A/N: You are so not gonna like me after this chapter, though it didn't take me as long to update this time, so let's all be thankful for that. Plus, I'm sick at the moment, so let's all remember it's kinda rude to yell at someone who's down with the fever. But remember I did warn you about this fic being a bit more... disturbed than what you might be used to with my writing. And this chapter is very bloody, so sensitve readers be warned, or just don't read at all. Your choice. However, if you do decide to read it, I would very much like to know what your thoughts are. I love your reviews so much, and I wanna thank each and everyone of you for the ones left for the previous chapter. But my review responses will be posted as Stealthy Stories as usual. (Link can be found at my bio). So, I think that pretty much covers everything I had to say. Take care!

Chapter 3

"You know what?" Mikey said, turning to look at me with those wide, energetic eyes of his; even in the darkness of these underground tunnels they seemed to almost radiate with life.

"What?" I asked, kicking up garbage and washed down leafs as I walked. All things possible ended up in these water-free tunnels, being the closest to the street level above our heads, where people and cars passed right over us, having no idea there were two humanoid turtles promenading right beneath their blissful existence.

"All this walking's made me wanna pee," Michelangelo said, turning to look ahead of him, his tiny Batman flashlight not doing very much to light up our path. It was a good thing we both knew this route good enough to walk it in our sleep.

"All this walking?" I echoed with a small chuckle. "We barely even left the lair."

"What are you talking about, dude? We totally left the lair – and then some. I've even worked up an appetite for Leo's cooking," he said, rubbing his stomach in the darkness, as if adding proof to his statement.

"Please, Mikey. Like you would ever have to work for your appetite." I shook my head at the mere thought of Mike turning down food, claiming he 'just wasn't hungry.'

With a throaty chuckle, he cheerfully admitted, "Good point."

Then, instinctively, the two of us stopped, and I crouched down in a half-seated position to dig up the plywood board that lay hidden in the garbage. Using both of my hands, I effortlessly lifted the board aside, revealing the ladder that lead down to our home. Swiftly brushing the dirt off my hands by sweeping them across my thighs, I then moved over to place my right foot on the top rung of the entrance ladder, Mike waiting anxiously behind me for his turn.

Having taken one step after the other, I soon found myself standing on the upper platform of our home, giving Mike, who came climbing down above me, a quick glance before descending the stairway that led to the main platform.

There was soft music coming from inside the kitchen sub car further down the platform, where I assumed Leo kept himself busy with our lunch. Going over there to let him know there was no need to worry about the motion detector, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Mike left for the bathroom, the carriage that was the closest to the stairway, on one's right side when entering.

"Leo, I told you there--" Stopping in mid sentence when discovering the view behind the living room couch, I felt my throat close up in terror, as if someone physically strangled me, keeping me from breathing.

Lying still on the floor, on his back, was my father. Both his eyes were wide open, frozen in a look that seemed to have captured a level of fear I had never expected to see in his gaze, and, on the center of his forehead, right above his eyes, a small bullet wound spoke of his unfair fate.

"My God..." I managed to whisper to myself, feeling as though the ground was moving beneath me, swaying back and forth, making me both physically and mentally nauseous.

However, before I had any chance to take in the macabre discovery I'd just stumbled upon, there was a short, almost strangled scream coming from inside the bathroom sub car, as if the cry trailed off into silence because of not enough oxygen being able to pass through the throat.

"Mikey!"

I quickly turned on my heel and ran down the platform, finding Mike frozen in the doorway of the bathroom carriage, wide, heartbroken eyes staring straight ahead of him. I immediately pushed my way past him and then froze when discovering the cause of his inconsolable cry.

Lying right in front of me in the tub, one arm carelessly thrown over the porcelain white edge, was none other than Raphael.

I somehow managed to take a few strengthless steps forward, until I stopped at the full view of my red-masked brother, my stomach churning violently.

