A/N:
We're already at Chapter 4! That's insane!
Just a little heads up, after Chapter 5 next week, we will already be half way done with Shaded Sunrise . Unfortunately, after September 22, Double Helix will be on a short hiatus. We can call Chapter 5 the mid-season finale lol.
I'd like to thank Beakers47 again for leaving such wonderful reviews, as well as traguykun and lukeyandlou!
Let's see what Chapter 4: Step Ahead has in store for us…
XXX
Chapter 4: Step Ahead
Alongside with petrichor, the musty and sweet scent of aging books was also a sensation that Donatello found calming.
As paper would begin to grow old, the chemical compounds would begin to break down, and the complex polymer—lignin—would create the aroma that Donnie had grown addicted to. The combining smells of vanilla flowers and almonds, the smells that made his hunger for knowledge and answers even stronger.
Libraries were similar to a sanctuary for Donnie, somewhere quiet and still. A place where he could be out of the house but shut out from the world all at the same time.
The school library, however, definitely dampened the homely spirit of the public library. Avoiding the gum stuck underneath the wooden table, Donnie scooted his chair closer, then reaching down to pull his laptop from his book bag.
"A study on the development of memory—that doesn't seem too difficult for a research project. Not too time consuming," the melodious voice of April O'Neil drifted into his atmosphere, promoting Donnie to divert away from his laptop.
Lines of thought were drawn on her face, her absentmindedness allowing Donnie to catch a glimpse of her beauty. Refreshing, it was, to capture her when she wasn't having to put on a face or an act. Just her purely in her most natural state.
April must've felt the tension of his gaze, because she then lifted those ocean eyes and established eye contact, as well as a nonverbal connection. It was as if she were a morning sunrise, light dawning over the horizons of her eyes as her lips curled, April then making her way to sit beside him. Donnie unattached himself from the contact, his surveillance retreating back to his laptop screen as he desperately hoped his cheeks weren't too pink.
Mere seconds had just gone by when another voice suddenly rocketed through Donnie's atmosphere before he could even manage to say anything to April.
"So, how are we going to go about this? The development of memory seems a bit vague. What exactly are we researching? How the basic three-stage model works, or the specific types of processing? Or maybe the encoding specificity principle? Context dependent memory? What amnesia is? Oh! Or maybe on how easily manipulatable memory is, and write about how false memories are established, or—"
"Woah, slow down Irma," April said with a gentle laugh as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Donatello peered over his laptop to get a better view of the teenage girl. Irma Langinstein—the childhood friend. Irma and April had known each other years before Donnie's encounter with his lustrous friend. He didn't have any strong or meaningful bond with Irma like April had, but three of them together wasn't unheard of. Especially when it came to school projects.
Nimbly pushing up her thick-rimmed glasses, Irma folded her arms, her raven-colored bob swishing as she did so. She was a walking stereotype, that girl. Big intellect, even bigger glasses.
"Look, Irma," April picked up where she left off, "How about you find a couple of books relating to memory for us, while Donnie and I discuss ideas on how to do our experiment."
Irma squinted her green eyes at the two of them and puckered her lips. "Alriiiight," she elongated the word, her tone containing a hint of averse, "But you guys also have to find the empirical articles!"
"We will, don't worry," Donnie attempted to hearten her.
Eventually nodding, Irma vacated from the table, plaid skirt swaying as she disappeared behind the numerous bookshelves.
As soon as Irma was out of earshot, April careened in closer to Donnie. "Did you find anything about...you know?"
He was cognizant of what she was referring to—he just wished that she didn't bring it up.
Unable to sigh deeply, Donnie inhaled a shallow breath before pulling his heavy backpack from the floor onto his lap.
"I didn't have time to dive too deep into it, I hate to admit that it hasn't been in the top tier of my priority list. I did manage to scrape up a few articles and studies that I found slightly interesting."
Unzipping his backpack, he pulled out a thick stack of papers and handed them to April, though he felt wrong in doing so. He bit the inside of his cheek as he jiggled the mouse to wake up his laptop.
