Ready to buckle under Arcos's weight, Raph pushed through the warehouse door with a sigh of relief.

Until he heard Ana's voice from the kitchen.

"It's sparking. Is it going to catch fire or explode?"

"It's cuz yer not s'pposed to put forks in the microwave." Anton replied calmly.

"Do something. Make it stop." Ana shrilled.

"That's not the right button."

Raph could recognize the edge of his own temper in his son's voice.

Zoe wasn't waiting, dragging both him and Arcos towards the kitchen.

Once through the living room, Raph could see Ana cowering in the middle of the room next to Anton who was holding Alli back from investigating. Through the microwave window, a black cloud, periodically illuminated by small bursts of electricity, could be seen.

Yuuta crouched on the counter reaching behind the microwave until he tugged the cord out of the socket. He turned and squeaked at Ana, who immediately straightened with a huff.

"I don't know what you just said, but I'm sure it was disrespectful."

"Probably somethin' 'bout you smashing all the buttons at once an' messin' up the controls." Anton snapped.

She was about to snap back when she caught sight of the three of them at the kitchen entrance. "It's about time. I can't believe you just..." she trailed off as she took in the state of them. "Oh my...are we in danger. No one's coming to hurt me, er us are they?"

There were no words.

The door to the warehouse opened behind them and Ana shrieked, casting about for a place to hide.

An instant later, Phoenix stood in the kitchen, looking about for the cause of the emergency, relaxing back into irritation the moment her gaze landed on Ana.

"Grandmere." Alli called out cheerfully. "Auntie made microwave fireworks."

"Yes," she answered, her voice unimpressed, eyes still on Ana. "I can see that." She took a slow, deep breath and no one moved. 'You," she pointed to Ana, "clean that up. You," she pointed to Yuuta, "Get off the counter. You," she pointed to Alli, "get your auntie a wet rag." The girl did so, smiling widely.. "You," she pointed to Anton, then paused. "Do you need to go to the potty?"

"No," the boy said roughly. "Mom!" Anton rushed at Zoe and flew into her arms and at that same moment, as if his words broke his grandmother's spell, everyone began moving and talking at once.

Phoenix lifted her eyes to the ceiling, followed by her hands as Yuuta, who had dutifully gotten off of the counter, began climbing her clothes to get to her head. "I'm gone for five minutes..."

"It was longer than five minutes," Anton called from Zoe's arms.

"Oh, hush, you," she admonished, her attention finally falling on the three of them that had just come home. "Oh my goodness," she crooned. "Are you alright?" Her eyes began to search their bodies, her gaze soft but quick.

"Alright enough," Arcos muttered.

Phoenix nodded. Since the war, 'alright enough' had taken on an entirely new meaning.

"He's not okay. Arcos is not okay." Zoe embraced Anton tight, but her eyes belied her regret. She couldn't remember exactly what happened, but she knew her own handiwork well enough. "I think it was me."

Arcos shrugged. "Maybe a scratch or two. It was Hun who got a lucky punch in on me. I'm fine."

Raph snorted. "Sure. That's why we're draggin' yer furry ass back here."

Arcos crinkled his snout. "Because it looks like you did so much better. Is your head supposed to be that shape?"

Raph scowled or probably did, it was hard to tell with all the swelling, and took a deliberate step away, causing them both to sway precariously now that they were no longer leaning on each other for support.

Phoenix looked the three of them over, her gaze going soft as if she were looking through them rather than at them, but made no move toward either one of them. Her gaze paused on Zoe, her brow furrowing, before she finally came forward and placed a hand on Raph's shoulder. Arcos chuckled at the subtle indication that it meant Raph was worse off than he was. Raph glared at him through his swollen eyes, his mother ignored both of them.

"You need to remember you're not spring chickens," Phoenix huffed. "And I can't just stand around here healing people." Her voice had a hard edge to it, as it always did when she was worried.

"Look who's calling who not a spring chicken," Arcos told her, leaning into her touch when she reached out to him.

