Terminal
The brisk air only cut sharper.
By this point, he had lost track of the streets and roads, but that was no matter. There hadn't ever been a time when his GPS couldn't get him home.
It was the least of his concerns.
The dusty blue vehicle curved left and right until the air grew colder, sharper, and somewhat wet, catching the mutant's attention as he spied all about himself.
The buildings had grown more open from their tight knit layout, rooftops a bit shorter, and the road seemed to open up wide, but was crowded with rusted shipping containers, abandoned cars, and else what that would have distracted him otherwise had the van not still been moving.
The life of the city seemed to pulse further away with every passing mile, the vacancy of property growing more and more apparent that the intended destination was meant to be quiet, and classified.
Nearly twenty minutes in it began to halt, wheels easing their roll among the soulless structures. There was a sense of displacement among the junked debris, but it appeared this was the place…wherever this was.
Keeping at the safest distance possible, Donnie gazed at the massive waterfront facility before him: crumbling, decrepit, and certainly had been so for years.
The docks surrounding were in disrepair, and the handful of warehouses lingering about barely maintained their tin roofs…what was left of them, anyway.
He kept careful with his footing, debating if a slight hover would serve him best. The last thing he needed was to fire off a slab and make his status known.
The location was most likely condemned with the highest odds, though it hardly surprised him. It was an easy den to haunt…and where vacancy laid, roaches gathered.
Slipping on his goggles, he skimmed the outer banks of the dilapidated locale, landing gently on the rooftop of an old warehouse across. The giant letters skewed across the establishment were faded, but still legible, "…Red Hook Grain Terminal…"
Well…it was something.
His eyes tilted down as the van eased its way into one of the open garage doors and disappeared into the darkness, though they did appear to have the courtesy to completely shut the metal gate behind them.
No matter. It wasn't like he intended to waltz in through the front door, anyway.
Though, as he stood, there was a moment of contemplation.
How prepared was he for any kind of confrontation with The Foot…on his lonesome?
Even if he did manage to recon with Sunita, would the two of them be enough to high tail it out of there? Perhaps it would be best if he reached out—
"Aw, Brooklyn?" he huffed under his breath, brows sourly flattening at the mapping on his brace.
Forget it, there wasn't enough time.
Even if his brothers took the tank, it would be a while before they showed up, and every second was precious.
Stealth it was.
This…was fine. He had training. It was simply a test of merit.
The tension of anxiety swapped for eager adrenaline —a nice distraction, all things considering.
He felt the immediate smack of all three brothers deep within his subconsciousness.
Launching up, he avoided the lingering shame, "I'm simply being a good samaritan and offering my assistance should Sunita require it. April would understand."
At least that much, he wouldn't dare question.
If Sunita was being threatened by The Foot, perhaps there had been more to her silence than originally thought.
Murky, with the bitter taste of mold.
He kept to the shadows, his goggles providing clarity and warning with every puddle he avoided, every piece of shrapnel he swerved, and every spore that dared to settle in his lungs. Prayer wasn't a habit Donatello often made use of, but the stability of the building had a few pleads of mercy skimming through his thoughts. If it was going to fall…at least let him be outside of it.
And so with that thought in tow, his eyes continually darted toward any available exits as his ears picked up the echo of trodden feet —enough to guide him through the facility to where life filled the walls.
The echoes led him down the vacant halls, from shadow to shadow, column to corroded column. Living his entire life in the under banks of the sewers had given him a firm appreciation in finding the beauty where most found disdain, but for this place…he'd reconsider.
Though, for as busted and blue as this facility appeared…there was a bizarre sweetness in the air. Something that simply did not belong, for the scent carried a kind of heat to it, a smokiness that tickled somewhere along his childhood memories, only briefly distracted to fathom what it was.
He knew that scent. Not specifically, but…
His eyes darted as a pair of shadows climbed the walls beside him, slamming his back firmly against the shielding pillar.
Voices —mumbled and murmured, but nothing more but the echos of footsteps fading away.
Inch. Inch. Inch.
His eyes peered around the corner, finding the column the first of many in a wide vacant room…or mostly vacant.
Within the previously abandoned estate were containers and boxes, some opened, some sealed, some labeled, some bare. Nothing of severe interest aside from the fact that none of it was supposed to be there. The Foot always had a habit of transporting the most illegal of weaponry under the noses of the average New Yorker, sometimes in plain sight, but mostly at night. They were ninja, after all —or at least, trained by them.
Donnie's eyes skimmed along the area.
No dice. No Sunita.
An uncomfortable sink sat in his gut as he wondered where she could possibly be —they had only just brought her in, and for all it was worth, he had been his nimblest.
It wasn't the first time The Foot had stalked the girl and pulled a move like this.
What to do…what to do…
He needed a clear mind. After all, she had tried to help him…and all he had done was grow impatient. He bit back any rising guilt, brows flattening as he weighed his options. If she wasn't here, she'd clearly have to be—
His bright hazels froze on a glimmer far off in the corner of the room. The cold white lights emitting from the electric lanterns created an eerie path, but a visible one. No footsteps. No sign of life.
Donatello darted across, keeping close to the shadows and diving among the boxes for cover, head snapping a double take as he glanced at the container beside him. It was filled to the brim with…stuff. All kinds of stuff. Trinkets and jackets and jewelry and gems…toys and books and games.
…Why would The Foot want any of this stuff?
There wasn't a weapon to be found.
But the suspicion was ignored for the moment as he glanced about and aimed for his target…the lonely little folding table at the edge of the room. On top was an array of items, some collectable, others expensive, and they certainly carried better merit than the items packed in the center of the room, but Donnie's hand hovered gently, eyes lingering on the single object that had caught his attention from all the way across.
It was golden, with a bright emerald core set within the center. And smeared on the side of it, some gooey residue.
Sunita's broach.
She was here.
And wherever she was, she was in her truest form.
Grabbing the artifact, Donnie's frown deepened, understanding time was not on his side, for whatever plan they had intended for her had already begun, but as he turned to gain his bearings, one more object caught his eye in the collage of paraphernalia clustered along the table.
One thing that most would have completely missed, for it was nothing of great value nor splendor, but something that would mean more to him than most. Tucked within the nook of a box was the familiar cat eye lens, red brimmed and apexed. And as his finger trailed the arm where the joint held…he recognized the replacement screw.
His replacement screw.
There was no mistake.
"…April?" he uttered softly, his eyes growing wide with worry, but the room began to spin faster than his adrenaline could muster as the sudden pain shot through his system, the echo ringing in his ears. The slump was quick and merciless as the room lost focus, hearing the far away clack of his battle shell hit the ground first.
Darkness filled his mind, nothing to think, nothing to feel. Only the labored sounds of his own breathing, and the slow footsteps dancing about his form,
"How kind of you to join us…Welcome to the club."