CHAPTER NINE

XXI

"Now that is one fine piece of female flesh," Michelangelo stated, poking his head out from his cubby and jerking a thumb towards Hayden Panettiere flickering across the screens. Heroes was on, and Michelangelo was ensconced comfortably within a small fort built of sofa cushions and rugs, bottle of soda by one elbow, bowl of fresh popcorn by the other and assortment of chocolate bars piled up in front of him.

Of all the brothers, Michelangelo was the most devoted to junk food. Splinter was generally strict about the food they could consume, cautioning them that elite athletes' and superior ninjas' inner health was as vital to their success as their outer. Most of the consumption of junk subsequently happened on the sly, with approved exceptions – like watching Heroes.

Raphael was sitting on the couch behind him, arms folded and brow furrowed. He ignored Michelangelo, concentrating only on the show playing out in front of them.

Behind them the click of a door opening signalled someone approaching. Then a cough, hacking and sharp. Raphael tensed.

Amber came into view around the couches, skinny arms and legs dangling out of the short red dress she wore. She moved slowly and, if possible, had lost even more weight and grown more sallow over the last three days. She didn't hesitate, though kept her eyes firmly on the ground, negotiating the space between toys, wrappers and cushions that were strewn there, and made her way to the space on the couch next to Raphael.

"Hey." She murmured and he flicked his eyes onto her, briefly.

"Hey."

At the sound Michelangelo popped his head out of the fort again, peering around the edge of it with a wide grin. "Hey dudette! I was beginning to think you'd fallen in!"

She smiled, it creeping slowly across her face. "I almost did."

"How you feeling?"

"Like three shades of shit." She sighed, running a hand over her hair, pulling it up behind her and tying it into a bun. "But the valium helps a lot." She paused a moment then added, as an afterthought. "Thanks for asking." The words sounded awkward and her gaze fluttered away to run up the supporting pillar nearby, but Michelangelo was oblivious, grinning away, Hayden Panettiere quite forgotten now that this bizarre novelty had emerged once more. Raphael continued to stare ahead, grinding his teeth but shifting his arms, one up on the arm of the sofa, the other across the back of it, determined to look as relaxed and nonchalant as possible.

Michelangelo chewed around his mouthful of popcorn then suddenly proffered the bowl to her.

She shook her head slightly, arms crossed over her bony chest protectively.

"C'mon!" he wheedled. "If you haven't thrown up your stomach yet you gotta be hungry."

She cocked her head to the side a little and looked at the fluffy white and yellow clouds spilling over each other in the bowl, heavily buttered and salted, and a little frown appeared on her forehead.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this…" she muttered. "… but that actually looks kind of good."

Tentatively she outstretched an arm, fingertips flickered over the popcorn then closing around a couple of pieces. She put them in her mouth, chewing gingerly. Michelangelo was using the opportunity to give her a good looking over. The coat and cap she'd been wearing when she arrived had obscured a clear view. What a weird human this was! His eyes trailed down, over her knees and down her calves -

"What happened to your feet?" He couldn't help exclaiming then, and swallowing hard, as though it was painful, she leaned forward a little to follow his gaze then gave a little snort.

"They're just tracks." She explained the ugly purple circles and lines patterned around her toes. Some of them were scabbed over, some were puffy and swollen. "A lot of the veins in my arms have collapsed so sometimes I just don't bother with them. "

Michelangelo's eyes widened. "Say what?"

She tittered, then uncrossed her arms, extending them fully and turning them outwards for his benefit. A fine pattern of white and red scars decorated the crook of her elbows and forearms, especially concentrated in the left. There were some of the same purple circles and lines as her feet bore. Michelangelo tried very, very hard not to cringe or pull a face but a tingling shudder ran through him nonetheless. Yeouch!

"Looks – uh – kinda painful." He said lamely then looked desperately about him as she smiled sardonically, desperate for anything to change the conversational path. "Uuh – more popcorn?"

She leant forward again and took some more. "Yeah, actually. Shit. I think I'm hungry."

"There's some left over pasta on the coffee table."

She pushed forward, heavily, wobbled a little then walked over to the coffee table. He ducked back into his fort and leant out the other side to watch her. As she crouched down to pick at the bowl, the low cut back of her little dress displayed an alarmingly prominent set of ribs and spine. Michelangelo could not help the shock that contorted his face then and turned to Raphael, who continued to just sit there, like a dweeb, and jerked a thumb at the sight, mouthing the word "eeeewwwww!" to his recalcitrant brother. No response. Well, maybe he frowned a little more, but it could sometimes be hard to tell with Raph.