Raph rotated his shoulders forward and backward, stretching his neck to the side. "Thanks, mom," he muttered.

"I don't pretend to be a spring chicken," Phoenix admonished. "That's the difference between you and I, young blood."

Yuuta squeaked, and Phoenix's looks softened. "You don't even qualify as a spring chicken yet," she told her youngest son without looking at him. "You're still a yolk in an egg."

The little rat made a noise that did not sound like a very pleased reply.

Raph snorted. "I ain't an old geezer yet."

He turned to Zoe, but she held up a hand in warning, stopping him. "Do NOT suggest that I stay here while you go."

"Go? What do you mean go? You can't leave me alone here. Not again. What am I supposed to do?" Ana shrilled.

"Yer not alone. You got mom." Raph replied through clenched teeth.

Arcos looked quizzically at Raph and Zoe.

"Check your phone." Zoe answered his unasked question and he complied, sucking in a sharp breath as he read the alert.

Raph tried again. "Z..."

"He's gone and I'm back. I'm not going to wig out again. Everyone can stop worrying about me." Zoe cut him off.

"But it ain't just you right now." He pointed out with a glance at her belly.

"And it's not just April out there, already in the thick of it. Besides, I can handle myself and you'll be right there with me." She spoke she knew Raph was right, but this was war and the rules did not apply. It would be nice if they did, but wishes didn't bring people back from the dead- not even Mom could do that. She reached for his hand as she faced him. "I know I shouldn't be out there. I shouldn't do a lot of things. But our family is out there, outnumbered, and even if we all get there we'll still have less fighters than there are opponents. We have to risk this precious one life to save an equally precious many. Our family needs me, Raph, as much as it needs you. Besides, I'm through letting them down. Let's do what needs doing."

Raph's jaw shifted about as though he were chewing on something, likely all the ways he could argue with her. He'd likely be right. But being right wouldn't change the situation. His head bowed as he let out a weary sigh. "I don' like it."

"I don't either." Zoe agreed. "But we're wasting time and our family needs help. Let's skip this talk and get to the backing them up. Who's going where?"

Raph squeezed her hand. "You're with me. Keep back, pick off-"

"Not my first time, Raphael." She reassured him. "I'll be extra careful, I promise." She looked to Phoenix. "Have you heard from anyone? Is there a plan?"

Phoenix shook her head, her lips pressed closed. "I haven't been able to get ahold of your father or Leo," she said. "And watching the news and internet, it doens't look like the mob has a plan, they're just that, a mob."

"Which makes them even more dangerous," Aries sighed heavily.

"At least they aren't organized," his mother consoled. She glanced over the lot of them, her face torn. "They need you out there," she said, her voice low. "This...this isn't playing superhero."

Aries winced.

"It's war," Zoe spoke her thoughts.

Phoenix nodded. "Be safe," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. She smiled sadly, and Aries felt his heart ache at the sight of it, a sight he'd seen too often when they had fought for their rights to exist in the public eye. Now they were fighting for their right to simply exist.

TSOTCTSOTC

Denim knew she was invisible, but from her rooftop vantage point of Shelter 2 she wasn't sure this was a time when she should be. The crowd spilled into the street like New Years at Time Square, picket signs, and some asshole preaching hate speech into a megaphone. Her stomach balled into a knot at sight of torches. Actual torches, like they were an army marching to an execution.

She hoped back-up came soon. The two biggest mutants she could find to guard the door from inside the shelter, were a terrified ox that could've passed for Ferdinand the bull he was so gentle, and a jaguar hybrid who probably had more spit than muscle. The unassuming warehouse, dark windows boarded up, was packed full of terrified mutants and hybrids. No one had any type of training and not a single other human came to join them in support. They'd hesitated to trust her. She hated that, but couldn't blame them. Especially when they learned she wasn't staying inside.

Her muscles bunched, her body wanting to shift and leave her spot. But this was where she could best protect them. Or was it? Maybe she should be the human voice when there was none. Someone had to speak on behalf of her family. And if there was no one else, then it had to be her. Keep marching, jerks.

