Sorry for the hiatus! Work ramped up its hours and school started again, but we trudge on nonetheless!

This new story arc revolves around the pitfalls of the legal system, international crime, fraternal disputes, homesickness, and much much more.

Without further ado, I introduce to you...


SHADOW OF A DOUBT I: ISOLATION

Now, I understand why humans complain about getting fucked by the government. When we finally arrived in downtown Manhattan and left the Battle Shell in the farthest corner of a parking garage, a swarm of paparazzi blinded us with their camera flashes and deafened us with a roar of questions. My chest tightened; the world of slack jaws and bulging eyes around us made me feel like a caged tiger in a zoo.

"Thought you told 'em no cameras." I grumbled back to Don, pushing the black fleece hood up over my head and sliding on a pair of shades.

"Freedom of the press, bro." He hummed back. "Can't do anything about journalists on a public street."

I stepped in front of my brothers and became a bulldozer, pushing through the crowd in pressured silence until we reached the courthouse steps. We entered the huge stone building, only to find that the trial wasn't expected to start for a couple weeks. The Alien Terrorist Removal Court, Don told us (after explaining to Mike that the government didn't think he was an alien or a terrorist), had never been used since its creation, so naturally assembling the right lawyers and professionals would take a while. They'd only called us in to get some preliminary testimonies, the bailiff explained as he walked us down a maze of halls, and judging by the lack of loose-lipped affiliates of the Foot (other than at the Purple Dragon level) we were set to be the star witnesses.

Leo and Don used that fact to muscle the PA into making some agreements with us. The attorney was an old-school, by-the-books ex-cop type, who didn't let the looks of four mutant turtles in his office throw him off from his duties. Unflinchingly, he shook our hands, not showing any sign he noticed they were three-fingered and scaly. Right off the bat, he sat us down and told us he had an offer to make. There were a couple cases open where, he informed us, we'd been pegged as suspects since the world caught wind of us, mostly stealing power and water from public utilities or using bounced credit cards from pizza places, and our testimonies were valuable enough for them to offer us a clean slate in exchange. All he asked in return was every last drop of info about Karai and the Foot, from when we first met, to what kinds of loot were in Oroku Tower the last time we'd been there, to how close she really was with the Purple Dragons. While we didn't have any evidence or photos to back up what we said, the desktop camera continued to roll as we said everything we knew.

As much as we'd dealt with the Orokus, the Foot, and the Purple Dragons over the years, there was a lot we didn't know. Splinter's stories were all we had to go on for any time before the last five years, and even then, it's not like we saw Karai on a daily basis. We knew about her inner circle, Hun, Stockman, Chaplin and them, but anyone below that tier was nameless and faceless to us (though Casey and I saw enough of the bottom-level goons on the street that I could tell the PA where to find them.) From our first brush with Foot ninjas on the rooftops, to Leo and I burning their warehouse down a couple months back, we rattled off any dealings with Karai and her clan that we could think of.

Three hours later, after every possible detail was covered, the PA slid a thick manila folder across the desk, with Karai's name on the divider. The papers carried her face and name, along with some of her dad, and half a century's worth of accusations and investigations between the two. Certain things were missing, like their moving of Leo's pills from overseas onto the street, but the folder was practically a storybook covering their lives and exploits. Somehow, despite the government keeping close tabs on them since they first set foot in the US, the Oroku family had avoided really being caught until now. I was in awe; they'd given Karai a contract to help hunt mutants down, basically knowing what she was capable of, and let her rock until she burned some trees down. Would they have even put her on trial if we hadn't survived, and Leo hadn't put that video up calling her out? All it took was one count of arson and reckless endangerment, and the government shut her down in one fell swoop, slamming her with every charge from terrorism to customs fraud.

Of course, Karai being in a holding cell didn't mean she was defeated, and it didn't mean we were safe. Her cronies broke into our lair just a couple months ago, and would be looking for us more than ever once word got out that we were witnesses. That kind of situation happens often to witnesses, according to the PA, but hiding four turtles wouldn't be as easy as wigs and a new house, or whatever they give to humans in witness protection. If I'd ever had a positive opinion of the government, it died and got buried by the next beige folder the attorney slid our way. The state had picked a private island off the market, way up in the Thousand Islands, and apparently that was the only place they could keep us until after the trial, and possibly later if the threat from the Foot didn't subside.

Really? After getting chased out of the city, into the woods, and coming crawling back home, they were kicking us out again? We didn't have any other options, but that didn't stop me from feeling bitter as we were ushered to a back door, where a convoy of blacked-out SUVs waited for us. Each of us were handed tickets for a private flight from LaGuardia to Watertown, and another for a helicopter trip out of Watertown to an unlisted destination. That, I assumed, would be what we were to call home for a while.


Thanks for reading! Please review!