept saying the psionics needed to…um…recalibrate? Yeah."

"Well, while they and April work on getting a dimensional portal with the right coordinates, you and I can keep up our work."

"Totally dude." And Little Mikey turned around and smiled at him. Mike smiled back, feeling light-hearted and a little light-headed. The one thing he had refused to tell his brothers – especially after the wrist thing – was how strong, how strong and how deep and how…nebulous yet solid his new mindset was. He felt webs and branches and structures taking root wherever there was room, and there was so much room. Each meditation session had felt like a day's worth of information. But boxes were starting to form. Bubbles. Walls. Rooms. Doors. Whole buildings of information and power in his head. He had always wanted to be a hero. He had always wanted to save the world.

He could. He could now. He could really do it.

Mike was absolutely terrified.

He slumped on the bench, feeling cold sweat on his forehead. He remembered the first time Master Splinter had trained them in different forms of meditation. Later, he'd pulled Michelangelo aside and mentioned that out of all his brothers, his spirit was strongest. Brightest. Had the quickest access to the astral plane. If Mike concentrated, really worked, he would be as strong as Splinter himself. And Mike had brightened at that, had perked up and felt good in a way that he knew the others couldn't take. They had all been so young, Leo desperate to please and emulate Master Splinter, Raph just wanting to power through, Don hurrying so he could get back to his mechanics. They all knew Mike's mind wandered, his brother's used it as their main source of fun. Leo was already showing signs of envy every time Mike did a more acrobatic flip, a more athletic lunge, a more naturally fluid kata. Raph was already starting to slap him for "showing off" – and Donnie wasn't really paying attention enough to soothe him. When Splinter patted his shoulder and said "I hope we can meet on the spirit plane soon, my son," Mike had involuntarily glanced at Leo, already hard at work on a new kata, and realized that if he did this…if he surpassed the others…he would have to change parts of himself. He already knew he was great at what he did; he had to be, to survive. But he didn't want to be a hardened warrior. He wanted to be the light superhero who swooped in with a clever quip, who brightened people's day.

When Michelangelo deliberately failed to reach the astral plane as expected, he had felt his sensei's complete disappointment.

As Leo rose higher and became more skilled, trained, honed, Mike backed off and laughed more, acted out more, diffused Raph's anger and Donnie's anxiety. Leo was pushing himself too much and Splinter was focused. And every so often, Mike would catch Leo staring at him, mouth in a thin line, muscles fully tense, and he knew Leo was already guessing the real reasons.

They had been very young, very naïve, very focused on keeping themselves alive. It would be years until April, Casey, the world beyond. And by that time, Mike had made himself forget.

"…and now it's all coming crashing back, right? All at once."

He barely startled, a faint ripple of energy flowing across every muscle as his eyes snapped open and his head turned to his little counterpart, sitting comfortably with one ankle propped on the other knee.

"…maybe."

"It's a lot to take in, y'know. I get it. Like, my bros know I'm capable, they just like to play big brothers. Of course, fixing my mistakes and screw-ups was a different story. Like, before all…this."

It was a weird and touchy subject, this. The looks that Leo was now giving him were of wonder, of guilt, of why didn't you ever just admit it? But it almost didn't matter now.

Mike inhaled, reaching out, pulling at the energies of the plants around him the way Little Mikey had shown, wrapping himself in the gentle coolness of peace and growth. It really did soothe the nerves. He nodded.

Little Mikey had begun to wander around a little more, half in the shadows as if he belonged there. Mike simply smiled and concentrated just a little more on a tree alongside the bench.

In the back of his mind, in the quiet part of his keen hearing, Mike heard his counterpart make a tiny "h-ah…hkh…" noise, something soft and shuddered and startled, like a sudden scrape or a cold gust of sudden wind. They got those all the time.

But then the fog slammed into his mind.

Mike jolted back, eyes flying open. He could barely sense anything, let alone his younger self. He turned his head a fraction, and saw nothing but Little Mikey's face melt into a wide shadow that did not look like a shadow, bright blue eyes wide with shocked terror, mouth open in a ready shriek.

