A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews on the previous chapter. They mean the world to me, each and everyone of them. Review responses can soon be found at my author forum at Stealthy Stories, so stay on the lookout for that. As for this chapter, well, I wrote it all very fast so there may very well be some mistakes here and there. Anyway, I'm just glad to be writing again. I hope you like it, and if things seem confusing, it will most likely clear up by next chapter. Enjoy.

Chapter 7

Slowly stirring in the pot with the spoon, almost as if in tune with the soft music coming from the small radio that stood on the far side of the kitchen table, I caught the hot, delicious scent of beef and pepper as it rose from the boiling water.

And they said I couldn't cook.

I would be the first to admit that I was no Mike in the kitchen, but I could definitely handle myself by the stove. I was a decent cook, but all it took to forever ruin my good name was that one burned pot of pasta.

Mikey had said ruining something as simple as pasta was like killing off a cactus. So typical of him to exaggerate.

"It smells wonderful."

"Thank you," I said, turning around with a grateful smile to face my master where he sat by the dining table, all the china set out before him. "You don't think it's too much pepper?"

"Certainly not, my son," he kindly answered with a warm gaze. "It smells perfect. I would not worry about what your brothers will say."

I couldn't help but smile to myself as I turned back to face the stove. He always knew my insecurities, no matter how well I thought I hid them, and somehow he always seemed able to soothe them. Yet the truth remained the same, for even if the others ended up liking this, they would never admit it to my face. I could imagine Raph saying something like 'Well, it didn't taste like ass.' But that would be the furthest any of them would go to compliment my cooking.

The familiar sound of iron shaking beneath footsteps came from outside where the others came climbing down the entrance ladder, and out of the corner of my right eye I noticed my master straightening up at the same recognition.

"That was fast of them," I commented briefly over my shoulder.

"Hmm," he replied, gracefully rising from his chair. "It must have been a false alarm then."

"Must have," I agreed, nodding to myself in relief. I hadn't really expected anything else, because Donatello seemed very sure of his thing, but it was nice to have it officially confirmed.

"I'll let them know lunch is almost ready," he said, reaching for his cane that stood leaned against the kitchen table before walking towards the open door of the sub car.

"Good idea," I told him, nodding once at him in approval before my eyes returned to stare at the task at hand. I had to admit they had awfully good timing. The beef was as cooked as it was going to get, so I turned off the stove and proceeded to set the pot on its coaster on the kitchen counter to my left. I stirred the spoon a few extra times before gently lifting it to my lips – making sure not to spill anything – to have one last taste before serving it to my impossible to impress siblings.

It was almost painfully hot, and I couldn't help but grimace in annoyance. Maybe I used too much pepper after all. It wasn't that big a deal, but I had my suspicions it was enough for my brothers to point it out to me.

Interrupting my thoughts was a soft thud, one I didn't pay much attention, considering how often Michelangelo came jumping down that ladder instead of climbing it like the rest of us. He loved showing off.

"Don, how'd it go?" I called out to them, not turning around but still focused on stirring with the spoon as if the strong pepper taste would somehow diminish with the act. Oddly, there came no answer, or even the smallest of sounds to confirm their return. "Guys?" Waiting another few seconds only to hear nothing but the lyrics from the familiar song that was faintly played on the radio, I rested the spoon against the circle-shaped edge of the steaming pot and parted lips that still tasted of pepper to speak up louder, "Don?"

I finally decided to go and see just what they were doing out there and turned around to leave the kitchen, but the moment my face was turned to the main platform I felt my breath abruptly choking in my throat.

I could spot his motionless legs lying on the floor – feet up – in frighteningly perfect view of the doorway.

Oh my god!

"Sensei!" I quickly hurried over to him, my head plagued by words such as 'heart attack' and 'seizure'. He might have been in exceptional shape, but it didn't change the fact that he was an old man, and stress was certainly something that barged in on our lives on an everyday basis.

Reaching up to the door, however, my train of thought quickly took a completely different direction when I was able to see the full view of him.

