Chapter 3

While Baxter has always been quite the character, even I'm surprised at what April's stolen files reveal. He's insane. I would say that he's always been insane, but that isn't entirely true. There was a time, before Saki's maiming began, before my brothers and I, that he was sane. Pompous, yes, and self-absorbed—but perfectly lucid. But Stockman lost his grip on reality a long time ago.

It's sad, really. He's trying to build a doomsday device. Nuclear powered. What a pathetic self-parody. A doomsday device? Good Lord. Those last few body transplants must really not have been easy on the good doctor.

"If we could somehow get this information to President Bishop," April muses aloud.

Mulling over the idea, I decide to play devil's advocate. "There's no guarantee that Bishop doesn't know about this. For all you know, Bishop could have authorized this personally."

"But you don't think Bishop knows, do you?"

"No, I don't," I admit, a bit reluctantly. "Even Bishop isn't crazy enough to want to kill off the entire planet."

April nods. "But Dr. Stockman is. Poor man must be so miserable."

Poor man? For a second I gape, convinced that she's joking, but she's not. Her face speaks the truth—she feels sorry for him. Even after everything he's put her through. Everything he's put all of us through.

Among my many hatreds, I have always held a special place for Baxter Stockman and John Bishop. Karai and the Shredder destroyed my family, true, but at least they treated us as equals. To the likes of Baxter, I was just an experiment. A freak. And the entire time, I have been every bit as smart as them. Smarter, even, if I'm honest.

But before I can begin to protest against April's bleeding heart, I'm cut off by a screaming alarm. It occurs to me that perhaps I did not give Baxter his due. He's found April much sooner than I'd expected.

It's ninja time.

Jumping out of my desk chair, I reach the security station in three long steps. "Stockman's in the building," I call to April over my shoulder, quickly entering the access code to shut off the alarm.

"We have to get out of here, Donny. We have to keep the files safe."

"Forget the files." Turning on my heel, I head back to my desk. "We need to keep us safe."

After grabbing myself a bag from behind the desk, I toss April her own bag, and she catches it easily, without so much as a flinch. I find myself cheering up a bit. That was a good catch. Really good. So good that I begin to entertain the heartening thought that maybe we won't both die within the next ten minutes.

Unfortunately, there's no time to do a full calculation of our survival odds. Instead I walk over to the cabinets lining the opposite wall and, before April can ask what's going on, I've unlocked the cabinets to reveal the booty inside—shelf upon shelf, row upon row, of every nasty weapon imaginable. April's jaw drops. I grab a high-powered grenade off the top shelf and lob it to her.

Startled, she fumbles it for a moment before finally getting a firm grip on it. "You son of a—"

"Careful with that!" I point to the grenade. "Very powerful."

As she glowers angrily, I toss a few more grenades to her. She catches them all and tucks them safely into the bag. Next I toss her a gun—the gun she left behind after her last visit here. Her gun. Then, having seen to April's proper armament, I quickly fill my own bag with goodies. A few grenades, a few smoke bombs, some ammo, and just for variety, an automatic laser gun. Lastly, I pick up a glass vial containing thick green liquid.

April squints at it. "What on earth is that?"

"An experimental bio-weapon," I explain, careful to keep my tone casual and indifferent. I pack away the vial, then a syringe, in my bag. "Thought it might be good to have on hand."

"Is it lethal?"

An involuntary smile tugs on the corners of my mouth. "Hopefully not. But if it ever reaches a point where we have to experiment with it—" I glance over to her. "—I suggest you run. Fast."

Looking uneasy at my answer, April grunts but doesn't otherwise respond. She lifts up her gun and checks the safety.

"Ready?"

Her nod is terse, all business. "As I'll ever be."

"All right, then. Let's move." I motion towards the back wall. "We'll take the secret exit."

She follows me over to the hidden crawl-way and, right before I'm about to kneel down, places a restraining hand on my arm. "We shoot as a last resort. Agreed?"

Surely she jests. But one look tells me that she's quite serious. She honestly wants us to face a small army of government agents without firing on them. Finally, sighing heavily, I reply, "Oh, fine."

So much for not dying within the first ten minutes. That ridiculous bleeding heart of hers is going to get us massacred.

For a seeming eternity, we crawl through the dark tunnel without speaking. Even though we are concealed behind thick slabs of stone, I can hear the yelling and running from the interior halls. It's hot in here. Reaching up, I tug on the knot on my tie then unbutton the top button of my shirt. Already the sweat is pouring off my forehead.

We reach the end of the tunnel and, faced with no other choice, I carefully crack open the latch and peek outside. The hallway seems clear. "Seems" is not the same as "actually is," of course, but I can sense April getting antsy. She clearly wants out of the tunnel. Besides, we have to leave the tunnel sometime.

Once out, I take the lead, and carefully we creep along the shadows. My hopes for survival begin to rise again. As we move towards the elevators, which will take us to my helicopter, April stays nearly as silent as I do. But then, that's little surprise. She did study stealth under Master Splinter himself.

Splinter. Splinter … mousers … Stockman …

Forget that nonsense about shooting as a last resort. If the good doctor is foolish enough to tangle with me, I shall teach him a little etiquette lesson about invading other scientists' skyscrapers.

Reaching an intersection in the corridor, I turn to check on April. She's sweating as heavily as I am, and her tired, bloodshot eyes don't stay still for a single moment. They jerk back and forth, up and down, side to side. I can practically taste her fear. If she doesn't calm down, she's going to start making mistakes. And mistakes will get us killed.

Just as I'm thinking this, her eyes widen and turn bright, bright green. A moment later, I hear the unmistakable hum of someone charging up a laser rifle, and I can't help but groan. We've just made our first mistake, apparently.

Damn it all to hell.

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Author's Notes: I just saw the TMNT movie featurette, and right now I am so enamored with Marshall Whitfield (Don's voice actor). And just for you, MidnightHeir, I am now writing an epilogue to this story to deal with some of this trilogy's unresolved issues. Hope it doesn't disappoint!