April thumbed the pages with dazzling fascination, a small grin slowly blooming on her freckled face. It was that blissful ignorance that made him frown.
Donnie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "April, I knowyou really have your heart set on the idea that you have some sort of extrasensory perception..."
"And?" April subconsciously placed her yellow sweatshirt hood over her long red hair. He always thought she looked so adorable with her hood on.
Before he could even begin to construct his next response, something flickered on his laptop screen and snared his attention.
Donatello leered in suspicion.
"What is it, Donnie?"
"Nothing really—I just got an email from an unrecognizable address is all."
"Lemme see." April leaned even closer, her face now so close to his that blushing was inevitable.
"Tyler Rockwell at Techno Cosmic Research Industries dot org—well it sounds like your kind of department."
"Well, you're not wrong." Donnie then examined the subject, only to discover that there was none. "But I've never heard of Techno Cosmic Research Industries."
Science and mathematics were at Donatello's center, the identity that clutched so tightly onto his being. Cosmic research, though, was a subject that he only ever brushed over. His domains were more along the lines of biology, chemistry, and engineering. He wondered how Techno Cosmic Research Industries even knew about him.
"Well? Aren't you going to open it?"
Donnie looked over his shoulder to see April nudging him, eyes full of urgency.
He clicked open the e-mail.
Dear Donatello Hamato,
Techno Cosmic Research Industries is pleased to offer you an internship educational opportunity. Your schedule will be 15 hours per week, starting on October 3rd. For this position, you will be paid an hourly rate of $10.50."
Sincerely,
Dr. Rockwell
"An internship?" Donatello blinked, sinking back into his plastic chair.
"Donnie, this is great!" April congratulated sincerely.
"Normally, I would agree with you," Donnie motioned towards her, "But I've never even heard of Techno Cosmic Research Industries, let alone applied for an internship. This has to be some mistake."
Donnie examined the e-mail again in search for some flaw or indication of an error or evidence of a mix-up, but all he found as he scrolled was the address to the building.
"I doubt it," April placed a hand on his shoulder, making him freeze, "Donatello, you're the smartest guy I know, I'm positive lots of places like Techno Cosmic Research Industries are going to be begging for you to work with them."
Copper eyes traveled from the delicate hand on his shoulder to the girl no more than a few inches away from him. He tried to formulate a response from the compliment, but any and all words were lodged in his throat. He opened his mouth—
"Oh, are you two talking about TCRI?"
April and Donnie both jumped, April gasping aloud from the startle, only to be greeted with a round of shushing from the other library patrons.
Irma habitually pushed her glasses up, standing next to a cart full of books that Donnie could safely assume were all about the development of memory.
"I'm an intern there, you know," Irma inflated her chest with pride.
"You are? I don't remember you telling me that", April raised an eyebrow.
"Uh, yeah, I told you months ago," Irma huffed, "But anyway, it's a really great opportunity Donatello—only the best of the best students get to work over there. It's an excellent foundation for your career path, it pays well, and maybe, if you're lucky, you'll get to clean out some of their Erlenmeyer flasks!"
Donnie could almost chuckle at the amount of excitement Irma expressed, but he knew well not to push that girl's buttons.
"I don't know—doesn't this all seem a little off? With everything that's going on, I don't know if I should trust it. Besides, if it is genuine, I probably have a better use of my time than dedicating it to organizing papers, fetching coffee, and cleaning Erlenmeyer flasks."
"Aw, c'mon Don," April tugged his arm, "Irma works there, she's proof that this isn't some shady setup."
Irma nodded unhesitatingly, "Yup, I'm proof, good proof."
April continued to urge him, "This could be really good for you! Especially with all the financial troubles your family has been going through, it would really help if you had something to bring to the table."
Donnie's breath hitched.
Innocence tended to glaze April O'Neil's words, yet fire would blaze underneath the surface. She was unintentional, she never meant to cause him pain, but the heat always left him burnt.