The crowd began to split and fill the side alleys. Why? Where were they going? There was no way they could know this was a safe house. Unless- unless someone gave them up. No. No. No. Her heart sank as the crowd came to a halt around the shelter, chanting louder and louder, the megaphone giving off a recoil. What were they even saying?

"Cleanse our city! Cleanse our home! Cleanse our city! Cleanse our home! Burn! Burn! Burn the barn!"

No.

Denim frantically pulled back the zipper on her bag, grabbing her tranq gun and peering down the scope. Who had the big mouth? Who was this psycho?

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I smell something nasty. Do you smell it?" The crowd thickened, bodies shifting as a man climbed atop the roof of a van. "Tonight we're gonna have us a good old fashioned trial by fire!" He reached down, accepting a torch in his free hand, while holding the megaphone with his other.

That megaphone was no lightweight piece of equipment. Which meant that was no small dude. Denim turned the dial on her scope, focusing in on him. Tall. About 6'7" if she was right, and she knew she was. White blonde, crew cut hair. Bodybuilder muscles. But, he wasn't anyone she recognized. She did, however, recognize the logo tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Must just be a minion with a big mouth. She could silence him, but that would be firing first. April said, defense only.

"Trial by fire! No room for furries! Trial by fire! No room for furries!" The crowds chant changed as they began prying at the boards on several windows.

Denim tucked her gun back in her bag, stood and pushed back the hood covering her head. Enough was enough. If not one human being down there would speak out for them, she would. And she'd better move fast, before they burned the damn building down killing all those innocents. If those mutants were trapped they were dead. If they fled into the streets, they were dead. No good outcome either way.

She should send out a message to the others, but there was no time. The longer she stood around waiting for these idiots to throw flaming torches into a safe house, they should know nothing about, the more likely it really would burn. But she needed back-up, she needed someone skilled. Quickly, she tapped the screen. "Voice message to family, Shelter 2 compromised. Crowd has torches. Need back-up ASAP."

Weaving throughout the crowd, she wasn't even sure if the message would be heard for the chanting. But she had to get closer. Up to their wannabe leader.

"That's close enough, Lady." A brunette man, built as big as the dude on the roof of the van, blocked her. Holding a hand out, he used his arm to guide her back. Denim was trying to look beyond him, to the logo on the van itself, her gaze darting over the image she now noticed everywhere, tattooed on skin, emblazoned on shirts, hats, and the picket signs themselves.

Battle.

Many had their phones out filming the protest, but she couldn't figure out why they were dumb enough to film the prequel to their own violence? Unless this guy had gone rogue? Whatever the case may be, she had to stall them until help arrived.

"You hear me, Lady? You have to move back into the crowd. You can't be here." The brunette's face lowered to meet her petite height. He squinted as he looked her over. "You seem familiar…"

Well he wasn't familiar to her, and he was in her way. But she might be able to use that to her advantage. Meeting his steely eyes she lifted her chin. "Well I should. Battle sent me with instructions. I'm to speak to the crowd. The message has changed and I'm to deliver it myself. Now give me a lift up. Come on. Hurry it up. I'll be damned if I'm getting fired because the wrong message got out."

"Uh, I don't know- I need to check with James." The guy twisted toward the van.

Denim grabbed him by the collar, yanking him hard around to face her. "If I go down for not doing my job, I'm taking you with me. Now get me up there!"

Brunette-guy gave her a boost up, though his eyes said he was still trying to figure out how he knew her. He for sure wasn't completely buying her story. But there was no time for hesitation.

She held out a hand to the guy preaching damnation to mutants into the megaphone. "Battle sent me. I'm to personally deliver a message. Hand it over." She eyed the name embroidered into his polo. "Now, James."

He laughed, a heartless sound. His eyes were beady, the whites showing around three sides. Her throat threatened to constrict at the sick feeling threatening to overtake her. But she'd never backed down. Never. And she wouldn't start now. She just knew, he wouldn't either. "James, I have a message to deliver. You can resume this-" she waved her hand over the crowd. "Whatever this is another time."

