The old underground station was beginning to look like home for the Turtles and Splinter. At least that was the case for three of the Turtles. There had been no sign of Raphael since he'd stormed out of the sewer.
His brothers had checked the logical places, the old Foot headquarters, the TGRI waste site and lab, but there was nothing there. "Zip-o-lady, dudes," as Michelangelo put it, speaking for all of them.
There was nothing to do but wait. In the meantime, they worked on their living quarters. Donatello was trying to fix the television. It wasn't easy to get good reception in an underground station. So far, all he could see was fuzz and all he could hear was buzz. Mike was setting up a place where they could eat - pizza, of course - and Leo was cleaning up debris.
Their work was interrupted by footsteps above and then the arrival of... "April!" Don said. He recognized her legs coming down the rope ladder.
"What brings you here?" Leo asked. He took her coat and found a rock to hang it on.
"Well, I'm not sure," April said. "But I think I found out some news about TGRI."
Splinter bowed to her respectfully. "Our puzzle is far from complete. Any new piece would be welcome," he said solemnly.
"Well, I was doing a report there this morning, trying to get some more information, and I noticed a lot of equipment being moved out. They seemed a little low on employees, too."
The Turtles and Splinter were very interested.
"I think they're shutting down," April said.
Then the buzz of the television stopped abruptly. "Hey, I got it!" Don announced proudly. The others looked at the screen, now showing a very clear picture of none other than April O'Neil!
"But why has TGRI been avoiding my follow-up calls?" she asked the camera.
"I'm not a spokesman, Miss O'Neil," a uniformed TGRI employee told her. "I'm just trying to get to work."
April watched herself on the screen. "I couldn't get much out of those guys," she said.
On the television, April persisted, following one of TGRI's assistants to the door of the building. "But what about possible genetic abnormalities?" she asked. "Mutants?"
The assistant stopped and turned to the camera. "There's far more science fiction than science in questions like that, Miss O'Neil," he said. He seemed to be mocking her. "Mutants, indeed." He smirked and entered the building.
In the underground tunnel, four mutants looked at one human being. There was work to be done. Definitely.