Why did the O'Neils feel the need to bring up his financial situation every time he was around? They made it sound like he was poor, like he was saving pennies in a jar. He was aware of his current situation—he wasn't the same little boy in Mr. O'Neil's office anymore. Why did they seem to have such little faith in him?
However, he would never allow such harsh feelings part from his lips—he would never want to hurt April. Even if, every now and then, she hurt him.
She must've noticed the transition in his demeanor, or maybe how his fingers curled tightly around the mouse
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that—"
"Sure you did," Irma inserted herself in the conversation, squeezing in between him and April and looking up at him with a facetious smile.
April sighed, "No, I didn't, I just—"
A resounding vibration buzzed on the wooden table top, April grabbing her cellphone without conscious thought.
She smiled. Casey Jones.
Donnie peeled his eyes away from her, forcing himself to focus on the e-mail instead.
Of course, rereading the empty words didn't stop him from wallowing in April's.
Donnie sighed inwardly. Stormy, bitter emotions were clouding his judgment. Clearly, she was right—why squander this opportunity? He had the necessary skills, and probably exceeded what is required. He needed to mold and shape his life. Needed to embrace his identity. His purpose.
April's stifled laughter faded in and out, the wheels of Irma's cart squeaked.
Donatello remained silent as his cursor ghosted over the e-mail from the mysterious Dr. Rockwell.
XXX
With labored breathing, Michelangelo continued to sprint along the pavement like he had been for the past twenty minutes. Despite the autumn air, his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat, legs beginning to burn. The duffel bag that slung over his shoulder slowed him down a bit as he quickly tried to simultaneously shove on his knee pads. He couldn't be late, it would only lessen his chances even more.
Running through the streets of Manhattan, Mikey only tripped a few amounts of times as he navigated his way to Chris Bradford's Dojo. Lucky for him, he had a pretty impressive memory, and after studying the directions, he was ready to go. Coins chimed inside his duffel bag, his elbow pads starting to loosen, but he had to keep running. First impressions were everything, and punctuality was an important quality—according to Leo and Donnie's past advice.
City noises became numb, Mikey's thoughts overpowering them all as he reminded himself of why he was doing all of this in the first place.
To help save others. To be a hero. To make dad proud.
The phrase repeated in his head like a broken record, his mantra possessing him with all the determination in the world, and with all the energy in the universe.
Veeringaround the corner, the driven boy was able to see the dojo, picking up the pace as he found more motivation to burn. The duffel bag was now being dragged along the concrete, Mikey's heart striking fiercely in his chest as he spotted the glossy doors.
He knew well that a new course for his life awaited him behind that glass.
Without hesitation, Mikey burst through those doors, immediately trying to catch his breath as he was greeted with a blast of cold.
He let go of his bag.
Empty—that was the initiate realization the boy had. No one appeared to be in the main area, the kid gravitating towards the center of the room.
It was quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioner.
Swallowing to soothe his dry throat, Mikey gained his bearings enough to scope the dojo.
Blue mats were perfectly aligned on the floor. Shoji windows. Weapons decorated on the bamboo walls. Even the terrible smell of sweat and rubber was nostalgic and comforting to him, everything reminding him of his old father's dojo. Mikey shoved his hands in his sweatshirt pockets.
"Chris Bradford?" he called out, still a bit breathless. Removing his beanie, Mikey looked around as he wiped his forehead.
Catching a glimpse of a counter in the back, he decided to lift his bag and shamble over towards it.
"Mr. Bradford?"
Holding the straps of the duffel bag with both hands, he heaved it onto the counter top, causing an unnerving echo. Mikey double checked the time on his wristwatch—4:06. His beginner's class session would begin in little less than half an hour.
A wooden door proceeded behind the counter, no doubt leading to a private office of some kind. Mikey perked his ears, adjusting his focus as he attempted to detect a voice.
A few seconds rolled by. He leaned a little over the counter.