Amber turned back from the coffee table, empty handed.

"No good?" He enquired and she shook her head.

"I'm a vegetarian." She offered as an explanation, then rolled her eyes. "Can't believe I just said that. Like it would matter anymore…"

"So is Leo!" Michelangelo exclaimed, pleased that this strange girl and his sensible older brother had something they could connect over. "Hey that will make my job so much easier!"

Amber just stared at him, disbelieving for a second, before half-laughing, raising a hand to her forehead, kneading at a temple.

"You know…" she began, shaking her head, "I don't even know your goddamn name."

There'd been no introductions the night of her arrival. After the decision had been made about the smack, Amber had retreated to a dark corner of the den, and stayed there, head on her knees, until they'd all gone to bed. Mikey didn't take it personally.

Now he extended an eager arm and when Amber tentatively put her hand in his, shook it vigorously. "Michelangelo." He offered. "Or Mikey. Or Mike. I'll answer to all three. You could also try Battle Nexus Champion, Supreme Master of Wielding of Nunchakus, Legendary Lord of the Skateboard – "

"Annoying and Slightly Retarded Swell-Head" Raphael interjected sneeringly and Michelangelo grinned as Amber's head snapped round to gape at him.

"Hey! He lives! Thought you were having an out of body experience or somethin' there, dude." Raphael snorted and Michelangelo switched his glance back to Amber.

"Heeeey! I've got a great idea!"

"Oh no" Raphael muttered, as Michelangelo leapt to his feet, wondering why he hadn't though it before.

"I'll cook for you!" He continued, excitedly. "Oh man, of course! Sustenance is what you need and there's nothing more satisfying or nutritional than traditional home-cookin'! Sit back and relax, Chef Mikey will soon delight and entice with his culinary expertise!" The enthusiastic turtle managed to collapse his fort as he disentangled himself from the rugs wrapped around him, stumbled out of the den corner and headed for the kitchen, suddenly inspired, leaving Raphael and Amber to sit in awkward silence, both staring ahead.

For all the posturing he managed to adopt, Raphael's gut was churning. Only a few nights ago this girl had almost felt like his friend – now she was freaking out over the reality of what he was. Not only that but he was the cause behind her being forcibly obliged to kick a habit she really didn't want to.

The longer they sat in silence, the greater his turmoil grew. He was intensely aware of her nearness, the long expanse of white thigh that emerged from the skirt of her dress, the way the dress gaped open at the neck, revealing sharp collarbones, the lock of hair that curved over her cheek, swept up and away to join the untidy bunch at the back of her neck.

He didn't want her to die, he knew that much. He didn't want to see her get hurt. The anxiety that had prompted him to watch her continuously the night of her attack had been an unpleasant weight inside him – and to find it justified was a kick in the gut.

But he couldn't argue with how keen he'd been to insist she couldn't leave – that he couldn't get her smack for her.

So at least they'd be equal partners in resentment.

Suddenly she spoke: "I'm sorry." He roused himself, turned to look at her, eyes widening ever so slightly. She kept her eyes trained ahead. "I'm sorry for freaking out on you. You're right. I made promises to you, many times, and I broke them. You've saved my life twice now. " Finally she twisted her head around to look at him, right in the eye. "Thank you."

He shrugged, turned away again. "It's what I do. Don't take it too personal."

She sniffed, laughed under her breath, looked at her knees. "Right. Of course."

She suddenly moved over on the couch, closer to him, and he felt a curious panic knot his stomach. His arm was still across the back of the couch. If he dropped it, it would be around her shoulders.

"Were you named for the angel?" She queried after another long pause and he shook his head, throat dry.

"For the Renaissance painter."

"I thought it was a fake name." She told him. "Since you acted as a guardian angel and all. Everyone around that area got a few names they go by. I've been Amber all along, ten years."

Finally he managed to look at her again. Shit, she was a mess. He realised she was trembling, hunched over as though she was in pain, though he couldn't see it on her face. His gaze flickered over her features, unable to settle on her eyes, blue and unblinking in the glow of the television screen. "I had another name, once. Never told another soul since I took Amber on though. Well, the police know it, but not cos I told them. Prefer to keep it to myself, you know? It's just mine, that way. Secret part of me I don't have to share."