And then he was gone.

And then he was gone.

Mike blinked, blinked again. Something—what? Something happened. It…no. No, but…he was…he was right there! Right there! Right there. He…

Mike stared at the shadows of trees and stone, his heart pounding. What was it? What happened?

A flash, quick and painful. Little Mikey's face contorting into that startled then horrified grimace, something physically pulling him into the darkness. The rush of fog.

Mike's head was being filled with fog. It pressed in, it filled him, it pushed through every crack and barrier and wall and door and room.

He couldn't think. He couldn't feel. No. No. Wait, it couldn't…no. No…

Mikey? Little Me? Kid? Can you hear me? Mikey?!

The fog was pressing in, bringing with it a sound like crashing waves, roaring waters, pure white noise.

Mikey? Little Mike? MIKEY!

There was nothing.

There was

nothing

He grabbed his head, dragged to his knees, his whole body being pressed and constricted. No…stop…no! No no no no no, this isn't right, this isn't happening, he was right here, he was RIGHT HERE! STOP NO HE WAS HERE HE'S SUPPOSED TO

he can't just

wait

why is…where…where is…

Time seemed to stop.

Something stabbed him in the skull, and Mike collapsed forward, hands and palms and fingers skidding and scraping the ground, not even sure if he was screaming. But when the pain receded and he scrabbled to his feet, there was no more thinking. There was only instinct.

Aiming his confused breathless body toward the path to home, Mike picked up speed and began to run.


Mikey was dreaming.

Mikey was floating.

It was a strange dream and it didn't feel like a dream, but it didn't feel like an astral projection or even a projection deep into his own mind. It was endless fog stretching out beyond anything, and inside the fog there were voices, strong and harsh. There was movement, bumpy and jarring and shaky. The smells of oil and gasoline and metal and plastic and rust and copper. The sound of water lapping up against old wood creaking.

His neck hurt, his neck was stiff and throbbing and there was a tiny spot that felt like a deep scratch, like a thorn or a claw or a sting. It was burning, that tiny spot.

He hurt. He couldn't think. He couldn't feel. There was only the fog, and it was freezing, and it took everything he was.

Mikey went back to sleep.

It was better this way.


The manhole cover slipped again under his bloodied raw hands and he cursed long and hard, screaming against teeth that might shatter against each other. A hundred pound metal circle should be nothing; what was wrong with him? He felt his muscles shiver with a bizarre fatigue. In his head he screamed until it was a howl, a sliver of psychic energy burst through, and finally the metal scraped enough for him to slide it and fall through. He barely caught himself on the ladder. He slid all the way down and kept running, slipping, splashing, unfocused, his head too heavy, his eyes burning.

When he got to the access panel for the lair's entrance, Mike only just barely got it correct, and as the entrance opened and he threw himself into the lair, time finally seemed to stop again. He was on his knees, blood welling up from his ruined hands, spilling around him, and he could barely call up that power that Little Mikey had taught him, that healing factor – how did it go? Ask the energy? Wait for the flow to access itself? How—how—it was supposed to be easy why was his head so heavy

"—key! MIKEY!"

A slap stung his face. Panting, he brought himself into focus, feeling his heavy eyelids flutter open. His sight was full of Raph, golden eyes angry and horrified.

"The hell, Mikey, what happened? What happened to your hands? Where's the kid? What's going on? Mike, where's Freckles? What happened? Are you okay? Mikey?! Say something!"

He shivered, shook his head. The fog was just starting to lift, and he could feel himself again, his own mind, his own thoughts, his own power gifted.

He couldn't feel Little Mikey.

He couldn't feel his link to Little Mikey.

