Chapter Three: Rescue and Recon

Tuesday, early morning

A resident New Yorker, totally deaf to the muffled cacophony of nighttime traffic below, stared down at an average five-story office building. He himself could hardly be described as average; besides his green skin and shell, he wore multi-use goggles and had just detected half a dozen high-tech security features on said building and now turned to disable the roof cameras with some technology of his own, recent design. Pulling out a remote control and flipping up its panel of screens from his beloved duffel, Don turned on his new toy after releasing it from its tiny silver case: a slightly oversized housefly.

A sudden snort of wind made the turtle close his fist over the fly. "Whoa. None of that." He set it on the roof and with expert thumbs –he had practiced in the Lair; his brothers had believed it was a real fly and he had had to do some fancy tricks to get away from Mikey's flyswatter- the fly buzzed off into the inky Manhattan sky.

Don switched to the panel of screens and took a lazy route down to the adjoining roof's security cameras. It landed on exposed wire, sliced through its sheath, and tapped in. Green fingers rapped a caffeinated tattoo as the bug automatically retrieved an hour of last night's footage, looped it, and applied it to the camera.

"One down!"

Two cameras later, Don flipped through the cool night air to land on the roof, fist down. Grabbing the fly on his way by, he reached the stairway door, where he picked the electronic lock with one of his favorite gadgets in four seconds. Ninja senses heightened, he ran on silent feet down the cement steps and into the hall, which had boring blue-and-white tiles.

His ears picked up the quiet grumble of an elevator. When its passengers, two Foot ninjas, disembarked, the turtle had disappeared into the ever-convenient air vent.

"Energetic little monster," said the taller one in sarcastic tones.

"Noisy." The second rubbed at his ear. "Fussy."

"Hope we get paid extra for this."

The pair reached a door, entered the code, and entered.

Don thought for a long moment before continuing down the shaft. In moments, he had scouted out the rest of the top floor, the fourth floor, and part of the third floor from the relative safety of the airways. He found a shaft down to the second floor, but huge, welded-in fans blocked the way, and the popularity of the elevator prevented him from going that way. Peering into the dark, close space of a closet, he pulled out an LED flashlight.

"Aha!" After a quick safety scan, the turtle pulled aside the vent and dropped down lightly. The flashlight revealed a pair of nunchakus and a walking stick; Don ran his hands over the familiar bumps and knots of the latter before storing both and replacing the nunchakus with a cheap spare pair. He picked up Mikey's shell cell, smiling and flashing a thumbs-up at its hidden camera in case Saja was still watching it, before turning it off and tucking it into his duffel.

He had just turned to jump up into the vent when he heard the footsteps of the returning Foot ninjas. This time, they chatted about last night's ballgame.

Come on, willed Don. Talk about Mikey and Master Splinter. Tell me where they are.

"Speaking of close games, that setup of the boss's blows my mind. The turtle's friend is going to have a tough time fetching him out of that!"

Yes!

"The taciturn one snorted. "Impossible."

"By the way, I'm sorry I forgot to tighten his gag for the drive over there- do your fingers still hurt?"

"Yes."

You deserved it, you big galumph! Wait, drive over there?

"Sorry, Yokono. At least the Gamer made him pay for it."

Did they hurt Mikey?

Yokono grunted. "Fifteen."

"Did you hear- wait, fifteen what?"

"Apologies."

"Oh. Sorry. Did you hear what the Gamer planned for the giant rat? They're setting up downtown now. I-"

"Be quiet and work."

A door opened and slammed, signaling the Foots' exit and cutting off the tall one's indignant defenses.

Don exhaled, releasing a gust of frustration. Shell! They aren't here at all! Double shell. I should've guessed that back in the Lair! The Gamer separated turtle from tracer- while we were on the phone, no less. Actually… I saw them bring Mikey in here… He looked down at the blue-and-white tiles. Either he changed his mind, or that other building has the same flooring, or… His breath caught. Or the Gamer knew I'd be watching from the shell cell, and after it was in the closet, he turned Mikey's parade around and marched him right back out the door.

He gripped his bo tightly, resisting the urge to bonk himself on the head. -… After declenching an irregular verb in Classical Greek, Donatello cleared his head. Okay, I no longer know where Mikey or Master Splinter are, but I do know where Raph is- or was a few minutes ago. Hajimemasu!

In moments, the ninja had darted out of the office building and onto the waiting shellcycle.