"I don't think so." James sneered. Waving the torch toward her chest, Denim was forced to jump back and nearly fall off the van. The heat kissed her face, threatening its unyielding burn. Too close.

She had to make him look bad. Which meant she couldn't just kick his ass right off. "I'm just trying to do my job, James! And if you don't let me talk then you'll be in deep with the boss. Not that you won't be anyway, I doubt this was part of the plan." She motioned toward the chanting crowd whose rhythm had changed. They were now surrounding the van.

"Mutant lover! Traitor to humanity! Mutant lover! Traitor! Traitor!"

As the vehicle began to rock, Denim realized they were chanting about her. Her eyes searched the crowd locking with Brunette dude. He grinned a sleazy white-tooth grin as he pointed to a picture of her with Michelangelo on his phone. It wasn't one she'd seen before. But she remembered the moment. They were having a food truck dinner in the park. Their first date night since the twins were born. Jolts of hot and cold shot through Denim's blood. Someone had to be watching them to take that picture.

"Mutant lover, eh?" James's hand came down on her shoulder and Denim instinctively lifted her hand up and turned, thrusting her palm into his chest, sending him flying back. James and his torch disappeared into the screaming crowd.

The van rocked hard as she scrambled to grab the megaphone in danger of following James over the edge. She fell, bouncing along the rooftop as hands appeared then disappeared and reappeared on all sides reaching for her. She fumbled with the on/off switch, finally getting the megaphone on and sending a massive wave of feedback across the street. It didn't matter now what she did, she just had to talk, to say whatever came out of her mouth. Anything to buy her time until whatever was inevitable, was. "Have you ever been bullied? Threatened? Mugged?"

"Mutant lover! Traitor! Mutant-" the crowd lost synch, rhythm and pitch.

Good.

"I asked, have you ever been bullied? Threatened? Mugged? How about alone? Are you fat? Too thin? Too tall? Too short?" She rolled to her hands and knees, trying to keep her mouth going as she didn't have time to inhale. "Have you been harassed for your race? Treated different because of your sex? Have you been discriminated against for your sexuality? I asked, have you ever been singled out for being different? What about your religion? You're politics? Your economic class? Who are you? I know each and every one of you are different! You've all been bullied by someone or been the bully, and right now that's what you are! You are the bully! You are that guy!"

"Mutant lover!" Three quarters of them bellowed, though to Denim's delight, as she struggled to her feet, some were looking around at one another. Not many. But a few.

And that was a hell of a lot better than none.

Denim's momentary hope didn't last long as the van began to rock harder, back and forth, throwing her off balance. "Please listen!" she said. "Please, who here has never been a victim?" The van lifted higher on the right tipping her badly toward the reaching hands on the left. "These people are innocent!" Denim tried to continue. "They've committed no crime other than being alive. They just want to live in peace."

Hands closed around her feet as she scrambled upward to the rising -side of the van. Forced to abandon the megaphone, she thrust it toward the crown of a blonde head with an ugly thunk

"Did you see that? She hit that woman in the head with the megaphone!" A jeerer bellowed.

Fingers closed around her shoes and ankles pulling her down. Denim scrambled for the top of the still-rising van. Heart pounding, she realized there was a solid chance they'd actually tip it over. Right on top of her.

"Mutant lover! We'll make an example of you!" The crowd bellowed.

Okay, the time for peace was over. She began kicking her now dangling feet toward face and heads. Surely there was enough of her speaking peace and not harming anyone verses their attacks to justify- What the hell was so hot down there? Peering over her right shoulder Denim caught sight of a torch bearer waving the flaming device over her legs.

No. no. no. Angry faces, full of blind hatred reached for her calves pulling her down so that her arms burned in their sockets. Her fingertips slipping from the sweat of her desperation. "Grr-ahhh- ahhhh! Stop!" she screamed as heat seeped through her gilly suit, scorching her skin. Thank you, Donatello for fire retardant material. But it might not be enough. It would eventually melt. To her legs. "Stop, please stop!"