"I understand," a husky voice was heard, no doubt belonging to Chris Bradford himself. Curiosity pulled him in like a magnet, drawing him even closer. Unfortunately, that was all that Mikey could make out from the muffled mumbles, and he could only assume that Bradford was on a phone call.
Attempting to eavesdrop some more, he leaned onto the counter a little more. After failing at trying to pluck coherent dialogue from Bradford's conversation, the doorknob turned, Mikey scrambling to get off the counter and straighten up.
That was when Bradford finally revealed himself. He was well-built man, his body solid proof of his martial arts skills. Bradford ran a hand through his shaggy auburn hair, still completely unaware of his visitor as the door shut behind him.
Mikey squealed, unable to bottle his excitement any longer.
"Chris Bradford!"
Surprised, the man visibly jumped, eyes shifting from left to right before spotting him in front of the counter. Mikey saw Bradford's shoulders ease, tension flowing away as he eventually relaxed.
"Why, hello there," he rubbed the back of his neck, "Can I, uh, help you?"
Let's try this sensei thing again, Mikey told himself.
He inflated his lungs with as much air as he could.
"My name is Michelangelo Hamato. I know the registration was due a few months ago, but I just found your website online—and well, honestly, I just found out who you were a few days ago—but I just totally fell in love with your work! Dude! You're amazing! I followed all your social media, and man, you're like a celebrity! So, I came here with my savings to pay for the Ninjutsu Beginner's Class—even though I know I am way more advanced than a beginner."
After his long-winded explanation, Mikey caught his breath and extended his arms over, unzipping his duffel bag and plunked his piggy bank on the counter.
Bradford cocked an eyebrow.
"Yeah, you kinda need to break that, but I promise there's enough money in there."
Seeing Bradford's face, he almost looked at him patronizingly.
"I just really, really want to be your student," Mikey begged with the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster.
Bradford went silent as he scanned the room once more. "I see...are your parents around?"
Mikey bit the inside of his cheek and reluctantly shook his head.
"Look, kid, I'm sorry, but you can't just pop in with a piggy bank and expect to be taught," Bradford scoffed, "The real world doesn't work that way. Why don't you go on home and talk to your parents about this? They're probably worried sick; it's dangerous to be out on your own these days."
The child slightly turned away, gathering the determination that was starting to slip away. This couldn't fall through now.
To help save others. To be a hero. To make dad proud.
As soon as he got a hold of and strengthened his grip, he faced Chris Bradford head on.
"I know, but hear me out. You see, my father was Hamato Yoshi. He had his own dojo, The Hamato Clan Dojo. See?" Mikey stretched his sweatshirt, smoothening out the wrinkles to show off his father's dojo logo clearly. "My father was my sensei, and he had promised to teach me until I graduated...but...he passed away," he glossed over the details. He didn't like people discovering the messy parts. "My brothers and I couldn't afford to keep the place running, so we had to sell it. But I'll work hard every day, I'll be your best student, I promise! I have my own equipment—I even know how to wield the nunchaku and the karisugma! Just please give me a chance, pleeeeease?"
Bradford contemplated down at him, sympathy visible in his features. Immediately, Mikey's brain went down the list of all the other dojos that he searched up the other day.Someone had to accept him. Small hands encased the porcelain piggy bank.
But suddenly, a guttural sigh came out of the man like rumbling gravel as his tough act seemed to fall apart right in front of him.
There was an uncomfortable, sustained silence right up to when Bradford finally spoke again.
"You really know how to wield the nunchaku and the karisugma?"
Mikey smiled widely.
"Yeah, totally! I even brought them with me!"
The boy instantaneously hauled out his weapons from the duffel bag, twirling the nunchaku effortlessly as to show a hint of his skill. This made Bradford reciprocate Mikey's evident happiness, giving a hardy laugh himself. "I like your moxie kid! It reminds me of myself when I was your age."
"Really?" He looked up at him.
"No, no not really," Chris Bradford left from behind the counter, moving to stand next to him, "But this is my offer. You join my Beginner's session today, and if you can prove to me that you're as good as you say you are, then I'll allow you to join. Deal?"