From the kitchen the sounds of pots and pans clanging could be heard, the fridge door opening and closing, Michelangelo chuckling to himself, evidently pleased with his master-stroke. Amber continued to look at him, holding him in her gaze, her pale lips slightly parted and coated with a thin yellow film.

"It's Alex." She said finally, and blinked.

XXII

The worst of it seemed to be over. The vomiting and diarrhoea ceased and the valium was taking the edge off the pain now and actually seemed to be cultivating an appetite. The playful, enthusiastic little creature had cooked her vegetable noodle soup and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she relished the savoury flavour. She was still experiencing cramping and chills but the soup was soothing, hot and tasty with a piece of bread dunked in.

She paused to ponder the fact she was eating food – good food – cooked by a monster but found the concept far too bizarre to bear too much contemplation. Best just not to think about it. If only she could fix…

… and then there was Raphael, who seemed determined to hate her. Once she came through the haze of her pain, her thoughts began to clear and she became aware of how awful her behaviour must've seemed to him. He was right – all those discussions about how she wouldn't judge him, how nothing about his appearance would freak her out – and she'd completely flipped.

He was still the same Raphael, wasn't he?

She realised then she did not want to lose his friendship. Monster or not, he sure made a long, cold night more interesting.

Being clear was a strange enough experience. Everything felt difficult, even dragging a cigarette from her knapsack and lighting it, and everything made her break out in a sweat. She tapped the packet, checking what was left, and exhaled dejectedly. Would he agree to get cigarettes for her? Or would that be denied now, as well?

She did not see the other three creatures until late in the afternoon. The rat – Splinter, as he was introduced – brought her a special brew of tea. Unexpectedly, she'd been touched, her hand shaking as she took the cup. A cup of tea, made for her by a giant rat. Don't analyse it, she hissed at herself as she'd fumbled over her thanks, suddenly cowed by the serene, intelligent glow in his eyes. Don't think about it. Just accept it.

He'd laid a gnarled paw on her forehead, politely disregarding her flinch, and gazed searchingly into her face for a long moment. She couldn't tear her eyes away. He was wearing a long burgundy robe, what's more, it appeared oriental in design. This couldn't possibly get any weirder.

He'd seemed satisfied by her condition for he'd moved away then with a small, thoughtful "hmph.", leaving her shaking and intimidated.

The playful one – Michelangelo – had been unable to stop staring at her skinny arms and legs and didn't seem to understand that her shaking hands were a permanent fixture. He'd disappeared on the level above, leaping up to it in fluid movement that tipped her stomach upside down and reappeared moments later with a pair of baggy sweatpants and a hoodie. Both were XXL – for when they needed to go topside – the explanation had appeared in his constant stream of chatter – and the elastic was too big for her. But it was something. He sat by her side in front of the televisions, eating near constantly and supplying endless DVDs and cheerful banter for her entertainment. Through him she learned of their lives here below the city, their age, their martial arts training, all of it delivered with absolute blitheness as though he was incapable of comprehending how incredible, how unreal it all was. She could only sit there and listen dully, her fogged mind struggling to keep up with the revelations, and longing for a hit to take away the weirdness, or the fact that she noticed it.

Raphael stayed away.

The other two turtle creatures had not appeared until the sombre, commanding one called a meeting, after spending some time in the rat's chambers. Then the shy one emerged from an old train carriage, Raphael from the fighting-room and they'd all moved to where Amber and Michelangelo huddled in front of the television.

As they assembled in front of her, Amber sunk down into the sofa cushions and suddenly fumbled for her sunglasses, putting them on. This way she could examine them blatantly without their knowing. She couldn't decide who to focus on the most – she was still struggling to deal with their incredible grace and fluidity of movement, their long muscular limbs and strange, expressive faces.

The commanding one picked up the remote and switched off the televisions, disregarding Michelangelo's "hey!" of protest, silencing further argument with a sombre glance. Then he'd turned to Amber.

"Raphael and Michelangelo you seem to know." His voice was calm, quiet and even. "I am Leonardo, and this is my other brother Donatello."

Donatello made a small gesture with his fingertips from where he sat in a recliner, ankles crossed over the other. How could a face like that carry so much emotion, so much feeling in it? She nodded to indicate she understood and Leonardo continued:

"We are mutants and we are brothers. We regard Splinter as our father and master. He has trained and raised us since our infanthood. We are a family and there is nothing that we will permit to disrupt the sanctity of this bond and the safety of our kin. First and foremost, we protect each other and our home, we will not – "

"She gets it, Leo!" Raphael sneered and Leonardo shot him a sharp glare, merest hint of irritation in the slope of his mouth. Michelangelo nudged her conspiratorially and she started, feeling the hint of strength behind it.