She was reduced to begging? Well that wouldn't save her. She had to think. Think, Denim. Think! Somewhere out of eyesight, beyond the crowd, she heard a shrieking sound followed by a pop, pop, but it wasn't gunfire. No. She knew that sound, and this one too, but couldn't place it for her current situation.

The van tipped, the weight shifting again. Unbalanced, it was going over. The crowd was forced to release her in an attempt to save themselves. As the top of the van shadowed over her, a hateful crowd below, Denim wondered if this was it.

Then two sharp talons dug into her shoulder blades, curled forward locking into her pectorals and lifted her into the air. Denim looked up to the giant feathered belly overhead, flashing colorful stars bursting into the sky above them both. Fireworks? Heart galloping, her body trembling with a flush of exhaustion, relief and pain, Denim focused enough to recognize her savior. "Pete?"

"Squawk—hi-Denim! Squawk- look –like-you could-use wings." Her friend huffed and puffed as he flapped toward the nearest building. The very one where her weapons awaited her. The crowd below were now fighting amongst themselves. Someone pouring liquid over the van. No. And breaking through the windows of the warehouse. Splashing the same fluid over the building. The scent rushed up to her from below. Right as Pete flew above the fire escape, almost to the desired rooftop, a new 'pop' filled the air. One Denim knew better than anyone.

Pete let out a choked sound. His claws parting as they both began to fall.

Denim didn't need to think. The second she heard the gunfire she knew the target. Wrenching her arm up through Pete's still parting claw, she grabbed his lower leg, at the same time swinging her weight wildly toward the fire escape. She hoped she didn't break his foot, just like she hoped he wasn't already dead. A second, 'pop' filled the air, whizzing by her torso. As Pete's body folded, the two were headed toward a free-fall. Holding onto Pete's leg she reached wildly for the passing fire escape rails. As the bird tipped from above to drop below her, the curl of his other toe nail caught in the flesh of her shoulder.

"Grwahhhh! Ahhh!" Pain ripped through Denim's fish-hooked flesh, the weight of Pete dragging her shoulder down on one side while she still held onto him with her unwounded other. All the while fire escape after fire escaped whizzed by. Then something hard and green slammed into her.

TSOTCTSOTC

April stood at the doors, motioning everyone into the building with measured gestures and words, exuding a sense of calm which she did not feel.

Shelter 1 was a solid, old building having survived almost two centuries of New York's history. Hauntingly beautiful, gothic architecture revealed the building's religious origins though it now served as a community center. Thick stone and built like a fortress, it harkened back to a time of religious division that belied the fledgling nation's lofty ideals. Attitudes that shifted without ever really changing. Distrust of differences had endured.

Thanks to the Shredder, old churches unsettled her and tonight's circumstances did nothing to alleviate that anxiety. She watched the flow of people, mutants and humans, individuals and families, all funneling into the building with matching expressions of fear. She didn't doubt that there were even a few new hybrids among the wailing newborns. With the basement full up, the neighborhood refugees had taken to huddling in groups on the main floor of the building.

No doubt Donnie would have insisted on coming with her if she'd given him the chance. But she needed him to finish up their last resort, which might need to come into play tonight, though she hoped not. Maybe just witnessing the injustice live would be enough.

Just in case it didn't she intended to have one last salvo in reserve. And so, while Donnie was holed up in his lab, she'd snuck into their apartment, geared up and snuck back out again. He was terrible about checking his phone and, for once, she was counting on that.

Even though she was here alone by her own machinations, she still longed to have him at her side. At least he was with her in spirit, having created the armor she wore. He'd made the original prototypes for the war and continued to tinker with the design afterwards, never expecting it to be used. She'd debated donning it. This was as much a public relations fight as a physical one and she hadn't wanted to show up looking like a soldier. But, with unease crawling across her skin like electric ants, she was grateful for the Kevlar-plated, carbon-fiber body suit hidden beneath her duster.