There was a tiny hole embedded in the center of his forehead, right above his wide open eyes, and a fresh trail of thick blood seeped out from it with a vitality I instantly knew was no more.

A bullet wound.

Before I even had the smallest chance to react to the shocking tragedy, the pelting sound of gunshots coming at me from my left forced me to dive back inside the safety of the kitchen sub car.

I slammed my shell up against the wall by the doorway with a metallic bang, trying to grasp a single rational thought in the chaos and loss that had taken over my mind. Anguish, fear and panic had so quickly surfaced out of thin air, the adrenalin almost felt like an overdose as it coursed through my veins.

Intruders – gunmen – right in our very home. We were under attack and I just couldn't believe it. And Sensei...

I didn't dare myself another look at the body I knew was still lying just around the corner, and I closed my eyes in stubbornness, as if my sheer will would somehow put things back to a world that still made sense. But then everything changed, and what was already a catastrophe immediately took a turn for the worse.

"The fuck? MASTA' SPLINTA'!"

"Raph, no!" I instantly turned around to find my red-masked brother running up to our father's murdered body. "Stay in your room!" His sub car across the platform was unfortunately in perfect view of Sensei's body, and I prepared myself for the heart-wrenching image of having to witness my brother being barraged with bullets right in the middle of our living room.

Before he reached all the way up to Sensei, however, he spotted the ones guilty for his death and his priorities quickly changed as he lunged himself at them with a speed I had only up until then seen Michelangelo travel in. He'd always been the fastest of the four of us, and it suited him just fine on the many times he was forced to run away from a pissed off Raphael. But it seemed Raph had only needed a reason to tap into that extra source of energy, and these cold-blooded killers had provided him with just that.

"Raph, no! Don't!" I screamed till my voice cracked in my throat, but I was yelling to deaf ears. He probably wasn't even aware of my presence. Bloody vengeance was the only thing on his mind, as he ran furiously with both his sai obsessively clutched in his hands.

A few uneven gunshots were fired, but it didn't stop him from sprinting toward them where they stood right by the stairway that led down to the main platform. I didn't know if he'd been spared their bullets or if there was simply enough adrenalin for him to keep running in spite on them.

I prayed it was the former.

Though at least one of them must have missed him, for while standing there in helplessness I suddenly felt an explosive pain force itself into my right shoulder with the purest of fires.

I immediately dove back inside the kitchen, once again locking my back to the wall, instinctively clasping the fresh wound with my left hand. The thick, warm blood quickly welled up between my fingers; it was as though I could feel the vessels pumping my life right into the palm of my hand.

Outside, I could hear something crash to the ground with a loud thud, an endless agonizing scream following shortly thereafter. Knowing Raph, I had good reason to believe it was because of him. He must have attacked one of the intruders, and I could only imagine what he was doing to him to make him cry like that. It was the kind of cry that could only come from those on the brink of death. By all means, he should have been dead, but it was as if the pain alone kept him alive – screaming.

Above that, I could hear the others shouting at each other in panic, one of them continuously going, "Shoot him! Shoot him!"

With tears forcing their way up my tight throat, I could only assume he was talking about Raph. I couldn't understand why they hadn't just shot him already, but before I could even consider their reasons for wanting to spare him a time-stopping gunshot was suddenly fired.

Their panicking voices ceased immediately and the man's screams changed, transforming into wails of tears and suffering, until another bullet finally silenced that as well.

The only thing left was the faint sound of the radio that was still playing, accompanying me in my torment.

Closing my burning eyes in agony, I felt my tears trying to fight their way past my eyelids. He was dead. My brother – Raphael – shot like a dog. One moment he was fighting with a passion I had never seen in him before, almost as if the loss of our father had made him invincible, and then as soon as that bullet was fired everything just changed. I had watched him run straight into the arms of death, and there hadn't been a single thing I could do to stop him.

He was gone.

With my shell still pressed to the wall, I felt my legs slowly being drained of their strength, and I helplessly slid down to the floor, still clutching my bleeding shoulder in desperation.