"I understand," she finally managed to say, voice rasping. "I've kept a lot of secrets over the years."

Leonardo nodded, face composed once more. She couldn't believe the depth of feeling his eyes, how warm and alive they were, glittering in the overhead light. "However, we do not believe in the detainment of people against their will. We find such a violation abhorrent." The irony seemed lost on him and she struggled to suppress a smile. "Since it seems the police will require some tangible evidence before they act on the disappearances of your friends, we are prepared to investigate the situation and do what we can to dismantle whatever operation these – researchers – seem to be running."

She didn't say anything. He – or they – seemed to think she was more involved in this than she was. How had things gotten so quickly to this level?

"Donatello has been working night and day and has managed to uncover some information regarding the address you provided us with. Donnie?"

The shy turtle hemmed a little as four heads swivelled to regard him, then shuffled through a stack of papers in his hand. She watched as his oversized fingers rifled through them delicately. Did they have fingerprints? She wondered. Then he divulged the information he'd shared with Leonardo earlier and what he'd found since, the nuances of his voice soft and rounded to her ear.

"Best I can make out, it's some sort of genetic research facility. However, it seems to be carried out in a very hush-hush fashion, which makes me suspicious. There's no transparency to the company and that alone indicates illegal activity, but of what sort, I couldn't tell you. There's a very large, very powerful corporation behind it all and this facility is only one aspect of a billion-dollar enterprise that involves multiple industries; many well known businesses are subsidiaries of this corporation. So once again, the covert nature of the operation seems unusual and highly suspect. From what Raphael has already uncovered, their equipment is state-of-the-art – so why then choose an old, crumbling edifice to house them? And why leave it in such a state of disrepair? I have not, as yet, been able to locate any information on the missing people, but I've been through only a quarter of their files. I'll keep looking, but I definitely think this is worth looking into closer – if you know what I mean." He glanced at Leonardo, who nodded, once, a grim set to his mouth.

Swivelling around he addressed his brothers: "Raphael, Michelangelo, whilst Donatello keeps searching through the computer files, the two of you can scout the warehouse tonight. "

"YES!" Michelangelo celebrated, shooting one fist out in front of him, the muscles on his arm flexed and taut. She eyed them, her lips slightly parted.

Raphael looked somewhat surprised.

"What are you gonna do then, Fearless?" he enquired, barely able to keep a note of belligerence from his voice. She could see he was bigger than the others, bore marks they didn't. The flesh wound he'd sustained from the other night had a piece of tape over it. Leonardo turned to look at Amber, managed a smile.

"I'm going to remain here with our guest and go over the last few months with her, see if there's any more information she can give us." She was glad to be wearing her sunglasses, concealing her naked gaze from his scrutiny. "Now that she's cleaned up a little, she might be able to recall more. " She wanted to scoff 'not likely', but refrained. For all his composure and authority, he seemed somewhat naive beneath it all, and it was almost endearing. He continued, a little slower now, folding his arms across his plated-chest. "We also might, " he said carefully, "be able to decide on a rehab facility we can deliver you to, once this is all sorted out."

She might've been pleased to see Raphael shut his eyes in strained patience if she'd been watching. But her eyes remained glued on Leonardo's face, that familiar bubble of anger boiling away in her breast.

"Who says I'm goin' to rehab?" she snapped roughly, sitting up, and he raised an eye ridge at her.

"Well – don't you want to – now that you're off the drug?" He sounded confused and she was mollified somewhat to realise he wasn't trying to tell her what to do – he genuinely believed she'd want to stay clean, now. She laughed, pushed her sunglasses up on her head.

"I don't wanna quit!" She told him. "I never wanted to quit! I'm quite happy the way I am!"

Leonardo pursed his lips, startled. "But – but – why would you want to live the way you do? Surely the last few days have taught you, at the very least, that it's a dangerous lifestyle for a young woman! That's something you surely should be aware of."

She jumped to her feet, a sickening wave of giddiness almost overwhelming her, but she stood her ground and faced him off, heedless of the other three who watched in silence.