The last few stragglers hurried into the building just in time. Turning the corner onto the street came a mob of people, blood up and angry. They must have followed the fleeing residents. Those that made it anyway.

April braced herself against their collective, self-feeding rage and still staggered.

The lights of a handful of cellphones winked in and out among the horde, sympathizers in her call to arms. Enough courage to show this to the world, but not enough to take a stand against it.

She'd take what she could get.

Mentally reinforcing her shields, she positioned herself between them and the door.

A hatchet-faced woman stepped to the fore of the crowd. "Out of our way traitor or share the fate of those freaks."

April narrowed her eyes and refused to budge. "No. They aren't freaks. They are elderly, children, babies, families, mutants and humans both. They aren't monsters or warriors, just people and they're terrified. I won't let you hurt them."

A few faltered, but not nearly enough.

"Destroy the freaks!"

"Take back our city!"

Rallying cries drowned her out, whipping up the mob to a fever pitch.

And she had to hold them off while staying on the defensive. How was she supposed to make that work? Whose idea was this? Right, hers.

Rocks and chunks of cement flew at her, smashing apart against the door and front wall as she dodged and swatted them aside. Those not chucking projectiles surged forward and, for a moment, she lost herself in the fight blocking too many attacks. Punches, kicks, clubs and every manner of makeshift weapon. She couldn't stop them all and focused on defending her head, trusting the rest to Donnie's armor.

Those not raining blows down on her, pushed around her, banging on the door. It was solid, hardwood reinforced by iron. Even that couldn't stand for long. Anyone possessing an axe or hatchet passed it forward, reducing the door to splinters.

The mob flowed in, carrying April with it as everyone inside backed up against the far wall.

She only had the briefest of warnings, instinctual alarm bells screaming in her head, before the back and side walls exploded. Bombs planted while she'd been distracted by the mob.

She buckled under the force with a scream as it slammed against the shields erected from pure will. She must look terrifying, lit up like a glowing blue Christmas tree and floating in midair, as she unleashed the full extent of her power to protect them all from the blast. But there was no time to worry about that now. The psychic bubble now remained as their only salvation from the building collapsing down on them. Sealed in, she didn't know how long she could hold it.

A concern that abruptly lost relevance as the scent of smoke and crackle of flames set both enemy and ally alike to screaming. The ruins were on fire.

TSOTCTSOTC

Karai crouched atop the roof of a well-used elementary school wondering whether or not April had Jedi -mind-tricked her into agreeing to this. She already knew the answer. April was weirdly ethical with the use of her powers and Karai had been too eager for a fight to think it through. It would have been nice to blame someone other than herself.

The night had started fun enough. She'd patrolled the surrounding neighborhoods, hiding in the shadows and ambushing arsonists, looters and the wandering groups of armed humans breaking into homes and apartments and attacking the fleeing residents. No lethal venom or fatal hits because they had to be the "good guys."

Her enemies were too purposeful to be opportunistic vandals but not as numerous as she would have expected to do the large scale harm Battle wanted. Something felt off and her sense of unease had only grown stronger.

Below her, a stream of terrified refugees fled down the cement stairs into the school basement. A yellow fallout sign on the brick wall testified to the building's history as a shelter. A status never maintained long as mountains of junk had to be excavated from storage there to use it during the war and even now, she'd seen people squeezing past broken desks awaiting repair in order to get in.

Now that she was stuck playing defense, reality sank in. Stalking her prey, striking without warning, that was her jam. She loved taking the fight to her enemies, plotting their demise and toppling them like dominoes. Protecting a herd of helpless civvies was something else entirely. There was only so much one could plan for before being forced to improvise and improvisation was not her strength. No, it was more of a mixed bag ranging from glowing success to totally FUBAR. For that she really needed...no, he'd be here. It was his damn emergency phone tree after all. Yup, any minute now he and others would arrive and diffuse responsibility for all the lives underneath her feet. Any minute.