His shell was facing upside, and his features were facing down, while neck and shoulders were completely painted in deep red blood – the kind that comes from the deepest, most precious of vessels. And, not only was he showered in it, but he was practically swimming in it, as well; the entire bottom of the hot tub was covered in that metal scented, gut sickening sea, which blanketed larger parts of the floor, as well.

I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I couldn't even bring myself to cry.

I even had to look a second time to make sure it was really Raph; that his mask wasn't just dyed red by all the blood. But I recognized the many scars and scratches across his shell, and therefore knew the body could belong to none other than Raph. Not that I wanted it to be Leo, but I felt I had to know which one of my brothers' butchered remains I was looking at.

Then, harshly waking me up from my momentary trance that hadn't even lasted more than a second was the sound of sub car doors being pulled open with violent force.

It was the carriage straight across the platform – Leo's room – but the person coming out of it wasn't him.

He was dressed in black from head to toe; wearing what I assumed was a bulletproof vest, and hiding his identity underneath a black ski mask that was pulled over his head, exposing his features to the degree where I knew I'd wake up from having nightmares about that face. But what struck me the hardest about him – what scared me the most – was the black, small gun he held in his raised hand, pointing it straight at Michelangelo and myself.

I barely managed to scream my brother's name during the surreal panic of him firing his weapon, over and over again, silent bullets coming right at us. Pushing Mike to the side, his body vehemently crashing into the wall, I jumped for cover by the wall opposite his, the sound of muffled bullets bouncing off against the thick, iron surface of the tub. I desperately tried to protect myself from the bullets by crawling up into a ball of some sorts; my legs pulled up to my plastron and my face hidden behind my cramping arms, just hoping none of the bullets hit flesh.

Then when the shooting finally stopped, and I dared open my eyes again, I discovered another black clad guy lying on the floor to my left, his face hidden on the other side of the toilet. I then realized that the blood on the floor didn't belong to Raph, or at least not all of it. He was lying in a massive pool of it, the gore having spread across the floor towards the opposite wall, where the carriage leaned just the slightest.

Also, lying on the floor by his hip, was a large, black machinegun of some sorts. I grabbed it almost instinctively, my clumsy fingers fumbling with the slippery, blood-dripping weapon in my hands, until I finally managed to point it outside the open door, where the armed intruder had barely walked into sight. I frantically pressed my finger to the trigger, the gun shaking madly in my arms as the bullets pelted my home.

"Holy shit!" The man instantly threw himself to the side once the shooting began, disappearing from my view. Panting heavily, not from exhaustion, but out of fear, I then refrained from shooting to hear if he was still alive, using the opportunity to look ahead of me and see how Mike was holding up.

"Mikey!" I couldn't help but gasp in fright, noticing he was bleeding from two places: his right shoulder as well as his right thigh. He had his head tiredly leaned back against the white tile I'd dressed the bathroom walls in a little over a year ago, parts of it splattered in the sickening contrast of his fresh, crimson blood, some of it smeared out from what I imaged was when I'd smashed his body into the wall. His eyes, meanwhile, were tightly shut in what must have been both physical and mental anguish, judging by the glistening trail of tears on his damp cheeks.

We had to leave now, or I knew I would no longer have a brother to leave with.

Maybe we could somehow shoot our way past the guy outside, because I wasn't leaving without knowing for sure that my oldest brother was dead, too. It wasn't that I wanted to see Leo's dead body – the pain of having seen two of my family members murdered was bad enough to haunt me for whatever short time I may have had left to live – but I just couldn't leave, knowing there was the slightest possibility he might still be alive. Knowing there might still be a chance to save him.

"Jared?" a hesitant voice suddenly called out from inside Leonardo's sub car, and my heart sank at the realization that there were at least two of them. Two armed strangers in my home; having shot and killed my family in the matter of the few minutes we'd been out. And, counting the corpse lying next to me, there had even been three of them, originally.

"Stay the fuck in there!" the angry voice of the guy in the living room yelled back to his friend. "They're armed!" Then, after staying quiet for a moment or two, he furiously added to himself, "FUCK!"