"So they like to say! Well, I been workin' and livin' this way for ten years and that creep the other night has been the worst of the lot. "

He attempted to retort but she stormed on, something just occurring to her: "And furthermore, why should it be dangerous? Why should I have to be afraid?"

Now he stepped back, visibly shocked. "What do you mean? Of course you should be afraid – you're in a vulnerable position out there, easy prey for the human predators that flood this city! You should be concerned for your own life!"

She shook her head, hissing a scornful laugh through her teeth. "No, baby, no. Sure, I have to be afraid – me and every other woman on this planet – but I shouldn't have to be afraid. That ain't right. Why should my job be viewed as somehow more dangerous than any other? Why should I or anyone else have to be afraid to walk the streets alone – that ain't RIGHT. There shouldn't be an expectation of danger or violence around what I do – around what anyone does! Maybe there is – but there shouldn't be. The problem ain't what I do – the problem is the creeps who choose to violate someone else's freedom – someone else's rights – without consent. The problem is the laws that make me vulnerable because I got no protection. The problem is, that if I end up dead in a gutter somewhere, that the police will tell my parents it was just a 'matter of time' – like it's somehow okay for some types of people to be viewed as easy prey instead of dealing with the fuckers who victimise them. It ain't right."

Raphael had sat forward, hands gripping his knees tightly, eyes wide and keen on Amber as she made her impassioned tirade, something almost like a grin ghosting the corners of his mouth. Conversely, Leonardo listened, clenching his fists at first but quickly calming, face quite still. She panted for a moment, then continued. "And what's more, what makes you think I wouldn't keep workin' this way even if I was clean? Can you name another job that will offer a highschool drop out or a migrant mother of five this much freedom and cash? Huh?"

All of a sudden she ran out of energy to continue and quavered on her feet before collapsing back down on the couch. She'd made a similar speech many times over the years and it still staggered her how so many people could have the same stupid misconceptions, the same ignorant prejudices. Then she buried in her face in bony hands and began laughing bitterly. Even a fucking monster from the sewers! Was this really happening? This was too much!

Michelangelo had scooted away from her as she'd carried on but now he shifted over to her again, tentatively touching her arm. "It's cool, Amber." He muttered soothingly and she realised he thought she was crying. She pushed her hair back and sat back up, exhaling in a rush. Her face felt flushed. He offered her a chocolate bar retrieved from the jumble on the floor and she thought she would cry. Christ he was so fucking kind. How could he be so nice? How could he be so readily easy about it?

"I see your point, Amber." Leonardo said then, breaking the uneasy silence, turning on his heel to pace in front of the television screens. "And what you decide is ultimately up to you, whether or not I agree with it. Maybe by the time this is over you will feel differently, though." He paused, his back to them, and she stared at the complex patterns ridging his shell, fascinated. "I will hope so and focus my energies towards your healing." She swallowed hard against the nasty retort that sprung to her mouth and forced her gaze downwards, biting her lip. He was just a kid. He was trying to be nice. She heard Raphael make a snort of disgust and flickered her eyes over to him. He was looking at her and as she met his gaze he smiled at her for the first time. She smiled back.

"Amber," Donatello spoke up hesitantly, seeming keen to get the discussion back on track, fidgeting awkwardly with the pad that was tied around his knee. "Perhaps you could give me some information on some of the missing people, so I have a better idea of what I'm looking for."

Something occurred to her just then. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before. She leapt agitatedly to her feet and began pacing up and down, careful not to look at any of them.

"Shit, oh shit! Maria! I just remembered – she's got a kid! Oh shit! What's happened to the kid?"

"Oh dear," Donatello said, brow creasing worriedly. "Hasn't she got any family or someone who could take care of her?"

Amber jerked her head, no. "It was just Maria and the kid. That's it. Oh Christ. She's not even in high school yet – she can't stay there all alone, what if she's hungry, or sick or – " she whirled around, striding up to Leonardo. He was clearly the one in charge. "Look, you better take me up there. I can check on her." She fumbled in the pocket of the hoodie, found a cigarette and lit it, Leonardo's face wrinkling delicately at the noxious smell. "We can't leave her up there alone, and you guys can't expose yourselves. Take me up there – I can check on her and then come back."

Leonardo blinked, regarding her steadily. The others faded away, into the background as he held her gaze, a tiny smile snaking up his mouth. "Where does Maria live?"