Hope became like helium, making him feel lighter than air.
"Deal! Thanks, Mr. Bradford!" Mikey beamed. There was no restraint as he dumped his equipment from the duffel bag onto the floor, scurrying to put on the rest of his gear.
"One last thing, Michelangelo."
Mikey froze in place, casting his eyes upward at the man who was speaking to him. Something warm and alleviating had washed over Mr. Bradford from the moment he first saw him. The man's eyes crinkled.
"Call me Sensei."
Muscles had yet to unlock, Mikey guessing that he looked like a deer in headlights.
Sensei and father had become synonyms in his world, and he hadn't realized the impact until the word was spoken with its appropriate dictionary definition. Calling somebody outside the Hamato family 'sensei' almost felt wrong.
But the reality was that his father was dead. His sensei had died. Progress was slow, but he was beginning to accept that. He swallowed.
Mr. Bradford was only going to replace him as a sensei. Not as a father.
To help save others. To be a hero. To make dad proud.
Mikey, in conclusion, nodded. "Hai, Sensei."
It was 4:32 when the other beginner students clocked in, Mikey having situated himself on the blue mat in the front row. His short attention span would get him into trouble, a potential deal-breaker, so he made sure to limit the possible distractions by sitting as near as he could to his new sensei.
Pressed together as if in prayer, the steadiness in his hands and the secureness of his stance demonstrated how easy this beginner's stretch was to him. But still, he kept his humility in check, and remained as serious as he could.
Eyes drifted, however, flicking from the fly that buzzed in circles around him, to the dust bunny in the corner of the room, and eventually to the student standing beside him.
The student was a young boy, couldn't be older than the age of seventeen. A bit bulbous, he carried an amateurish semblance to his form. But Mikey knew way better than to ever judge someone by outward appearance. Though he did notice that the boy's stance could use a minor adjustment.
Seeing as Bradford was walking down the rows to inspect others behind him, Mikey side glanced, and whispered over to him, "Psst, dude, your feet should be a little further apart."
Confidence seemed to falter in the teen once he heard Mikey's voice, causing him to look down. "Oh, like this?" Inches of more separation improved the student's pose, Mikey smiling with encouragement.
"Yeah! My name's Mikey by the way. I'm new, but I've been like, training in ninjutsu practically my whole life, bruh. So, if you ever need any tips, just ask. What about you?"
"Thanks, and my name's Timothy," Timothy said, hushed. "And, well, I'm in the Beginner's Class for a reason. I don't really have much experience."
Their sensei walked passed them, putting their conversation on hold until he was further away.
Timothy looked back over to him and continued, "Ever since those Purple Dragons came back, I thought it would be a good idea to learn how to defend myself and others, and more importantly, become a ninja! A crime-fighting ninja! So, I've been taking this class. Plus, you know, my mom wanted me to get out of the house."
"Dude!" Mikey raised his eyebrows, checking side to side to see if Bradford had heard his accidental outburst. He lowered his voice when he knew the coast was clear, "I'm here because I want to stop those purple dirtbags too. I want to become a ninja vigilante so I can save people and fight the bad guys like the Nightwatcher!"
"The Nightwatcher? That guy is like, my hero! I've always wanted to suit up and do what he does."
"Yeah, me too! No one in my family supports my idea, so they don't know I'm here right now."
Timothy moved a bit as if getting tired from being in the position for so long. "Well, if it means anything, I think that your idea is awesome."
It was that comment, that casual reassurance, that gave Mikey the stamina to keep going through with this. Hearing somebody outside his family and friends their support for his decision meant more than anything else. Mikey leaned over to reply—
"Ok, let's get this lesson going," Sensei announced.
His lips shut and he looked over his right to Timothy, the boys making eye contact before the session began. From that short exchange of words, Michelangelo could sense a strong friendship forming in the near future.