I didn't know if he was shot, or just pissed, but I really hoped it was the former possibility.

A new voice then came from inside Leo's sub car, much gruffer in character than any of the others had been. "Well, what should we do about this one?"

My God... Leo!

"How the fuck should I know?" the man angrily called back to his partner. "Juz keep the camera rolling."

"Leo!" I cried out in panic, knowing for certain now that my brother was inside that room with at least two of them, being filmed for God knows what unspeakable reasons. "Leo?" I repeated, this time more pleading, feeling my tears push their way up my throat, where I stubbornly locked them in, not having the time to break down, or even the energy.

"Shut the fuck up!" the guy in the living room yelled, only to be silenced by more of my bullets.

I was so mad. The passion behind the hatred was unlike any emotion I had ever experienced before, and I aimed the gun in every direction I could think of, hoping at least one of the bullets would hit home. Then, to my great fear, the weapon suddenly stopped vibrating in my arms.

It was empty, used up. I only wished they hadn't realized that, as well.

"What did you do to him!" I furiously called out to them, all the while fearing the answer that might come. Nonetheless, I had to know.

"What do ya think?" the man in the living room called back, my booming heart sinking to the pit of my stomach at his answer.

No...

"LEO!" I cried again, more desperate than before, my hurtful voice breaking in my throat. I helplessly needed an answer from him, yet I knew in my broken heart there wouldn't come any.

Sensei was dead, Raphael was dead, and I only hoped Leonardo was, too... for his sake.

Looking across the room, I caught Mikey's red burst eyes, and though there were violent tears pouring down from them, they still remained mute. I couldn't quite decide whether it was out of fear, or simply because his pain was so deep, there just wasn't any human sound to express it.

I knew exactly how he felt, and I found myself wishing I could carry his pain, too. Somehow spare him the grisly scene we'd unexpectedly walked in on; spare him the loss.

Knowing he was everything I had left, knowing I wouldn't survive if he were killed along with the rest of them, I somehow managed to grasp a rational thought in the midst of all the chaos.

We had to leave this very instant, before they grew the balls to try and get inside the bathroom a second time. They'd shoot us like sitting ducks.

I pinched the machinegun in my left armpit, leaning over to inspect the unknown corpse lying next to me. I spared a quick, worried glance at Mikey before turning the man over, discovering the gruesome image of his bloody legs barely being able to cling to his torso, as if someone had stabbed him in the thighs and crotch countless of times. Judging by the assaulted condition of his dented vest, I figured someone must have tried to somehow stab through it, until ultimately giving up and moving on to his lower body.

I couldn't help but think of Raph. This looked like his work, and, though sadistically strange, I found myself feeling sentimentally proud over my fallen brother.

He certainly hadn't gone down without a fight.

However, glancing up at his black-dressed face, I realized most of his ski mask was drenched in blood, more than likely the result of the bullet wound in the center of his forehead. In fact, most of the blood that had spread across the floor seemed to have come from the large puddle his head had been lying in before I'd turned him over.

Had Raph shot him? I couldn't picture my red-masked brother with a gun. Not that I'd ever imagined myself using one, but...

I just wanted to know what the hell had happened.

Pushing these feelings aside, I quickly moved on to search him for more ammunition, or even another gun if he had one on him. It wasn't my favorite weapon of choice, but with these guys you really had to fight fire with fire. Starting to panic over the fact that he didn't seem to have anything useful on him, I moved down to check the blood-smeared pockets on the side of his legs, where I to my great relief felt something bulging out.

Hurriedly, I reached inside the pocket and grabbed what felt like a couple of small, rock hard lemons. Pulling my hand out, I instantly realized they were hand grenades, and the realization of it filled me with both hope and fear. Hope, that we still had a chance to fight our way out of this living hell, but fear that our mysterious enemies were armed to their teeth.