Her stomach sank. There were arrivals but they weren't her allies.

An enormous, angry mob marched up the street, fleeing stragglers scrambling ahead of them to get to the shelter. More than had been out harassing people earlier. How the fuck did they know to come straight...shit! April's shout out to the mutant community. Of course Battle was in on that and relayed it to his pawns. Everyone had been herded into the shelter to annihilate all at once.

Efficient. She'd give him that. Right after she tracked him down and force fed him his own balls. Once she dealt with this. All by herself.

Whatever. She had this.

Against all instinct, she dropped from the roof into a roll, placing herself between the mob and the building. Drawing attention was a great tactic to give your back-up an edge. Not so much when you were on your own. But the building was no fortress and couldn't hold up under such a large scale assault. It'd be like shooting fish in a barrel.

The serpents she'd shed earlier in preparation, the max she could produce without rest and regeneration, slithered through the crowd, targeting the people most threatening to the mutants who took too long fleeing the shelter. Subtle and mostly unnoticed with paralyzing venom, she willed them to clear a path for the last few stragglers who rushed past her to shelter. She now regretted not using lethal venom.

"Seal the door." She shouted as the mob approached, mind racing through strategies. Fend off the crowd. Don't be scary, violent and aggressive.

Impossible.

But she could see the glow of phone screens scattered throughout the sea of people, recording. For or against her, she didn't know. Whatever happened next would be very public. She really missed the shadows right now.

Should she try talking to them?

As she opened her mouth, not sure what she'd say, the mob stopped and rocks, garbage and obscenities rained down on her. For a moment, all her focus was consumed deflecting projectiles with superhuman speed. Then something shattered on the bricks above her spilling down fire. Was that a molotov cocktail?

She hissed as her skin burned, unable to change position and leave the door unguarded. More bottles of flame exploded all around her spraying fire everywhere. Temper fraying, she felt her pupils turn to slits, rapidly shedding and replacing charred scales of epidermis in countless microactivations of her mutation. Her fingers slipped into a pouch at her back full of throwing stars and kunai.

Then, to her surprise, a police car, sirens blaring and lights flashing screeched to halt between her and the crowd. Its two passengers, a skinny, young rookie and surly veteran by Karai's measure, exited the vehicle. They wore protective vests and little else to shield them from the situation they'd intervened in. Undeterred, the veteran pulled out her bullhorn. "Stand down and disperse."

The rookie looked at her with wide, hopeful eyes, but Karai could see him trembling despite his trust in his partner.

"Put down your weapons and return to your homes." Her voice hadn't lost an ounce of authority. Karai would give her that.

But the moment of stunned silence passed and the mob geared up for another wave. Before it got going again, a police van zoomed in from the other side, across from the police car.

Karai felt hope blossom in her chest as a SWAT team in riot gear poured out of the vehicle and immediately wilted as they turned to face her.

"Get back!" She screamed, grabbing the two officers and throwing them ahead of her as she dove into the cement stairwell to the shelter entrance. Brick exploded into dust all around her under the force of the assault rifles.

And then her phone rang. It was so ridiculous, she actually pulled it out. Leo? Where the hell was he? Knowing it was way too loud to hold a conversation, she answered anyway, not giving him a chance to speak. "Are you listening to me, Leo? Get. Here. Now. I'm at shelter 3. 3!"

A bullet ricocheted, shattering her phone and she swore loudly, skaking shards of glass, metal and plastic out of her hand.

Fuck that crowd. Fuck PR. Fuck this. With a furious hiss, she went full snake, ignoring the gasps of the two officers trapped in the stairwell with her. Time to bring the hurt.

TSOTCTSOTC

Mikey raced across the rooftops at top speed. When motivated, he was the fastest of his brothers, a talent that had kept him alive throughout a childhood of pranks. Now it pulled him out far ahead of LH, Slash and Mondo.