By exceeding the speed limit almost as much as Raph usually did, he zipped into Purple Dragon territory, past surprised punks lounging at the border. He heard revving engines behind him, but he slipped through a parking garage and two alleys before they could catch up. Adjusting his mental GPS route, Don lost the goons entirely. Maybe Raph will hear me coming, he thought. Maybe Casey just fell down a ladder like the knucklehead he is and Raph will be annoyed at me for coming… But I doubt it.

His mental GPS displayed a checkered victory flag as he parked in the deep shadows of the alley. On the rooftops, he discovered neither people nor turtles, but a battleground. The only notable cover, a lonely shed, was pinpricked on three sides by tiny holes likely made by shuriken and darts. Don rushed to the fourth, unmarked side. This is where Raph and Casey were—they must've ducked here in the middle of the call when Casey mentioned darts. And then he leaned out too far and got hit by one. And what happened to Raph?

His foot kicked something: Casey's hockey bag, complete with his mishmash of melee weapons. Don set it upright against the shed; he'd take it with him.

Turning, his toes rustled something broken: Raph's crushed shell cell. He pulled a baggie out of his duffel and scooped the pieces into it. Parts of it might be useful, but more than that, he hated leaving any of his handiwork out where strange hands might find it.

While crouched down, he also found in a midnight shadow a tiny silver dart, spent, with a bead of red liquid on its tip. Drugs. Not good. Probably anesthesia. So the Gamer's got Raph too. But what did the dart do to Casey to make him disappear?

Casting around further, Don found a sai forgotten in shadow; this he tossed in his duffel.

Lost in thought, he glided down the ladder and headed for home on the Shellcycle. In fact, he analyzed clues and possibilities so much that he failed to notice his stealthy shadows until they had cornered him in a convenient dark alley with a large, smelly green dumpster, the graffiti of which announced that BW loved MT.

Don screeched into a U-turn, so that the Shellcycle faced out. As the Purple Dragon goons parked, the turtle ghosted over to the shadows, leaving the Shellcycle in the middle of the alley.

"Come on out, freak."

"Yeah, don't be shy. We just wanna say hello—and teach you not ta ignore da Purple Dragons."

The third chuckled and slapped his chains into his palm.

The ninja narrowed his eyes, bo ready and waiting for one of the nuisances to come into range. He didn't have long to wait; the one with the spike of green glow-in-the-dark hair crunched over to peer into his patch of shadow.

The bo slammed between those nearsighted eyes, sending their owner to la-la land with no more than a thump and a sigh.

The other two turned, calling. "Glowstick? Glowstick, you find 'im, man?"

They parted to walk around the Shellcycle.

Don rolled his eyes from atop the dumpster before launching himself out between the pair. Each received a kick to the head. As gravity began to reassert itself, Donatello reached out, grabbed their greasy hair, and banged their heads together. Before they had crumpled onto the cracked asphalt, he landed on his bike and roared away.

In minutes, he had parked in the storeroom and descended to the main room, where he found Saeyaja catnapping on the couch; she sat upright the moment he walked in, despite his soft steps. Her dark eyes searched him and the new items sticking out of his duffel.

"No brother?"

"No." Don leaned Casey's bag in a corner, tossed his duffel off to the side, and plopped down in his lab. He briefly noted the time as being six minutes after twelve and set the computer to analyzing both the drop of blood and the tiny bit of unused liquid in the dart.

He turned to face Saeyaja. "The Gamer moved Mikey and Master Splinter—maybe even as I was talking on the phone. Or maybe-" He cut himself off. "All I found was their things, and I have no clue where they are. It also looks like the Gamer has Raph, and definitely Casey. It's very strange—Raph said Casey just disappeared after a dart hit him. I don't know if that means some new light-bending camo technology or something worse."

Saja came over. "Dart?"

The computer beeped. Don, distracted, handed over the empty dart as he looked over the unstable elements found in the liquid: nothing that made sense for any of the options he had come up with so far. Another beep informed him that the blood was indeed Raph's.

"Shell!"

"Don."

The turtle, brow creased, turned to his guest, who held the dart lightly on her fingertips. "Do not know how enemy yours got what was in dart, but… I perhaps know where brother is. If right am I… I-I just came from there."

Don groaned. So Raph vanished from Earth, too? That's even worse than the Gamer capturing him. Also, how on earth does she know? If she's an alien who can teleport herself, that's one thing, but how could just touching the dart tell her where Raph was sent? How could a dart teleport someone away? He shook his head. Too many questions. No way to get answers. Well, maybe one way…

Saja, meanwhile, closed her eyes, muttered something under her breath that the translator didn't pick up—Don thought he heard the name Parvoss in there, though—and opened her serious, scared eyes again. "Take me where found this?" She blurted, as if she didn't say it quickly, she wouldn't be able to say it at all.