I nervously shoved one of the grenades down my belt, while keeping a firm hold on the other one. Then, turning to look at Michelangelo, who by now seemed to have slipped into some kind of state of shock. His tear-filled eyes were locked on what could be seen of Raph's bloody body in the tub, and the pace of his tears seemed to have slowed down tremendously. He didn't seem to be aware of much, other than the fact that Raphael was gone, the brother which he'd always loved and idolized.

"Mikey!" I quietly hissed his name, trying to earn his attention, but his alone. Sadly, there wasn't a single sign of a reaction from him. "Mike? MIKEY!"

Finally, he slowly turned his head to look at me, his face completely empty of emotions, something I had never before seen on him. It took a lot to drain Mike of his feelings, and I guess these guys knew exactly what buttons to push. Sparing a quick glance out the door, I then looked back to Mike and pointed out the open window of the sub car, positioned right above the hot tub, carefully mouthing the words, "Out. The window."

Hopelessness and defeat almost instantly washed over his features, and he tiredly shook his head in protest, his tears once again picking up their speed.

"Now!" I angrily hissed, boring my commanding stare into him. Slowly, Michelangelo began to move, wincing in obvious torment when adjusting his body into a position where he stood on all four, slowly, painfully crawling across the floor while trying to keep down the volume of his sobbing.

Once again casting a worried glance out the living room, wondering just what the hell the guy was doing out there, I carefully began to crawl across the floor as well, leaving the empty machinegun behind, but keeping an almost obsessive hold of the grenade. When reaching the tub, Mike slowly attempted to stand, not wanting to use any help by holding onto the tub in which Raph's body lay. I quickly rose to help him, concerned hands gripping both sides of his plated body, trying not to stare directly at Raphael.

Mikey slowly lifted one of his feet to the edge of the tub, me supporting him the whole time, and then moved to lift his other foot, as well. I felt his entire body shake in grief as he was forced to take the giant step over the body, and he grabbed almost helplessly onto the windowsill, just standing there with his head out the window, which, luckily enough, was always open.

There had never been any glass when we moved in, and I just never bothered to put one in. We figured the bathroom could use the extra vent of air.

"Mikey, c'mon," I carefully whispered, once again looking out the door to see if we still had time on our side.

Standing on the far edge of the tub, Mike tiredly lifted his head and slowly moved one leg outside the window, the other one following shortly thereafter. He remained sitting on the sill for a moment or two until determination finally seemed to settle inside of him, and he jumped.

Stressed, I quickly put my right foot on the bathtub edge, trying not to step in any of the blood. Desperately curling my foot around the cold porcelain, I moved on to lift my left one, as well, but I had been in such a hurry that when I was finally standing on the edge of the tub, I just couldn't hold my balance. Falling forward I reflexively stepped onto Raphael's shell, causing his bloody body to slightly twist in the tub. I wished I hadn't looked down, but I just couldn't help it.

Once turned, I was able to see his face, or what was left of it. The bullet that had been put into his neck seemed to have gone out his face, taking larger parts of it with it.

I couldn't recognize my brother at all. Where his sarcastic features had once been was now nothing but a gory, gaping hole, like someone had gone berserk on his face with an axe.

The need to vomit instantly took over, and I desperately tried to hold back the reflex puke, feeling my stomach muscles contract in protest. I was standing on my dead brother's body! And, as if that wasn't bad enough, I had just looked into the eyes that no longer even existed.

Looking away from the corpse, keeping my eyes closed and just trying to put all my thoughts and energy into not throwing up, I somehow managed to regain control over myself, even though the memory of his blown away face continuously kept flashing by in my mind's eye. Realizing I was already leaning on the windowsill, I was met by Michelangelo's worried stare once I opened my eyes, looking up at me from where he stood in the tiny space between the sub car and the tunnel wall.

I gave him a small nod to convince him I was all right and then stepped off of Raphael's slippery shell, hurriedly swinging my right leg across the windowsill. When moving to hang my left leg out the window, I caught a sudden strike of fear coming over Mikey's face.