If he were being honest, he'd run to the Mutanimals because he didn't know where the shelter was. But if anyone asked he'd totally say he'd been super smart and gotten some reinforcements.

And he would've beaten them all there if Pete and Monkeybrains couldn't fly, which was kinda cheating. Since this was a race to save Denim, he opted not to complain and just pushed himself to keep up. Once everyone survived this completely and totally fine like they definitely would, he was gonna badger Donnie to make him a jetpack. For emergencies. And fun. But mostly emergencies. Well that's what he'd tell D.

Almost there. Hang in there Blue Jeans.

Monkeybrains stopped near the edge of the crowd and started thinking at them or something. The crowd did start looking crazy confused and it was spreading out through them. Just not fast enough to stop the peeps toppling his baby mama off a van

And Pete swoops in for the save. He was totally getting all the leftover pizza crusts when Mikey got back to work.

Pop.

Uh oh. Pete was going down. And Mikey was still one whole mob away.

Desperate, he pulled out his chucks, oddly grateful for how much Sensei punished him for losing track of his gear. If he hadn't been in the habit of always carrying it, Denim and Pete would be street pizza. Not in his top ten favorite pizzas. Or even top hundred.

Acting on pure instinct, he leapt off the roof, flinging out his kusarigama midair as he began to drop into the horde of crabby humans below. It wasn't a grappling hook but he managed to catch the blade and chain on the fire escape, and swung, Tarzan-style, over the mob.

Or maybe George of the Jungle style. He plowed full force into Denim and Pete. Ooph. That could've gone better. Whateves. He had them now and that's all that mattered.

Angling his swing toward the building, he ran along the wall until he came to a window ledge to push off of and backflip onto the second to lowest level of the fire escape. And not a second too soon as his kusarigama slipped free instant before that .

That's when he realized that the fire escape did not provide a lot of cover...or any cover.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

He spun Denim and Pete between him and the building, ducking his head into his shell to avoid losing it and blindly chucked a smoke bomb back down into the crowd behind him. The sound of cursing and coughing was his cue to move.

Holding Denim tightly to his side with one arm and throwing Pete over his shoulder, he made for the roof, jumping from one railing to catch the one on the next level, swing himself up and repeat all the way to the top.

Once safely topside, he dropped behind the cover of the roof ledge, clutching both Denim and Pete to his sides. "Everyone all good?"

"Oww." Pete warbled.

"Oops. My bad." Mikey replied sheepishly, releasing him so as not to keep crushing his gunshot wound.

Denim opened her mouth to answer, but screams from below interrupted.

"Sounds like the rest of the Mutanimals made it. Cool Beans." Mikey relaxed against the brick, leaving all the problems to his back up for the moment.

Denim frowned. "Leatherhead isn't down there with the violent mob, is he?"

"Uh," Mikey froze, "maybe. But LH has been super chill since we stopped the Kraang. He hasn't grabbed D by the face in forever."

She gave him the look.

"Right. Maybe we should find something else for him to..." Mikey paused, sniffing the air. "Did some forget something in the oven? It smells burnt."

Denim sniffed, her breath catching at the scent of burning tar. Placing a hand against Mikey's plastron she guided him back, her gaze flickering to the blood-soaked feathers where Pete's wing met his body. "Use your shirt to stop the bleeding," she said in a daze. Her own leg stung as she limped toward the roof's edge. She didn't want to look at her ankle, ignoring the tug of fabric stuck to the burn. It couldn't be that bad, her suit was flame-retardant after all. If they'd really burned her it would hurt much worse.

Her fingers brushed over granules of brick and dust as they curled over the roof ledge, her heart gracing the top of her stomach as she looked upon the scene unfolding. Glass shattering beneath bricks, hammers, crow bars and glass bottles each piercing shelter windows held in the hands of haters. Flames erupted, some small at first like just lit matches, others catching their wick quicker. The screams from inside those walls, her failure, her poor choice in running in rather than holding her position and doing her work at a distance like she should. "God's help us," she gasped. "They're burning the shelter."