She started to speak, then stopped, sliding her eyes over to Raphael who was watching the scene intently, frowning. He knew the address she'd been about to give. Knew it wasn't Maria's. Leonardo blinked. "I think," he said smoothly, "You just want to get more heroin."

Michelangelo gasped audibly and she felt her mouth twisting into a smirk, knowing her face had revealed the truth in his accusation.

"It's not the whole truth," she admitted, "but yeah. Yeah, you're partly right. I can admit it. Can you admit you don't like me just cos I'm a junkie whore?" She felt oddly shamed and wanted to get him back. He remained implacable, however.

"I barely know you, Amber. I neither like nor dislike you." He said calmly, "But no, I don't approve of the damage you do to yourself. I hope in time you will come to agree with me. "

She'd underestimated him. It pissed her off and she wanted to lash out at him, tear at the mask stretched across his strange, smooth green skin, sink her teeth into the muscles on his arms. If she was high, she would've. But she wasn't high. She was a shivering, trembling wreck of the girl she'd been a few days ago and he was as immoveable as a rock. A wave of sickness rushed through her again and she found she couldn't turn to look at the others, to see what expressions they wore, to see how Raphael was reacting.

So instead she turned and moved as quickly as her faltering legs could take her to the bathroom.

XXIII

I know Mikey's playin' tag with me. He just can't help himself.

We're movin' above the streets, headed for the warehouse, and my little brother is showin' off, as usual, leaping ahead as fast as he can. And that's damn fast.

I grit my teeth and bow my head, chargin' forward, concentrating all my power in the movement and for a moment I almost catch up with him.

Then he leaps forward again, hooting to the sky, and leaves me in dust.

Ah, who cares anyway. I'm bigger than he is, and stronger. If he wants to keep on playing these kid games, good luck to him.

He's waitin' for me, on the roof opposite the warehouse, grinning like an idiot, crouched down in the shadows. Little twerp hasn't even worked up a sweat. I catch up to him, teeth clenched, staring straight ahead.

Looks the same. The chimney's still spewin' its smoke into the sky, the dark paint on the windows masks any glimmer of light from within, and the video cameras move back and forward silently in the night.

"Whoah. Creepy." Michelangelo remarks. Good old Mikey. Master of the Freakin' Obvious.

I didn't think Leo would trust me to head out again on this without him. Had been expectin' a battle over it, cos I sure wasn't gonna sit on the sidelines.

Almost fell over when he named me and Mikey investigators.

But maybe he just wanted me out of the picture so he could give Amber a hard time. Alex.

"Hey Raph?" I can just tell by the inquisitive tone in his voice he's about to ask me somethin' I probably don't wanna answer. So I say nothin'.

Of course, that wouldn't stop Mikey.

"Are you and Amber – uh – well, what's the deal with you guys?"

I gripped the pommel of my sai and stared down at the street below, watching a skinny white cat sidle amongst the trash.

"No deal, Mikey." I tell him shortly. "She's a girl I know."

"Yeah, but how do you know her?" He pushed. "And how well, if you get my drift?" I get it Mikey. The hint's so heavy they're gettin' it in Australia.

"Just because she's a – " and weirdly, I hesitate, " – a prostitute, don't mean it's all up for grabs." I grumble to him. It's a word I've thought a lot. In my head, I've gotten used to it. But sayin' it outloud feels funny. Like I've just exposed somethin'. Stripped her bare in front of him. I could feel a hot flush creeping up my neck. "Besides, what makes you think I'd want to even go there?" I snap as an after thought. The cat has jumped onto the neck of a bin, balancing on its hind legs, tail in the air, head thrust deep inside. Besides me Mikey shrugs.

"Hey dude, I'm not judging. I mean, she scares me half to death. Any moment I expect her head to start spinning around on her neck!" I grip the roof ledge and throw him a venomous look. He holds his hands up defensively. "I mean, she's nice enough but sheesh, talk about off the freakin' planet! And I'd be scared I'd snap her in two – and what about that cough? I mean, she seems really sick, Raph." He pauses then chuckles. "But you seem to go for the ones in need."

Slowly, my head swivels around to face him, my vision clear and very, very bright, Mikey bold and huge against the backdrop of buildings, the light of each window a sharp square. I feel absolutely still and Mikey gets suddenly nervous, falling silent.

After a long moment, I look away again.

"Let's hit the roof." I growl to him, and I'm only vaguely aware he's shakin' his head as we both back up a few paces then move forward, soaring through the air. Even like this he lands a fraction of a second before me, skidding forward like he's out of control, not stopping with the suddenness that I do. He needs to work on that and I grin to myself, smug.