"What about Sensei?" he frantically asked, my heart aching sadly for him.

"He's gone," I simply told him, no more, no less. He didn't need the details, and I didn't have the time to give them to him.

"Gone?" Mike repeated, his voice rising in panic. "Wh-what do ya mean? He's not in the lair? Cuz maybe he--"

"What the fuck?" I heard someone utter behind me, my blood turning cold in my veins.

Seated on the windowsill, I spun me head around to find one of the intruders standing a few feet from the doorway, already on his way to point his gun and fire. Immediately pulling the pin out of the grenade in my right hand, which sat surprisingly tight, I quickly threw the tiny bomb out the door and made the six feet jump out the window, my legs caving in fear of the oncoming explosion.

How long did it take for these things to go off, anyway? Two seconds? Five? I had no clue, and simply settled for scrambling to my feet and pushing Mikey from the behind, urging him to run faster, forcing him to move faster than his wounds allowed.

"Run!" I screamed at him. "Run!"

I had no idea how many seconds passed until the blow finally came, but it felt like a lifetime, as far as I was concerned. The deafening explosion shook the old subway station with such force the both of us actually lost our footing, myself landing on top of a shocked Michelangelo. Afterwards, I could hear heavy rocks and larger parts of the structure fall to the ground, our home crumbling into worthlessness right behind us.

I wondered just how powerful the blast had been. Had it only blown up the living room, or ruined the carriages as well? I really hoped it had been enough to kill them all, but knew there was still a possibility the ones inside Leo's room could have survived.

If that was the case, at least then we had a good head start on them. It would be tough to get past all the debris, certainly if they'd been wounded. Knowing we had to get out of here as fast as physically possible, I rested my weight on both of my hands, about to rise to my feet when a blinding pain suddenly surged through my body, causing my arms to give way to my weight.

Grabbing onto my left collarbone by reflex, I realized to my surprise that I was bleeding; warm, fresh blood poured out from what felt like a bullet wound. He must have shot me right before I tossed the grenade, or perhaps right after? I must have been too stressed to comprehend the hit. I'd heard adrenaline could do that to a person.

Quickly pushing these thoughts aside, I made another attempt to rise, this time making sure I wasn't leaning too heavily on my left arm. It still hurt, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.

I quickly looked at Mike who lay in front of me, his arms folded over his head in an attempt to shield himself from the explosion I hadn't prepared him for. I wanted to grab onto him and force him to his feet, but the space between the sub car and the wall was only wide enough to fit one person. Instead, I settled for trying to pull him up from the behind, him flinching instantly when I by accident made contact with the wet wound in his right shoulder.

"Get up!" I told him. "Mike, c'mon! We have to get out of here."

Staggering to his feet, he fearfully looked over his shoulder. "What happened?"

I only pushed him forwards. "You have to run for me, okay? It was a pretty big explosion, but I'm not sure it was enough to kill them all."

"But what about Master Splinter?" he hesitated, halting in his tracks.

It wasn't a question I wanted to answer, especially not when he clung so desperately to the idea of him somehow still being alive. "I'm sorry, Mikey, but... he's dead, too," I said, the image of his lifeless eyes still lingering in my mind. "I found him in the living room."

Still not attempting to move, I felt his body freeze at the news. It was truly horrible to learn that your father – your mentor and master – had been killed along with everyone else you cared about, but I just couldn't grant him the time to grieve.

"Mikey, c'mon," I insisted, pushing at him from behind, willing for him to pick up his speed. "We have to go. Now!"

Finally, I seemed to have reached through to him, and together the two of us ran down the dark, narrow tunnel, my splintered heart praying for my family to forgive me for blowing them up. I knew they were already dead, but I felt as though I'd just escaped a burning building, leaving them all inside to burn. And had I only considered the possibility that it might have been a real alarm, none of this would have happened in the first place.

I had myself to blame for far too many things.