XXX
Manhattan nights were known to be electrifying—known to be the embodiment of youth, of freedom, all umbrellaed under neon that gave off an array of vibes that were interpreted differently to each individual. The nights buzzed with noise, each sound containing a story of its own. Those stories all played to form a symphony of various tones and created a well-rounded spirit of life.
On the contrary, lately nights haven't been so vivacious. Lights seemed to dim, sirens from the distance now being drawn forward. The life was draining, the once melodious symphony now droned down to a monotonous and eerie hum. Colors became ashen, and the only vibe that could be perceived was terror.
Purple Dragons had done this. They had plagued the essence and hope of all the people that inhabited this part of the city. By nine, doors were locked, voices were hushed, and it was all because of the Purple Dragons.
Even so, Leonardo was hopeful that he and the department could heal the brokenness and insecurity. He was hopeful that he could resurrect these dead streets back to life. The only thing in his way now, was this damn case.
Bouncing his leg, apprehension had never surged through his body with such strength. He felt it in his lungs, he felt it in his stomach, he felt it coursing through his blood. Despite this, he felt an overwhelming amount of positive adrenaline, making him foolishly excited.
Sitting in a car a few blocks down from the hospital, Leo stared attentively through binoculars, waiting for the two thieves from the reports to crawl out of the alley shadows.
"I can't believe I'm actually doing this! I've been waiting for this opportunity since I was just a kid! Being able to make the world a little safer from crime. Man, if only the others could see me take down those guys—even if it's just arresting two druggies. At least it would prove to them that we, that I, do help protect people. This is it, it's all lead up to this moment, I can't believe—man, I feel like I'm gonna throw up—"
"Leonardo," Usagi laughed softly at his rambling, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I've never seen someone so shaken by a stakeout. Please relax. We don't even know if they'll show up, remember?"
Gaining his bearings, Leo took a deep breath and nodded.
"Sorry, Usagi. With all this Purple Dragon business, I guess it's just stirred a lot of drama in my family." Leo lifted the binoculars away from his eyes, resting his arms on his lap. "Mikey doesn't believe we're making a difference. He thinks we're not doing our job."
"He is a child Leonardo, do not take it to heart."
Leo sank into his seat and let his shoulders slump. "I know, but he's my little brother. He's always looked up to me, was proud of me. But ever since he found out about his friend Peter, he's had little faith in me."
This was ridiculous. Was he really that insecure, that needy, that he had to have approval from his younger brother? He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I don't know," he continued, "I wanted this job to help people. I wanted to give people someone to believe in. I don't want anyone to ever have to go through what I..." he left it off there, suppressing any emotion that tried to escape out of him. The rookie ran a hand through his hair. "Saving others gives me purpose. It gives me worth. It gives me more reason to keep going. And if I just do this small task, this simple arrest, I can finally feel that."
A sigh was heard, and immediately Leo regretted the words he allowed to leave from his mind and off his tongue.
"Leonardo," Usagi turned in his seat towards him, "I've known you since you were but a small child. I've watched you grow up. I was there through it all. What I have come to find is that you, Leonardo, are an extremely hardworking young man. Also, you are too hard on yourself. Your worth does not derive from your career status, or how many lives you help or save."
Leo couldn't look him in the eye. He couldn't face him, or face the tension that he caused. He handled the binoculars, returning them back up to his eyes without acknowledging Usagi's lecture.
"Leo—"
A crash resounded across the empty street, ringing in Leo's eardrums and making him jolt. Inspecting the area through binoculars, he searched for where and what had caused the sound.
It didn't take too long—there had been fallen trashcan, along with obscure figures. Focusing his lenses, he could see that the two figures were people, and that they appeared to be arguing. How cliché.
Leo put a hand on the car door—
"Leonardo, wait," Usagi told him. His friend peered through his own binoculars for a moment. A few seconds. Lips were tight. His forehead wrinkled. Usagi pulled them away from him, and looked at Leonardo with solemnity.
"Grab your flashlight and follow my lead."
Slipping out of the car noiselessly, the young man trailed behind his FTO with swift footsteps. It was beneficial that he also happened to have advanced ninjutsu skills, silence being its greatest weapon.