We straighten up and survey the rooftop. Nothin's changed since I was last here. Maybe there's a bit more bird shit, but that's hard to say. Like I was, Mikey is interested in the chimney, tips his head backwards to stare up at the end of it, craning his neck.

"Man, that stuff reeks!" he remarks and I hiss at him to be quiet. Ninja, Mikey, remember?

I indicate that he's to take the far side and I'll take the other. We'll work our way around and meet back up here.

I've given him the wall I checked the other night. If there's something on the other side, I want to be the first to see it.

So once again I find myself slipping and leaping from window ledge to window ledge, my plastron scratching against the rough cement, knuckles getting scratched up. I go lower tonight, to the last row of windows before the camera starts. Crouching on one ledge, gripping the window frame above me with strained fingers, I can hear the strange electronic whir as one swivels back and forth. Better not fall. I leap forward, make the next window, my back foot slipping off painfully, near dangling in view of the camera's swivelling head. Shit. Keep movin'. The next window finally yields somethin', small flakes of paint having scratched off its surface. I squint inside, struggling to make somethin' out.

Oh, there's somethin' all right.

It's a big, plain room, walls and floor made of shining metal. It looks empty for a moment, completely bare, but then I catch sight of something huddled in one corner, gently shaking.

It's a woman.

I can't see her clearly – the room is lit only by a few dull lights planted in the center of the floor – but I can see enough.

She's naked, and, I realise, crying. That's why she's shaking. She's as far up against the wall as can be, and keeps trying to slide up it, lifting her feet to place them against the wall, only for them to slip back down and hit the floor again.

It's an awful sight. She's not bein' beaten, or raped, or tortured. But that strange, crouched, slidin' position speaks loud and clear of total degradation.

Fury and disgust constrict my throat, cutting off my air supply. I feel my pulse speed up, the blood poundin' in my head, my grip on the wall tightening so much my knuckles ache.

I push up clambering back up the roof and for once I think I could beat Mikey. I burst over the top of the roof, panting. Mikey's there, waitin' for me and his welcomin' grin fades when he sees my face. I move for the back end, where the building ends and its loading area begins, the space surrounded by that high cement wall. Fuck Leo and fuck waitin'. These bastards are about to become shish-ka-creeps and me the grand skewer.

"Raph, wait!" Mikey hisses urgently, leaping up to stop me, but I'm heedless, moving forward, stepping up onto the roof, ready to leap down and start brawlin'. But it's Mikey and he catches up, wrapping both arms around me and heavin' back with all his might so I lose my balance and we stumble backwards together.

I snarl and throw him off and he struggles to keep on his feet.

"Raph, calm down, dude!" He hissed. "They got cameras everywhere down there." I didn't care. In fact, I wanted the creeps inside to see and know what was comin' for 'em. "How about we try the door?"

Slowly, the pounding in my head subsided, leaving just the familiar dull ache I always felt after an explosion. The door might be a better option. Nevermind Leo, Splinter would hang me up by my shell if we got caught on camera. I gave Mikey a curt nod and he grinned again, ducking over to the great steel door that led into the building from the rooftop. I followed, sai unsheathed, ready for anything.

Except I'd forgotten the door was alarmed. Mikey barely touched it and a shrieking wail tore through the night, the red light flashing rapidly. Mikey puts his hands up to cover his ear passages. "Ugh!" he cried as my shoulders jerked violently upwards and I crouched down, grimacing at the awful sound. "We better haul shell, bro!" Mikey said and moved to the edge of the roof, me only an inch behind him. Just as we leapt we heard the door behind us being unlatched and a shout as we were spotted. Mikey tucked and somersaulted the rest of the way and I twisted midair, bringing my legs up to my upper plastron as a hail of bullets ripped the air around us. I landed on my shell, spinning around and onto my feet, bent at the waist and moved, checking that Mikey was with me. He was similarily hunched and together we jumped down the other side of the roof, hitting street level in a cloud of dust and garbage, not daring to stop but lurching forward, skidding around a corner and straight for the first manhole cover we spotted. I held it up for my little brother and pushed him in, glancing behind me briefly. Shouts, in the distance, but no one nearby. I scowled, furious at being blocked like that, then leapt in after Mikey, letting the manhole cover drop back into place with a dull clunk.