He made some sort of sound. He was taken by the upper arms, hauled to his feet, someone was pressing soft gauze against his hands and he cried out; there was no skin on his hands, there was dirt and gravel and it hurt and in his ear April was whispering that it was all right, he would be all right, just come over here, stand here; and he was leaned against cool metal, there was water running, his hands placed under gentle water and he fought back a sob. Hands again, all over him: April, Don, Splinter. He sat down. He looked at his hands. Don and April were quickly wrapping each with heavy gauze and it still didn't seem enough. He could feel the thick slimy slickness of the antibiotic ointments as the bandages squished against the mix of blood, fluid, goo, and sheer flesh. But finally, finally, that little tap, that access, that flow that was supposed to be the source of the M'Kari telekinetic healing…he felt open wider and respond almost guiltily, as though the force of energy itself had feelings. After several very long breaths, he felt his hands go a little numb.

Mike finally opened his eyes all the way and looked around.

Every single family member, transdimensional kids including, was staring at him with wide frightened eyes. But he focused hard on Little Red, Little Raph, the boy with the bright emerald eyes who had the deepest connection to—

"Can you feel him?" he rasped.

Little Raph jerked, his head snapping back a little. Casey steadied him. "Uh…what?"

"Can…" Mike drew in a cold breath, winced. "Can you feel him? Your link. Your connection, that bond you have. Can you feel Mikey?"

Little Raph frowned. He paused. Then his skin turned almost greenish-gray. His knees shook. Raphael and Casey held him up.

"I…" his neon eyes were pinpricks. "I can't…I can't link to him. I can't feel him."

Mike felt his heart plummet.

Little Raph whirled on the other kids, shaking. "Guys, feel for him. Please tell me you can feel him!"

Little Donnie, who had been almost vibrating in his desire to help, suddenly sagged, his lanky body seeming to fold in on itself. Little Leo was a statue. Nothing had changed, nothing but the rampant rippling tension in his entire musculature, the way his mouth trembled at the corners, the way his pupils dilated, the way his hands shook just slightly.

"No," he whispered.

As one, they looked at Mike.

"What…"

Little Blue's voice, almost always steady and controlled and just a little adorable, was low and gravelly and grating.

"What happened to our brother?"

And Mike looked him in the eye, from darker blue to russet brown to acid green.

"He's gone," he murmured. The cold feeling settled in deeper."Something took him. Something grabbed him and blocked our connection. Mikey's gone. I can't feel him. He's cut off. He's gone."


Mikey couldn't open his eyes at first. The chilled, painful fog in his head weighed him down ridiculously. Voices floated around him still, and now a humming sound, a whirring noise like metal fans and computer equipment; he would know sounds like that anywhere. He struggled to think. Where was his memory? Where had he been before this? His thoughts were sluggish, a forming memory was incredibly hazy, and then it was very, very slowly bleeding in color from the edges. He remembered hanging out in Central Park, checking out some flowers and a tree talking to his bigger counterpart, focusing on something Big Mike had said about Big Leo, and skill versus talent. And then…something? What? Two huge, gloved hands, human hands, on his shoulders from behind. Another hand wrapping around his mouth. A slash of a thin blade against his neck, a tiny trickle of blood. Liquid filling him, the way he could feel it. Hands again grabbing him, and he was falling, he was falling backward, and there was a voice. A man's voice was saying something about being fast, about a truck.

A blade coated with liquid

The way his eyes had closed without his permission, the way his body had instantly numbed, the way his mind seemed to detach entirely…

A serum…a poison?

The way he lashed out with his power and came up against fog that felt like thick glass, like Plexiglass and stronger, no cracks, no fragility. The way he beat against it and beat against it like a frantic bird, wings bruising and starting to break. There was no way out. He spun the energy in circles. No way out. He couldn't move. He couldn't move. The power was there, it was there, it was rushing through his body and pushing at him and grabbing after whatever fluid had gone into his body and chasing and chasing but it was too late and he had fallen…

Paralysis.

And his mind was shut off from the outside, and suddenly horror crashed through him, a pulsating hollow emptiness of a missing part.

Something had shut him down.

Something had cut off his link to outside.

That meant his counterpart Michelangelo…

That meant Raph—

Oh. Oh god, no.

His brothers. His brothers couldn't feel him.

In his head, Mikey screamed and screamed and screamed. It was the only thing he could do.