The thieves had scampered down the alleyway that took them to the back of the hospital, Usagi careful to make their presence unknown. They didn't need for the criminals to have a running head start. Clouds fogged and hindered any star or moonlight, the cold night air helping him to be more diligent and agile. His nerves were too chilled to be an obstacle.
The two officers clung to the hospital wall, Officer Miyamoto peering down the alley as Officer Hamato watched his ghostly breath paint against the darkness.
Usagi motioned to him. "Turn on your flashlight," he whispered.
Fumbling just a bit, Leo clicked the button and warm light illuminated, but it wasn't comforting.
This is it, this is it. Don't screw it up. This is it.
Usagi dominantly strode into the alleyway, cuing Leo to do the same as he shone his flashlight.
Shrunken pupils. Quirked eyebrows. Dropped jaws. One's body language translated to be more blustering than the other, appearing as if his shoulders were pinched together as he took one step backward.
They matched the description—dark skin, lean bodied, and one sporting an afro while the other with an exaggerated mohawk.
Mohawk glanced with haste over to his partner in crime, beads of sweat forming on his forehead in an instant. Leo steadied the flashlight.
"Would you two gentlemen care to explain what you are doing here at the back of this medical facility?" Usagi asked with a comedic amount of calm and patience, walking up to them nonchalantly as Leo kept the spotlight on the two.
"Oh, nothing officer," Mohawk stated, "Just here with my buddy, Xever, hanging out, chillaxing—"
Xever smacked him on the side of the head and gave him sharp eyes.
"What he is trying to say is," Xever's voice was glazed with accent, "Anton and I have a sick friend named...Ivan. We came to visit him. In the back of the hospital. Because he's sick."
Leo made eye contact with Usagi, the both of them raising an eyebrow and Leo being unimpressed.
"Are you kidding me?" Anton blinked hard, going and sneering at Xever, who just growled in response.
"I am positive you know the drill. Put your hands where I can see them," Usagi said.
Anton spread his arms out as a wild gesture of shock. "For what?!"
Leo swallowed, his throat dusty and dry.
"For stealing drugs from hospitals all over Manhattan," the rookie said, voice not daring to waver.
"You—You have no proof of that!" Anton stuttered, appearing flustered.
"Your thievery is slipshod," Usagi quipped, the fun, slightly-cocky side of him showing.
Twisting and turning, Anton's brown eyes zigzagged before he pressed his foot forward.
Usagi stiffened and revealed his pair of handcuffs. "Do not bother trying to escape, we have you cornered. It would be a waste of time."
The two thieves gave each other side looks.
"Cabrón," Xever grumbled. It was barely audible, but Leo managed to catch it.
Ominous stillness locked the four of them in place, time suspended as uneasiness kept Leo tied to the other men in the alleyway.
Movement. A hand—Xever's—twitched in the slightest. The hand trailed down with the same pace and smoothness as rainwater trickling down glass. Leo watched intently. It stopped. And when it did, so did Leo's heart.
Xever's hand rested at the butt of a gun. Why he didn't notice it before, he would never know. His frozen heart thawed, it now pounding as if trying to escape the cage his ribs created. Fingers gripped the handle, Xever removing it from the holster and pointing it directly at Leonardo.
He lowered his flashlight.
Run.
His childish conscience screamed at him.
Run.
Logic also rammed in his head as his eyes focused at the muzzle. He was a police officer. He had his own gun. Why wasn't he grabbing his own gun?
Grab the gun.
Feet were stuck. His mind was chaos. Body unresponsive. It wracked with shivers as it remembered the last time he was faced with a gun in close range.
There went another click. Only Leo's eyes moved, and he saw now that Usagi pulled out his own, directing it at Xever.
"Now," gravel crunched under his shoes, Usagi firmly holding his gun in one hand and holding the cuffs in the other, "Face the wall with your hands behind your backs."