Surprise flashed through Don. I still don't trust her, of course, but if she's the real deal, then I'd guess that this offer is incredibly brave of her. Or it could all be an elaborate trap.

Sighing, Donatello set the computer to figuring out possibilities for the compound. "I guess it wouldn't hurt anything. I don't know anything more except that Raph was for sure hit by a dart, and he pulled it out fast and maybe at an angle, which might indicate that whatever drug it held was already affecting him."

Saja blinked eloquently and headed for the elevator.

Don followed, muttering to himself.

"This is cliché," the turtle muttered on the moonlit rooftop battleground, his hand covering the translator, watching Saja moving around the area from which Raph and Casey had already been spirited away. Girl randomly appears the same night as a mass kidnapping occurs and just so happens to know where one of the kidnappees was taken. She will no doubt volunteer her services, bringing the poor trusting fool into a trap.

If she was a spy sent by the Gamer or the Shredder, she was a good actress. She'd been mystified at the Shellcycle, then visibly flinched when Don explained it was a vehicle. Don had almost thought she would refuse to mount it, but when he mentioned that it would take him fifteen minutes to get there by rooftop, but an hour to escort her through alleys and shadows if she lacked the gymnastic ability—and energy—to keep up with him, she'd reluctantly agreed. Once awkwardly and reluctantly on the bike, she'd clung to his shell, and he almost thought he'd felt her trembling. Then she'd marveled at the city. "City big seen before, yes," she'd said. "But this city extremely big."

Don had chuckled at that. "Well, this is New York City. It's not the capital of the country I live in, but it's the biggest, for sure. Over eight mil-" Maybe I shouldn't mention such a large number. With clothes like that, she can't be from an advanced, highly populated culture. "A lot of people."

When they arrived, Saja's body language suggested distrust of the flaking fire escape, but she didn't complain. Once at the top, she'd looked up at the night sky. "Where is—does world your possess moons?" She'd asked, her tone and face a little wistful.

"Oh, yeah, we have a moon; you just can't see it, or the stars, from most parts of the city—too much light pollution." I bet if she's really from a no-tech world, her people measure time by their moon. That's how almost all cultures on earth did it before modern science and technology and switching to a solar calendar and then digital clocks.

"Oh," Saja murmured, then squared her shoulders. "This place." She'd moved off to observe the location then and search for whatever clues her… inhuman? senses could tell her.

Don stood guard near the fire escape, both of any Foot or stray punks and of her—this strange girl with strange claims. Were these odd claims and snippets of some sad story a trick to distract him from the Gamer's movements?

Saja approached as if on cue, but she looked so exhausted—gray, even in the moonlight—that Don felt a twinge of guilt. "Brother was taken to a place I have just and can now go. Its people are..." she hesitated, closing her eyes, and the turtle's distrust returned. "Called the Othila and the Da'an."

There's something you're not telling me.

At that moment, Saja's dark head started to nod.

"Whoa." Don put a hand on her shoulder; she shook herself and straightened, blinking rapidly.

This power of teleporting herself must take a ton of energy. That makes sense—she already said she needs to rest for several days before, uh, leaving. So if she did go right now, the strain might be too much for her body. I don't know if she's right about Raph, but…

"What about Casey? Can you tell me anything about where he might be?"

Saja shook her head slowly, biting her lip. "Sorries. I sense something, but too little to know where went he. I had not go there. Different where than brother."

Don sighed. "No guesses as to where at all? Even a hint might help me."

She hesitated again. "Think… he go not to another world, but to a world travel place. If right am I, then… then he is not in danger now. Maybe can come back alone, if very clever. I should go to brother first." This explained, she looked up at Don, clearly awaiting to be sent.

The turtle, however, still had a stabilizing hand on her shoulder, and it felt like her knees were about to give out. He regarded her one more moment, then came to a decision. "Okay. Let's get you back to the couch. Raph can handle himself for the night."

"And-" The girl started to raise her hand.

"Wrong conjunction." Donatello guided her toward the ladder. "It's 'but' you're supposed to be using now. No 'and's.'"

It was an hour or two later when Master Splinter's shell cell rang. Don had sent Saja to sleep on the couch, where he could keep an eye on her—both because he didn't fully trust her and because he didn't want her getting up; she was way beyond exhausted. The turtle had been multitasking on clues and the mysterious dart liquid when the call came, and he picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hello, Opponent," came the smooth voice of the Gamer. Don stared at his unassuming picture on one of the screens. "I've got a subway schedule here you might be interested in."