And then, there was a voice. There was a strong sting, a needle in his elbow, and the fog lifted just slightly. It wasn't enough, but his own power burning inside him burned higher and brighter as it fought tooth and nail with the thing inside his veins, in his muscles, in his head, in his brain, this…this toxin, this foreign substance that was strong enough to keep him from doing anything except move inside his own mind…

"Stop fighting," said the voice.

There was a warm, human hand pressed almost gently, almost lovingly, against the muscles of his neck, a thumb caressing the thick scab that had already formed over the cut. "Look at that," a man murmured. "Marvelous. Beautiful. Fascinating."

Mikey tried to move. His fingers spasmed. Power was there, slow and dull, and he heard something rattle and tip over.

"No, no, no, sshhh," the voice said again. "None of that, little one. We can't have that. It's too much. Just this. Just enough. I'm crafty, you see. I'm creative, I'm very ingenious. My lab, the entire room is protected by a very special energy field. It's a little like the psionic blocker that's now coursing through you, do you see?"

Mikey didn't see. He couldn't. He managed to squeeze his eyelids and making a tiny moaning sound.

"That's it. There you go. Come on around now. Take a look at what we've done for you."

There was a shuffling. The voice said, "Lower the lights just a little, please."

Twitching again, Mikey opened his eyes, focusing. There was a concrete ceiling. He was lying on a metal table. He was strapped down to a metal table.

A man was looming over him.

If Mikey hadn't been so confused, terrified, and numb, he might have burst out laughing.

The man had very pale skin. He was extremely tall, and thin, and he wore a black business suit with black sunglasses. A white lab coat was draped over his shoulders, hanging loosely. In one hand, he held a scalpel, and on his face was a very wide grin.

"Hello, there, new little Michelangelo," the man said. "I've been observing your energy signatures since yesterday. My name is John Bishop, and you are my wonderful new experiment."


Mike had never seen his family so still, so silent, so determined. Don at his computers, hunting and tracking with Little Don right alongside. Little Raph pacing and growling while Raph demolished a practice dummy and a punching bag. The two Leos, side by side, flowing in perfect harmony through kata after kata. And he sat there, on that couch, his sweet Klunk pressed to his side, feeling numb and detached. He stared at his hands.

April and Casey sat on either side, watching him carefully. He had run out of words after explaining everything that had happened. His hands were hot and itching. He began to slowly pick at the bandages without thinking.

"Whoa, Mike, I don't think that's a good idea."

Shut up, Casey, this isn't your fight.

"Mikey, can I get you more water? Should we change the bandages?

I'm fine, April, stop talking.

He was unwrapping the first layers. Their hands were on him, they were talking to him like a child. He ignored them. Splinter was there, his sweet sensei, saying things, trying to hold his hands. He growled. His hands were hot and they were itching. He managed to get almost all the gauze off of his left hand before they pulled him back.

He heard all three of them gasp.

His left hand was scabbed over, bright red, no longer bleeding.

"How…" April blinked slowly.

Mike merely unwrapped his other hand.

"Michelangelo," Splinter whispered.

He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear that tone in his sensei's voice, the one he'd heard so many years ago. The one that insisted he could be so great. Mike flexed his fingers slowly. The skin was growing back, he could feel it. Itching. Tingling. Heated.

"Holy shit," Casey muttered.

"Guys!" Don called out. Mike glanced up. Don and Little Donnie were standing in the lab's doorway, looking stunned and in despair.

Everyone stopped what they were going.

"Did you guys find something?" Leo asked in a low, cool voice.

"There's some sort of interference preventing me from completely tracking Little Mikey's T-Phone," Don said. He paused. "But…but I recognize some of the code. It's been used against us before."

Beside him, the tall, slender Little Don was shivering, obviously traumatized by whatever Donnie had found.

Raph instantly stomped over and demanded, "What? What did you find? Who is it? Who took the kid?"

Don bit his lip and squared his shoulders.

"Bishop," he whispered. "It's John Bishop. He's back."

The lair exploded into chaos.