Anton leaned into Xever, a hand over his mouth as to keep the conversation private. "Wow, I didn't think things would escalate this much man—this is intense. Put the gun away. I'm sure he'll bail us out again. We don't need blood on our hands."
Xever jutted out his lip, swore under his breath, tentatively concealing his weapon as him and Anton turned and faced the wall.
Usagi nodded at Leo, gesturing him to come on over. Legs weak, Leo finally unglued his feet, strength returning as he reached for handcuffs and walked over to Anton.
Tucking the flashlight back into his duty belt, he wrapped the cuffs around Anton's wrists and clamped them on. Anxiety gradually melted, plating into golden authority and confidence he didn't expect he'd ever be able to achieve.
They were caught. They had done it. They had captured the wanted thieves. Leo now could prove to Chief Zeno he was ready. He smiled.
Daydreams displayed in his brain of his success and congratulations when suddenly, spidery fingers tapped his shoulder.
It wasn't Usagi's touch. It was foreign and unknown. Leo held his breath.
With great speed, he snatched his flashlight and turned around, shining the harsh light onto whoever grazed him.
It was a woman.
Slender figure, sharp eyes painted with a blood red design, and with deep raven hair that contrasted her pale white skin. The lower half of her face was covered, making her even more unsettling.
"I see you've made things easy for me," her voice was dark and smoky, her hips swaying as she slithered even closer to the boy, "I would thank you for it, but that's not really my thing."
Leo bristled. Both hands gripped the flashlight.
"Who—Who are you?" Leo stammered. "You're not supposed to be here."
She was inches from his face, heat radiating off his cheeks.
"The name's Harmony," her words dripped like poison, "But I'm in a bit of a hurry. I've come to take these guys off your hands."
"Wait, what's going on?" Anton garbled, face still against the wall, "What's that crazy lady talking about?!"
Leo then heard Usagi step beside him.
"Back away! Put your hands up!" Leonardo shouted.
Harmony only laughed, laughing while her pupils grew from being slits as she adjusted to the light.
"You're so adorable. First night of the job?"
Leo licked his lips. He's known this girl for only a few seconds and she somehow was able to burrow herself under his skin.
Harmony shifted her weight, hands in her spiked jacket. "Look, these two are my business. You've done an excellent job, but I'll be taking over now."
Feedback suddenly crackled, Leo looking over to see Usagi with a walkie-talkie to his mouth.
"We might need backup—"
"Oh, don't worry officers," Harmony interrupted, "We'll be on our way now."
Without warning, the young woman pulled her hand out of her pocket, pulling out something small and unidentifiable before firing it onto the asphalt.
Billowing smoke filled the alleyway, constricting his lungs and making him choke. Coughing and sputtering, Leo helplessly whipped around, attempting to see Harmony through the clouds.
Then out of nowhere, he was seized by the shoulders, jerked forward, and felt heat snake down his neck.
"Goodnight, Leonardo."
He was caught off guard, and then the next thing he knew was that he had landed hard on his back. Wind knocked out of him, Leo sucked in smog, nearly gagging on the foul air as he scrambled to his feet.
The smoke began to dissipate, a kind shoulder then bolstering him up and helping him walk clear away from the scene.
Usagi was coughing as well, less violent than Leo, but still enough to make his eyes water. "Are you alright?" he asked Leo with genuine care.
Fresh air eventually managed to enter his body, his coughing fit subsiding.
As the smoke from the smoke bomb faded into the night, Leo knew he wasn't alright. Because him and Usagi were the only ones left standing behind the hospital.
Anton and Xever were gone.
And so was Harmony.
XXX
Preview for Chapter 5: Silent Cessation !
"It's a privilege to finally meet you in the flesh," the other man said, a bit out of breath from his downward journey, "I'm Dr. Rockwell."
Raph felt his cheeks burn scarlet. "Well, I mean I could ask her out, but should I?"
And at this point, he couldn't tell if it was his recent development in anxiety, or if his seventh sense was starting to go off.
Coming September 22nd !
XXX
QEOBB'P X ZOLTA.