Chapter Ten

Leonardo trekked through the sewers, his feet sloshing water and sludge. His eyes were fixed ahead, his back straight. His spirit felt stronger than it had in weeks.

His steps slowed at the sight of crimson streaked across the sewer wall. He halted and moved toward the mark. It was blood. He glanced further down the sewers. Blood was smeared at intervals, as far as his eyes could see. He stumbled after the streaks, tracing the trail to a bloody stain on the wall in the shape of a hand… a mutant turtle's hand.

"No." Leonardo's breath hitched. He broke into a run, fear pulsing through his veins. Sewer water splattered his legs and feet and the walls as his steps pounded the ground. Red streaked at the periphery of his vision. He drew each breath with greater difficulty. His lungs were sore, his side aching.

He flew into the lair. "Guys?" he called. Speckles and footprints cast in red cut through the common area. They led to Michelangelo's room. "Mikey!"

"Leo, in here!" Raphael peeked out of Michelangelo's room, a sweep of the hand beckoning him inside.

Leonardo burst through the door, pushing Raphael aside and rushing to the bed. There lay Michelangelo, unconscious. Blood seeped from the bandage wrapped around his head. His right forearm was skinned. Donatello leaned over the prone form, palms pressed into his brother's plastron. Through clenched eyes, he sobbed.

"Where is Master Splinter?" Donatello cried. "We need him!"

"Donny, you don't need him," Raphael insisted. "Just focus."

Donatello squeezed his eyes shut harder, his knuckles whitening. He mouthed words to himself, but then gritted his teeth. Collapsing onto Michelangelo's chest, he wept. "I'd give all my erudition for spiritual wisdom," he whispered.

"Come on, Donny! Don't give up!" Raphael stood behind his younger brother and pulled him into an upright position by the shoulders. He returned Donatello's hands to Michelangelo's plastron before kneeling beside his brother. He laid his palms beside the other's hands. "You too, Leo," he directed.

Leonardo stumbled to the other side of the bed. He forced himself into a kneeling position, feeling his midsection protest. He gritted his teeth and laid trembling hands on Michelangelo. His eyes closed. He drew deep, even breaths through his nose and focused on Michelangelo's injury. He willed the ki of the universe to flow through him and to wash over his brother's battered frame.

In his mind, Leonardo saw a bright light. He felt it radiate from his palms, into Michelangelo's plastron. The life force energy warmed Leonardo's body. He tilted his head back, basking in the glow. He pictured white hot energy channeled through his and his brothers' spirits, enveloping Michelangelo and embracing his cold, weak form.

Leonardo felt compelled to walk on his knees to the front of the bed and to lay his palms of Michelangelo's head. Energy shocked his hands. He jerked them back with a gasp but returned them. The energy seared his palms, but he kept them on his brother's head. Taking slow, deep breaths through his nose, he blocked out the pain and focused on the flow of ki from him to Michelangelo.

Several minutes passed with the three brothers in silence, meditating on the needs of the wounded. Donatello was the first to break formation. He rose to his feet and retrieved fresh gauze. He moved to lay the gauze on Michelangelo's forehead but paused when he saw the current bandage still appeared clean.

"At least the bleeding has stopped." Donatello held a hand to his forehead.

Leonardo and Raphael lowered their arms and sat back on their heels. Leonardo took Michelangelo's hand into his own. "What happened?" he asked.

"We were ambushed," Raphael replied, a scowl forming. He shook his head. "Foot solders were waiting for us when we were coming topside. Mikey was first out of the sewers, and he got hit over the head with the manhole cover. He fell right through my arms, knocked into Donny, and hit the ground. Mikey has been out cold since then. They knew we was coming, and they knew exactly where we were."

"What?!" Leonardo exclaimed, his eyes widening. "How?"

Donatello swallowed hard. He pulled an item off the bedside table and dropped it into Leonardo's hands. "I got this off one of the Foot soldiers," he said.

Leonardo stared at the device – a gray, unfinished version of the shell cell, plugged into a small, thick block with a black screen. He turned it over in his hands before flipping it open. A two-dimensional map appeared, one that he recognized all too quickly as the sewers. Four dots clustered in the middle of the screen. A longitude and latitude read-out scrolled along the bottom.

Leonardo squinted at it. "But I don't understand."

"Somebody reverse engineered a shell cell and added a tracking device," Donatello explained. He blinked hard before looking Leonardo in the eye. "The original was Karai's."

The words sent a shiver down Leonardo's spine. "But, but how do you know…"

"Whoever did the reverse engineering made this device with a mold of the original." Donatello rubbed at his temple. "I put a code on each shell cell, mainly because of Mikey. You know how he's always losing things and then thinking other people's stuff is his." He heaved a sigh. "This copy bears Karai's code."

As he digested the last sentence, Leonardo tightened his grip on the device. Through clenched teeth, he growled. He threw the device into the wall, shattering it into pieces. Donatello and Raphael looked to the casing and circuits and wires scattered in the corner of Michelangelo's bedroom, their mouths agape. By the time they looked back at Leonardo, he was gone.

"Leo!" Raphael shouted. He rounded the corner and ran into the common room in time to see a flash of green streak out the door. "Leo, they could have more of those things! You could be walking into a trap!"

Leonardo's voice echoed through the lair. "Then let them get me!"