I knew they were coming for me next. My katana were in my room, hanging on their rightful place on the wall. There was no way I could defend myself against them, much less with my newly inflicted injury. I realized then to my hollow surprise that I didn't care. Within a minute, they'd shot and killed two of my family members.

Everything had lost its meaning.

With a piercing thought I suddenly felt my splintered heart swell up with hope. I hurriedly dug for my cell phone in my belt, remembering Mike and Donnie. I didn't know if they were already dead, but at least there was a chance for me to warn them. But fumbling desperately by my belt with flashes of pain shooting up my right arm, I just couldn't find it.

It had to be there. I had to warn them. I had to talk to them. Were they still alive, they simply couldn't come home.

But I was soon forced to accept that it wasn't in my power to save them. My cell phone wasn't on me, and I brokenly recalled hooking it up to its charger in my room last night before going to bed.

It seemed as though fate had conspired against me and stripped me of any possibility to fight this.

I could feel the burning pain in my heart gradually transform into a black hole of some sorts, leaving me with a gaping nothingness in my chest. This was it. I heard their booted footsteps walking up to the kitchen sub car, and, looking over my left shoulder, I could see my father's corpse bleeding on the floor. The blood on his forehead had soaked his coat, leaving a dark, sticky mess of fur on his head, and his eyes were still facing the ceiling in a frozen fear he'd never had the chance to express.

So this is how it ends...

They were right behind me now, and they knew perfectly well where I was, almost dragging their feet to prolong the wait. My only wish was that it was quick. I only wanted them to get it over with.

Tiredly turning my pulsating head to my left, I caught one of them looking at me through the doorway. Dressed in black clothing and a bulletproof vest to match, he wore a black ski mask over his face, but I could tell his face held an expression of fascination and hunger. Pointing at me with a firm grip, there was a small, black gun in his hand, a long muffler attached to its barrel.

It must have been what kept me from hearing the bullet that killed Sensei.

Taking a cautious step inside the kitchen, making sure he was pointing his pistol at me the whole time, another guy stepped into view. His outfit was identical to that of his friend's, aside from the fact that he carried a much larger weapon in his arms. It could only assume it was the same automatic weapon they'd killed Raph with.

Breathing heavily, I parted lips that left a salty aftertaste and looked up to meet the stare of the first guy. "What are you waiting for?" I asked him lazily. "Just do it already."

He chuckled briefly to himself, never once breaking my stare. "I don't think so, freak."

Swallowing once, I grimaced when trying to adjust myself into a more upright position, noticing their weapons cautiously following my every move. I then returned my firm gaze to meet his, once again parting my lips to speak.

"Kill me – or I'll kill you."

Exchanging a quick glance with his friend, the two of them started laughing; a throaty, mocking sound that rang bitterly in my ears.

"I don't think you're fit to hand out threats," he then said, pointing to the bleeding wound in my shoulder with the dramatically long barrel of his gun.

Feeling my hatred transform itself into almost forgotten strength at his words, I released a furious cry when throwing myself at him. But the second I'd gotten up from the floor, a blinding pain suddenly erupted in my knee, causing me to collapse heavily to the floor, both my legs folded beneath my painful weight.

Opening my eyes, I realized he'd shot me straight through my kneepad and splintered my right kneecap, and the torment of it blocked out the old wound completely. I couldn't help but groan through gritted teeth, both my hands pressed to the wound as if it would somehow lessen my suffering.

With my breath hissing through my teeth, I lifted my head to meet his sadistic stare.

"What do you want?" I yelled through my tears. "Why not just kill me?"

As if answering my question, I noticed something moving in the corner of my left eye, and turning around, I witnessed a third guy stepping into view. He was dressed just like the rest of them: a black out fit with a bulletproof vest protecting his torso. But, looking closer, I noticed a terrifying difference. Because unlike his friends, he wasn't armed with a weapon, but a small camcorder, pointed straight at me with a tiny red light letting me know I was being filmed.

Suddenly, I felt very relieved on behalf of the others. A bullet was all it took to put out their lives.